Hello folks! This was *supposed* to be the first TG chapter ever posted on a plane, but alas it is not (blame Southwest). So instead it's, if I'm correct, the first chapter posted outside of my home state and the first one posted from my kindle (and I was presumably successful if you're reading this now).

A/N: this isn't the *most* angsty and or violent chapter, but it's not the happiest either. The title is meant to be a bit of a bookend to the chapter How To Be Dead, because it brings that story arc to a close with...maybe not a happy ending, but an okay-ish one, and the chapter after this will be a little lighter. Warnings for mentions of alcohol abuse, self-harm, and suicide. No zonkeys. Nick and Elliot will be back next time. Title and quotes from how to save a life by the fray, other quotes from same mistake by james blunt, after all by dar williams, hold back the river by james bay, and how to be dead by snow patrol. Picks up right where the last chapter left off with Olivia and her non-creepy therapist.

Got thoughts? I love to hear them! And I love you!

{and so I sent some men to fight
and one came back at dead of night
said he'd seen my enemy
said he looked just like me}

"So now that whole- argument, discussion, whatever you want to call it- did it ever have a resolution?"

You shake your head. "No. Right then...obviously there was so much else going on and after that...well. It took me months to be able to even let him touch me if I wasn't fully dressed so, ah, not really relevant."

"And how did Brian react to that?"

"He's...oh god, he's been so patient. Really. He's never tried to push me- if anything, I've had to be the one convincing him that this is okay, that I'm okay with it."

"Are you okay with it?" Dr. Christiansen asks.

"Sometimes. It felt like things were starting to get better for us, just in general. I had promised Elliot that I'd really try to make it work-"

"With him? Or with Brian?"

Poor woman- it's not surprising that she's confused. You imagine trying to draw a diagram of your life, all your divided loyalties and broken connections and who's hiding what from whom, and you think it would look as messy and haphazard as this picture you once saw of a web spun by a spider on drugs. "With Brian. We'd decided, Elliot and I, that we needed to live our lives and focus on our relationships instead of...oh, it doesn't matter. It didn't last anyway. And that's my fault, I know it is. Ever since that whole thing with Elliot when we were at his house," you say, skirting around having to come up with the words to describe what 'that whole thing' really was, "it's all just gotten worse. I've gotten worse."

"Do you feel like you've bottomed out?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" You laugh mirthlessly, holding up your injured arm as Exhibit A.

"Can you tell me a bit more about how that happened? I know we touched on it when we talked in the hospital, but I'm still a little confused."

"Yeah, sorry about that, I was probably having a hard time keeping it all straight and honestly- I can't remember it all."

"That's understandable. Let's talk about what you do know."

"I went home early. But, ah, not by choice. I got into it with our ADA after we went to the jail to talk to a suspect."

{he smiles politely back at you
you stare politely right on through}

Two days earlier

"That was a direct threat. We should get you protection."

"No. I don't want to live like that," you say flatly, not waiting for him to catch up as you stride down the hall. Some low-level gangbanger wants to take you out? Go ahead, let him have a shot. You spot a restroom and nod toward it. "I'll just be a second."

You throw up, rinse your mouth out, and then wash it down with a little hair of the dog- all with expert precision. You're back out in the hallway in less than two minutes. "How many times a day do you do that?"

"Excuse me?"

Barba's got his hand on his hip, looking straight at you without blinking. "Drink."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"My old man was a raging alcoholic until the day he died. I know all the tricks."

"Congratulations. He would've hit it off great with my mother," you say, brushing past him. He reaches out for your upper arm to try and stop you, and he's barely even gotten a hold on your jacket but it's enough to pull the material tight against your skin and make you gasp in pain. "Fuck..."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...are you okay, Liv? Honestly?"

"Yeah. Fine."

"You didn't answer my question, though." Damn those lawyers, they can't ever let anything go.

"Look, I guarantee you I know just as much about drunks as you do and if I was an alcoholic, I sure as hell would know it. But I'm not. I can stop anytime I want to," and it sounds like an excuse, but it's true. You can stop, you go days without a single drink when it's only you and Nick at home- but lately you just haven't wanted to. "This is...I've never drank on the job before," and that's also the truth, but you know he doesn't believe you. "It's been a bad couple of days, that's all. I'm asking you, please, let's not make a big deal out of this."

