Page 54 of Never Bound

“About what?” Not that I thought he’d be picky.

“Um. Tell me about your dog.”

“Oh—okay.” Where hadthatcome from? Then again, it was an innocuous topic that had nothing to do with violence, rape, torture, or death, and so actually had a lot to recommend it right now. “She was an English setter, and she was mostly Ethan’s. Daddy wanted her trained for duck hunting, even though he only went once a year. I’m not sure she ever actually got a duck, though she sure seemed to like eating them. Not to mention rolling in their rotting carcasses. But she was the sweetest, gentlest, most loving dog I ever knew …”

At first, there was only silence on the other side of the door. Had I said something wrong? How had I fucked up talking about a goddamn dog?

“Artemis,” he said finally. “Her name was Artemis.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “Are—are you psychic?”

A rueful laugh. “If I were, as much as I’m enjoying this conversation, don’t you think I would have been able to avoid being forced to have it? Her old collar and bowls are in here.”

“Wait, Daddy kept those?”

My father had always given the impression that he’d found Artemis a disappointment, given how much he’d paid for her. Then again, how many evenings had he spent with her head resting on his lap in front of the fire pit? Not to mention, Ethan had loved her more than anything. And maybe, with his dog as with his son, my dad realized too late that he should have held on tighter to what he had while he had it.

And unwittingly ensured I wouldn’tevermake that mistake.

If I could have used his name, I would have. I would say it and say it and say it and never stop saying it, not until the end of time, not until I couldn’t anymore, not until I was dead and buried and earth and rain and snow covered up my lips. If I could, I would give up myownname in exchange. Of course I couldn’t do that, but there was one thing I could do. I’d already tried last night. But now there was nothing to hold me back.

“I love you.”

HIM

“Don’t say that,” I said automatically.

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Because it’s easier?” I realized instantly how lame that sounded but also that I didn’t fully want—or know how—to take it back.

Instead, I awkwardly scrubbed a hand over my face, chain rattling, and took a breath. “You know, people—well, people who aren’t Erica Muller, anyway—believe slaves can only feel ... basic stuff. Fear. Anger. Maybe some loyalty. A simple affection for people who are kind to them. And honestly? I never questioned it that much. I just went with it.”

On the other side of the door, silence. Well, I couldn’t have fucked that up any more if I’d tried. Then:

“That’s insane.”

“I know. But it sure made things simpler.”

“So you just … shut it off?” she finally asked, more curious than accusing, thank fuck. “Everything real?”

“I mean, yeah. I’ve stayed awake for days at a time, thinking about quantum theory, pondering the subatomic world, and somehowthatwas easier, and a lot less scary, than thinking about love. About what it actually means,“ I finished, not waiting to find out if she’d stormed away from the door in disgust yet. “I mean, look, let’s be honest, if your life’s never easy and you’re never really safe, why the fuck would you make it harder by giving away your heart, too? If you’re forced to give away every other part of yourself, why would you choose to let go of one of the few things you can actually keep?” I glanced away from the door, terrified of her answer. Terrified she wouldn’t answer at all.

“Because some things are worth letting go of,” she whispered. “Because you get so much back in return.”

“How do you know?” asked stubbornly.

“How do I know? I … I don’t know. I just—”

“Believe,” I scoffed despite myself. “Like faith. Like miracles. You just believe.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I just believe. And, look, it’s a privilege to believe. I know it is.”

“It is, but …” I swallowed. I couldn’t believe what I was about to say, because I hadn’t known it was true until a second ago. “I wish I could believe, Lou. I really do. I wish it so goddamn much.”

“But you do,” she replied instantly, to my surprise. “Look at your mom. Look at Maeve. You would die for them. You know you would. You almost did, a few times.”

“But that didn’t feel like a choice. That just …was.Letting someone else in—choosingsomeone—that’s different. That’s something I always thought I wouldn’t do. Couldn’t do. Wasn’t meant to.” I threw my head back helplessly on the cold concrete, my voice cracking slightly. “Because the truth is … this is what scares me most. Not the mines, not dying and my bones getting thrown down the shaft, more than watching everyone close to me be tortured and raped, more than reliving every bruise, every beating, every whipping, every cut and burn I’ve ever gotten,all at once. It’sthis.Saying it out loud. Letting someone in. And I don’t know,” I paused to forcefully swallow back everything that was threatening to pour out, “why it’s like that. I wish I did. But it is, Lou. It is.” I closed my eyes softly. “And that’s why I don’t know if I can believe.Andthat’swhy you shouldn’t say it.”

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