Page 56 of Peripheral Vision

TWO WEEKS LATER

The room was dark, and I could hear the footsteps pacing up and down the hallway, taunting me as they did every night I’m in this godforsaken place. Time is a construct. I have no way of telling what day of the week it is, but it didn’t matter anyway. They used me for whatever they wanted whenever they wanted, and sometimes didn’t care if I was conscious enough to do so. His whistling cuts through the sound of pacing feet outside the door and I tryto make myself as small as possible in the corner of my room, but it’s no use. They drag me out, drag me down the hall to his office before securing my limbs tightly to the table, face down.

“Stop—please!” I cry out. “Please, I’ll do anything you want. Just not this, not again!”

“It’s only you and me today.” And I knew that meant it was the worst kind of punishment. “Dylan, Dylan, Dyl?—”

“Dylan! Dylan, wake up!” My eyes snap open as I recoil against the headboard, my chest heaving as I try to remember where I am. “It’s okay, you’re safe. It was just a dream,” Fletcher says softly, his hands raised in surrender.

My gaze darts around the room, my hands gripping the bed sheets below my chin as I anchor on the familiar—the dresser, the lamp, Alaska, his face. The realization creeps in slowly, but finally the panic begins to ebb. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Fletcher says, his tone steady but tinged with pain. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I immediately shake my head. “I can’t. But it felt so… real.”

“Because you lived it,” he acknowledges.

Tears sting my eyes, and I look away, ashamed. “I feel broken.”

“You’re not broken, little viper. You’re hurt. I know they call it PTSD in all kinds of therapy but it’s really more like PTSI. You don’t have a disorder, you have an injury. And all injuries need healing.” His voice is filled with quiet conviction and for a moment I let them hang there, trying to believe them.

It’s been two weeks since I returned home with Fletcher and Nathan, and since then I haven’t had a solid night of sleep. I started going to therapy only to appease Thea and my landlords, but I couldn’t honestly say if it was helping one way or the other. I dropped out of school, unable to find a way to focus on anything besides the constant reminders of the past. My phone would buzz with messages from friends who didn’t understand, Lacey in particular, asking when I’d be coming back or if I was okay, but what was I supposed to tell her? That the rumors were all true? That she wasright, and it cost me so much more than I could ever get back? And then there was Fletcher. Fletcher was changed just as much by my circumstances as I was, but in a different way.

He’s been staying at my house, sleeping on the couch, and has been patient and understanding. He was completely different from the man I was introduced to all those weeks ago. The quiet way he watched over me made me feel less alone, but it didn’t take away the shame, the fear that one day I would fall apart completely. There were a few moments where it felt like maybe we were heading in the right direction, back to normal, or as normal as our normal could be, but then I’d be sucked back into a memory, and it wouldn’t matter. I never did meet with the FBI either, maybe I would eventually, but until I can talk about it without having a panic attack, they are out of luck. A part of me feels guilty for it, but Nathan also reassured us that they have enough evidence to take down several other regions, so it isn’t all for nothing.

“What do you think your sister would have been like after, if you ever found her?” I glance over at Fletcher, to where he’s now leaning against the wall of my bedroom.

He blinks, clearly caught off guard, and I can feel the shift in the air as he relaxes his posture, his expression unreadable. I hadn’t meant to bring it up, but the thought had been plaguing me, and I couldn’t help myself. I keep wondering how people like me… or people who have been through what I’ve been through and worse, reintegrate into society. For a few minutes, he doesn’t speak, and I can tell he’s trying to choose his words carefully, as if he isn’t used to talking about her out loud to anyone. As if it was the first time he had spoken about her when he brought her up the morning after my rescue.

He shifts a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I’ve spent so many years imagining it, but I never really came up with anything concrete. I would like to believe that she would’ve been strong, you know? Like, she’d have to be. But I think she would have had a softness to her too, a way to see the good in people even aftereverything. I think I always imagined her having this balance—tough on the outside, like me… but still able to feel, to care, without becoming jaded. It’s probably a dream, honestly. I don’t think anyone can come out of something like that without scars.”

I nod, chewing on his words, the silence stretching between us. It’s strange, talking about her like this; like she’s a real person and not just some ghost from his past that has haunted him for so long. “Why did you never tell me about her? I mean, before… everything. You make it sound like you guys were close and that Dad knew her too, so why didn’t she ever come around when you were around?”

He shrugs. “She was off being a teenager. Had her own life, her own friends. She didn’t need me around all the time, and contrary to what I made it sound like, she wasn’t apt to hang out with the older guys all the time.”

“I’ve been wondering,” I begin, “if she would’ve… liked me. Or hated me. I don’t know why that’s been in my head, but it makes me wonder if our circumstances were different if we would even be… here. If we would be together.”

“Are you saying we’re together, little viper?” He raises his eyebrow, his voice laced with teasing amusement.

I frown, unsure of how to answer. Everything is still so complicated between us, and I still have so much to work through. “I mean, I don’t know. I guess. It’s just… sometimes I think about how things could’ve been different you know? How different we’d be if Dad hadn’t died or your sister hadn’t gone missing.”

He walks over to the bed, sitting on the end of it, as far away from me as he can get. “Maybe that’s exactly why we’re together, then. Not despite everything, but because of it.”

I look away, feeling a knot in my stomach, except this one isn’t one of dread. “I don’t know that I believe in destiny or fate.”

“Doesn’t matter what you believe in,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “What matters is what’s real between us now. The rest doesn’t change anything. Not if we’re here, together as you say.”

“You make it sound sosimple, but it’s not.”

He extends a hand out toward me, resting it on top of the covers. “No, it’s not simple. Nothing about us has been or ever will be. But sometimes the best things come from the mess.”

“And what if we’re not meant to work?” I ask.

“I don’t think it’s about being meant to work. Nothing ever works without effort. I think it’s about whether we want to try. But listen carefully, little viper, don’t ever mistake me when I say that there isn’t a damn thing in the world that could change the way I feel about you. There is no option but you. No matter what happens, you’re the only one I’ll ever want.”

I smile, although I know it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “There’s one other thing I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

“Anything.”

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