He puts his hand in his pocket, and for a moment you're terrified that he's about to pull out his phone and call God knows who. "You still living with Cassidy?"

"What? Yeah- don't bother calling him, he won't answer. He's UC."

"Where's Nick?"

"Stalking his ex-wife in Washington. Don't ask," you add when he frowns in concern.

He looks down at his pocket and then up at you again, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "I'm about to be late for a meeting with a judge. Go home, get some sleep, do whatever you need to do but don't even think about going back to your office until tomorrow. When, I assume, you'll have everything under control again."

You're inwardly fuming at the way he's talking to you like an errant child, but he knows too many of your secrets for you to even think of arguing with him. "Yeah. Of course."

"I'm serious," he warns, signaling for a cab. "I'm calling Fin-"

"Are you-"

"-to make sure you don't show up there for the rest of the day. I'll tell him you're sick. Don't give me a reason to say any more."

{my mind is muddy but
my heart is heavy
does it show?}

Present day

"So you went home?"

"I did. And I know he meant well," you say, "but it was probably the worst possible thing I could've done right then, because I was all alone and angry and felt like shit."

"And let me guess, you kept on drinking."

You give her a self-deprecating little smirk. "I feel like you're really starting to know me. This is probably hard to believe, but I'm not kidding when I say that I'm not...this days-long binge drinking thing, this is maybe the third or fourth time in my life I've done this. It's honestly not a regular thing, but once I got started..."

"It's easier to keep going than to quit."

"Yeah. Exactly. I can't even tell you why I...it'd gotten way past the point of 'it helps me relax' or 'it puts me to sleep', because it was definitely doing the opposite of that by then. And like I said, I was feeling sick and assumed it was just the hangover from hell, so I was trying to fight that- not knowing it was because of the," and you point toward the burns on your upper arm, currently hidden by a thick dressing and multiple layers of clothing.

"Do you think there was a part of you that wanted to keep drinking in the hope that you'd pass out and not wake up?"

You're torn between laughing, screaming, and storming out of the room, so instead you do none of the above. "Here it comes again...I was waiting for that. What do I have to do in order to convince you I wasn't suicidal? I wasn't then, and I'm not now, and even if I had been- no. I've seen people who've died from alcohol poisoning, and that's a terrible way to go. Choking to death on your own vomit...no."

"Okay," she says in response to your adamant denial. "I believe you. I only asked because you said you weren't sure why you kept going, and I wondered if that might have played a factor."

"No. I didn't want to die. But..."

"But?"

"...I didn't really want to keep living, either."

{tried to keep you close to me
but life got in between
tried to square not being there
but think that I should've been}

Two days earlier

[I'm on my way], the text from Brian had read. You didn't reply. You didn't do anything. You didn't bother to clean up any of the messes you'd made in the last few days, from the dishes piled in the sink to the glass shards that were still scattered across the living room floor. You didn't brush your teeth and get rid of your empty bottles or do anything to hide the fact that you'd been drinking, and you didn't even get out of bed when you heard him unlock the door. Let him get pissed if that's what he's gonna do. You no longer give a shit.

"Liv? Are you- what the fuck? Liv?" You don't say anything; he'll find you soon enough.

He makes his way into the dark bedroom, calling your name again before switching on the lamp. "Jesus, Bri, there's a reason I had that off."

"Liv...what the hell are you doing? What happened?"

"What does it look like? Trying to get some rest. My head's killing me."

"I wonder why," he grumbles. "Seriously, what's going on? And where's Nick?"

"With his wife. What, did you two have an agreement that he was supposed to stay here and babysit me while you were gone?"

"If I knew all...this was going to happen, maybe I would've. What happened to 'I'm going to quit drinking'?"

You can't keep yourself from laughing. "A lot happened, Brian...and again, you missed it. You weren't here and you don't know, again, so don't start. Let's talk about you instead, huh?"

