“Well?” There’s a note of anxiety in Alex’s voice. “What do you think?”
I can’t answer him immediately. Alex has shoved the old bed out of the way, into one of the corners, and swept the floor perfectly clean. The windows—or what windows remain—are flung open, so the air smells like gardenias and night-blooming jasmine, their scents drifting in on the wind from outside. He has arranged our blanket and books in the center of the room and unraveled a sleeping bag there too, surrounding the whole area with dozens and dozens of candles stuck in funny makeshift canisters, like old cups and mugs or discarded Coca-Cola cans, just like they were at his house in the Wilds.
But the best part is the ceiling: or rather, the lack of ceiling. He must have broken through the rotted wood to the roof, and now an enormous patch of sky is once again stretched above our heads. There are fewer stars visible in Portland than on the other side of the border, but it’s still beautiful. Even better, the bats—disturbed from their roost—have gone. Far above us, outside, I see several dark shapes looping back and forth across the moon, but as long as they stay in the open air, they don’t bother me.
All of a sudden it hits me: He did this for me. Even after what happened today, he came and did this for me. Gratitude overwhelms me, and another feeling too, bringing with it a twinge of pain. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve him. I turn back to him and can’t even speak; his face is lit up with flame and he seems to be glowing, transforming into fire. He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
“Alex—” I start to say, but can’t finish. Suddenly I’m almost frightened of him, terrified of his absolute and utter perfection.
He leans forward and kisses me. And when he’s pressed so close to me, with the softness of his T-shirt brushing my face and the smell of suntan lotion and grass coming off his skin, he feels less frightening.
“It’s too dangerous to go back to the Wilds.” His voice is hoarse, as though he’s been yelling for a very long time, and a muscle is working furiously in his jaw. “So I brought the Wilds here. I thought you would like it.”
“I do. I—I love it.” I press my hands against my chest, wishing I could somehow be even closer to him. I hate skin; I hate bones and bodies. I want to curl up inside of him and be carried there forever.
“Lena.” Different expressions are passing over his face so quickly I can barely catch them all, and his jaw keeps twitching back and forth. “I know we don’t have much time, like you said. We hardly have any time at all. . . .”
“No.” I bury my face in his chest, wrap my arms around him and squeeze. Unimaginable, incomprehensible: a life lived without him. The idea breaks me—the fact that he’s almost crying breaks me—the fact that he did this for me, the fact that he believes I’m worth it—kills me. He is my world and my world is him and without him there is no world. “I won’t do it. I won’t go through with it. I can’t. I want to be with you. I need to be with you.”
Alex grasps my face, bends down to look in my eyes. His face is blazing now, full of hope.
“You don’t have to go through with it,” he says. His words come tumbling out. He’s obviously been thinking about this for a long time and only trying not to say it. “Lena, you don’t have to do anything. We could run away together. To the Wilds. Just go and never come back. Only—Lena, we couldn’t ever come back. You know that, right? They’d kill us both, or lock us up forever. . . . But Lena, we could do it.”
Kill us both. Of course, he’s right. A lifetime of running: that’s what I’ve just said I wanted. I take a quick step backward, feeling suddenly dizzy. “Wait,” I say. “Just hold on a second.”
He releases me. The hope dies in his face all at once, and for a moment we just stand there, looking at each other. “You weren’t serious,” he says finally. “You didn’t mean it.”
“No, I did mean it, it’s just—”
“It’s just that you’re scared,” he says. He walks to the window and stares out at the night, refusing to look at me. His back is terrifying again: so solid and impenetrable, a wall.
“I’m not scared. I’m just . . .” I fight a murky feeling. I don’t know what I am. I want Alex and I want my old life and I want peace and happiness and I know that I can’t live without him, all at the same time.
“It’s okay.” His voice is dull. “You don’t have to explain.”