I fight it. I will not go down that road.

But when I drag myself upstairs and into my room, my legs tremble and I can only hold back the urge to run for a few steps before the flight impulse kicks in and I launch myself onto my bed, cursing under my breath when the bed frame bellows an earsplitting creak in protest.

I’ve been sitting in my dark room staring at my ceiling for a good half hour when I hear Reese shush Jay as they tiptoe by my room. I’m never going to get a better chance than this. I peek out the crack in my door, and as soon as they’re out of sight, I follow them, my feet silent on the runner carpet.

Their door is open just an inch or two and loud voices sound from inside as hangers audibly slide along the metal closet rod.

“I’ll take a cab—if Daniel calls … tell him I’m ill.”

“We should tell Tave first,” Jay says, sounding weirdly serious.

“I can’t. I can’t—” Her voice breaks off, and even after everything that’s happened the last few days, I’m shocked to realize she’s crying! Strong, nearly emotionless Reese. “You do not understand what it was like last time. I won’t put her or myself through that again. I have to be sure before we do this. I have to know it’s him.”

“Sammi—”

“Don’t, Jay,” she hisses.

“Samantha.” The word is a whisper, but Reese doesn’t retort. “Come here.”

When he speaks again, his words are muffled, and in my mind’s eye he’s holding her, his face buried against her neck.

“Whatever you need,” he says. “Just tell me what to do.”

My hands are shaking as I back away and flee to my bedroom. Tell me what to do. The same words Benson said to me a few hours ago. I don’t like the comparison.

I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, trying not to cry. I’m so sick of being helpless in my own life. No one will tell me anything; I’m trying to figure everything out on my own with only half the information I need. I hate this!

I blink into the darkness as a thought occurs to me.

Forget this waiting-for-Quinn crap. I know where he lives—tomorrow I’ll go to him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

My lungs ache—I can’t breathe.

Wake up!

Wake up!

Finally the dusky gray of sunrise pierces through my eyelids and I sit straight up, gasping for air. My head spins and an ache lingers in my chest as I suck in breaths as fast as I can.

The drowning dream again. Again I was flailing about in desperation, reaching out for things.

But it makes a little more sense now; I’m reaching for things I made. Just like the ChapStick and pencil and water. I’m trying to save myself—to survive. My brain figured it out before I did.

I blink away the murky blackness of the water and my room swims into focus, illuminated by the just-rising sun. My nightgown is damp with sweat, but I’m so cold I can’t feel my toes or fingers. I stagger to the bathroom and scalding water pours over my trembling limbs for several minutes before I can feel all my digits.

Then I remember. Reese is leaving today.

Samantha. I raise my face to the steaming shower and try to let the water wash Jay’s voice away.

Downstairs, Reese and Jay are having coffee: Reese getting ready for the cab to take her to the airport, Jay to go to a normal day of work.

Despite the storm last night, the day is bright and clear, the sun shining. Perfect—I’m going on a long walk today.

I hide upstairs, waiting for both of them to clear out. It’s cowardly, I know, but I’m going to need all my courage to deal with everything else in my life. Finally I hear the clack of the front door and that unmistakable thud of the dead bolt turning.

They’re gone.

I tiptoe to the end of the hallway and pull the edge of the curtain back with a tentative finger, watching them share a goodbye kiss—that makes me feel conflicted all over again—before Jay heads up the street on foot and the yellow cab rolls in the other direction.

My chest loosens and I breathe easily for the first time since … I don’t even know.

When I’m dressed and ready, I go downstairs and see a pot of coffee with two or three cups still warm in the bottom. I grit my teeth against the thought that it was a considerate gesture. I switch off the burner plate and wish that switching off my brain—or better yet, my problems—was so easy.

But a note on the refrigerator incinerates that wish.

Dr. Stanley, 10:00. Don’t forget!

As if I could.

When I reach for my house key, my hand pauses at the sight of Reese’s key chain hanging innocently beside it.

I reach out a finger to touch the enormous key ring—Reese has more keys than my old high school janitor, I swear—and my fingers begin to tremble as all sorts of possibilities race through my mind.

Terrifying possibilities.

I don’t take the keys.

Not yet.

As I stand on the porch, a cold wind cuts through my hoodie and I almost unlock the door again to grab a windbreaker. Despite the clear, sunny sky, the wind is unusually frigid. But it’s not that far, and as I make my way down the sidewalk, I realize the bitter wind is eating away at the fog that has enveloped my thoughts all morning.

Better than coffee.

I almost pull up short when I see Sunglasses Guy again. Once is nothing, twice could be a coincidence. Three times? I don’t think so. And I am nowhere near Park Street or Elizabeth’s office. He’s just standing there, leaning against the sign for the rarely used bus stop about two houses down, but I’m not fooled. He’s watching me.