"Rather not," he says, sitting down on the side of the bed and rubbing the back of his neck while he makes a noise you think is meant to convey his supreme irritation with you.

"Okay then," you say, reaching out for his forearm because you didn't want to talk anyway. You'll settle for a quick fuck, anything so that when you pass out it won't be with the memory of a cold garage or a stranger's bathroom in your head. "No talking. Fine by me."

"What the he- Liv. No. No way. Go sleep it off."

Now it's your turn to make your own agitated noise, because he's been pissing you off since the moment he came home and this room is so hot and stuffy that you can barely breathe, it's like being in a fucking sauna and it makes you feel lightheaded and seriously, fuck him. "What, aren't you paranoid that I'll just go running off to Elliot if I don't get what I want?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he asks and you silently congratulate yourself because that sure as hell got him to turn around and pay attention. "You are un-fucking-believable. Really. I mean that." He goes into the bathroom and turns on the tap before he shouts over the sound of the water running. "You know what? Go ahead. Go fuck him. I. Don't. Care."

"Oh, you don't. Really?"

"Yeah. Really. If he's the type of dude who doesn't have a problem screwing you while you're a fucking wasted mess...shit, I can sure see the attraction there!"

You sit up so fast that it makes you dizzy. "Don't you fucking talk about him like that, I swear to God I...what're you doing?"

"What's it look like?" He's digging around in the closet now, dumping things out of his duffel bag and throwing random items into it without looking. "I'm not doing this with you tonight. I can't. I'm done."

Oh no no no. "So you're gonna go...where? You just got here and now you're leaving. Again. Well guess what? You say you're done...so'm I. I'm done. You walk out that door, don't bother coming back."

"You are the most manipulative little- don't say that if you don't mean it, Olivia."

"Oh, I mean it." I don't.

He nods, jaw set in a firm line. "You know what your problem is?"

"No."

"Know how you always say you're not your mother? Cause you're sure as hell turning into her."

You get up off the bed and storm toward him, your dramatic angry gesture spoiled somewhat when you had to reach for the wall to keep from falling down when you stood. "How would- you don't get to say that to me. You know nothing about her."

"I know enough."

"No. You don't. You have no idea how much she sacrificed for me, how- and who the hell are you to judge her anyway?"

"I'm not judging, believe me," he says, arms crossed with that bag still slung over his shoulder. "I've got plenty of sympathy for her. She was young, and on her own...it was a different time and she probably did the best she could with what she had to work with. But you. You're the one I'm running low on sympathy for, because you're too busy being angry to realize it doesn't have to be this way!"

"And you think you have the right to tell me how I should feel?"

"And you honestly think this is what she would've wanted for you?"

You look down at the hardwood floor, remembering «you're just another rape victim» and you brought this all on yourself. "No," you finally whisper. "She would...she was right. I should've let him kill me." You push back some strands of hair that are hanging in your face, damp with sweat, and you know you've gotta get out of here. "I need some air."

"Liv."

He tries to reach out and stop you but you're already gone, bolting out the front door as quickly as your bare feet and unsteady legs will allow. The elevator- it's too slow. He'll catch you. Better take the stairs. You turn and run in the opposite direction, toward the stairwell, ignoring the sound of his voice calling your name. He's looking toward the elevator, giving you an extra second before the sound of the metal door swinging open gets his attention. ,

You step onto the top stair.

Your ankle buckles as soon as you put your weight on it.

Your toes grip the concrete, trying to regain your balance, but you can't stop yourself from tumbling forward.

I don't want to die, you think as your head hits the floor.

{but baby let me explain something
it's all down to drugs
at least I remember taking them
and not a lot else}

"Liv. Liv! Can you hear me? No, don't move. Keep still, they're on their way."

Who's they? Someone's coming. I don't want to go. Am I dying? It's so bright. Am I dead already?

"You're not gonna die, Liv, you're gonna be fine. You're- Liv? Stay with me, okay? Can you squeeze my hand? Good, babe, that's good. Just hang on."

There's strangers here, two men and they're so loud, they're saying things you don't understand and then the one is reaching for your neck, he's got something in his hands and you start to scream-

"Liv, it's alright, you've gotta stay still. They're not going to hurt you, I promise."

But they're picking you up and carrying you away, you can't see Brian anymore and where are you going, why is he letting them take you, they keep talking and you still don't understand and all of a sudden there's a blast of cold air and snowflakes hitting your face and oh god, snow, that must mean you're still alive. But it only lasts for a second and then there's doors slamming, a car engine rumbling, and you know what this means.

"Hey! Don't- I don't give a shit, man, she's got PTSD and she's drunk and if you try and strap her down, I guarantee you she'll- Liv. Olivia. Listen to me."

They've taken Brian too, and you've got to warn him what's going to happen but you can't, they put something over your mouth and you're trying to pull it off, only Brian's grabbing onto your wrists so you can't and he doesn't understand, you have to tell him.

"Liv! Stop. You're okay. No one's going to hurt you, alright, but you've gotta stop fighting them. Please. I know you're freaked out but I'm trying to help you, okay?"

«you need help? I can help you» and nonono, why is he doing this, he's going to let them take you, and one of the strange men turns his head and when he looks back at you all you see is him and why isn't Brian trying to stop him?

"We're here, babe, it's gonna be alright. I'm gonna stay with you the whole time, I swear to God, okay?"

We're here. «someplace special.» Oh god, they're going to make Brian watch, just like you watched him torture Mrs. Mayer and nogodno, you know what happens now and you'll die before you let him see. «which way you want it? answer me. do it or I'll fuck both at once, I don't give a shit.» Now Brian's letting go of your hand and you don't know what's happening, where they're going to take him, and you're closing your eyes to block out all the light and the noise, there's more people talking now and none of them make sense but then Brian's back, oh thank god they didn't hurt him...

"Liv. Liv, listen to me, they're gonna give you something so you can calm down a little-"

«just a little something to get the party started» nonono. You try to scream but nothing comes out so you squeeze his hand as hard as you can, please god please don't let him do this to me again please...

"Jesus fuckin- goddamnit, man, she's gonna break my fucking hand here if you don't hurry up and-"

Silence.

{it seems I've stepped over lines you've drawn again and again
but if the ecstasy's in the wit is definitely out}

Everything is dark.

There are voices coming from somewhere, all sorts of noises competing to be heard, and then- Brian. The sound of his voice is going in and out, like a radio station with bad reception, but you can make out some of it.

"I know, I know you have to, but I'm getting really fu- tired of repeating myself. She fell. I didn't push her. I'd never...ask our neighbor. He saw me run after her-"

"No. Those were...I've been gone a few days, I don't know how the hell that happened but I know for sure those weren't there when I left. She scratches at her skin, at the scars...she'll pick at 'em until they bleed and then she'll go scrub herself raw but- no. I've never seen her burn herself, she doesn't like fire..."

"Look, I know I must seem like a shitty boyfriend but I have no idea- she's told me before she wishes she was dead but she never...I don't know what to do. She won't talk to me, she goes to see her therapist but she either lies to him and says she's fine, or else he's the worst shrink in history because...God, I don't know how to make it stop. She's never gonna talk to me, I know that, but the drinking and the fights...I feel like I've tried everything. I'm all out of ideas and every day it gets worse..."

You hear him talk but you don't comprehend what he's saying, not while you're still wrapped up in a fuzzy cocoon of half-oblivion. But he's nearby, and he's talking, and- wait. Who's he talking to?

Your eyes fly open as you sit up in a panic, and you're in an unfamiliar room and your legs are bare and you don't see Brian, and you've been drugged and when you try to move, something tugs at you and it's a needle in your arm that's keeping you from running, and-

"Hey! Liv, hey, stop. You're gonna yank that right out and-" Brian's got one hand wrapped around your arm, the other splayed out on your shoulder. "Stop. It's okay, sssh, you're okay. Stop."

There's someone else who comes rushing in, a young blonde woman, and there's an older dark-haired woman watching from the hall and you don't know who they are and when you try to ask the words just get stuck somewhere in between your brain and your mouth.

"I've got this- leave her alone, can you give her five goddamn seconds before you rush at her? Chrissake...Liv." His voice softens, slows down. "Everything's alright and you're gonna be fine, I promise. Look at me."

You shake your head, tugging at the ugly green hospital gown you've got on, horrified that someone undressed you (and what else?) while you were...did you black out? What'd they give you? What are they giving you now? Something to mess with your head. Everything hurts but you can't pinpoint where the pain is coming from and oh god. No. They didn't. You didn't...not again. The words are starting to coalesce in your head now, but your dry throat makes it almost impossible to get them out. "What...who. What happened?"

He sees the startled look in your eyes and the frantic way you're trying to cover yourself up, frowning at your rapid fire questioning until suddenly it clicks. "No, oh god, no. You don't remember? They gave you that to change into because what you had on was all torn up and bloody- nobody saw, nobody did anything, I promise. I was the only one in the room while you were changing. Swear to god."

"What did...they gave me something. Why. I don't want this," you insist, Brian's hand still on your arm so you can't reach the IV needle.

"They gave you a sedative before because you were having a panic attack, but this is just antibiotics. You...ah. While they were checking you out they noticed...those," and you had been so caught up in your fear that someone had undressed you that you hadn't even stopped to look at your upper arms, both of which were wrapped in a layer of that stuff you'd become all too familiar with after your last...incident. Shit. Oh shit. You can feel your face getting hot, feel the weight of Brian's stare as if his eyes could see straight through to your wounds. "Uh. They were getting infected...that's why you were running a fever and...yeah."

You know there's so much he wants to say and probably even more he wants to ask, but the blonde (who you've figured out must be a nurse) is still hovering behind him, doing a poor job of pretending to be unobtrusive. "Oh. I. Well...I."

"I'm sorry. Sir?" Blonde nurse is either out of patience or taking pity on you, trying to maneuver her way past Brian to get to your bedside. "If you wouldn't mind stepping outside for just a few minutes so I can get her checked out-"

"And what exactly are you doing that you have to kick me out for?"

You're still a little disoriented and more than a little anxious, so part of you wants him to fight to stay, but you also know you're probably going to get grilled by the nurse and you don't really want him there for that either. "Bri...you can wait right out there. Please?"

He squeezes your hand again and nods reluctantly before he walks out, leaving you sitting there alone while the nurse does something with the IV machine. "So, Olivia, do you remember my name?"

Uh. "No?"

She looks disappointed, and you hope she isn't taking this personally. "I'm Annie. You don't remember me introducing myself before?"

Why would you lie about that? "No."

She asks you some other trivia questions- where are you, what's the date, who's the president- and when she's satisfied with your answers, she gives you a Concerned Look. "Can you tell me why you're here?"

"I fell down the stairs," you say after a moment spent mentally retracing your evening. "Fuck. I tripped and..."

"Are you sure you tripped?"

"What? Yes. How much longer do I have to stay here?"

"Well. That's not up to me. Our psychiatrist will be here in a few minutes to chat with you and then we'll go from there."

"No. I don't need to...I'd been drinking, I lost my balance, and I fell. I don't need a shrink. I've already got one and I'll call him tomorrow so for the love of God, please just let me go home."

"Oh, you were drinking?" she asks, faking ignorance worse than anyone you've ever seen before. "Do you remember how much?"

You stare unblinkingly at her until she finally becomes the first to break eye contact. "Can you just go get this shrink now?"

Present day

"And then that's when you came in," you explain to Dr. Christiansen. "I heard her tell you I was being 'uncooperative'."

She smiles. "Do you think you were?"

"Yes," you say without hesitation. "I'm a terrible patient and I...I don't know what bothered me more, everyone assuming Brian pushed me or assuming it was something I did on purpose."

"Well, you know why we have to make sure it wasn't a DV incident, especially when your neighbor said he heard you fighting."

"And he also said he saw Brian run toward the stairs after he heard me fall. Now if only there was a way to prove I wasn't trying to kill myself, I'd be set, wouldn't I?"

"Olivia," she says, exasperated but firm. "I do believe you. If I didn't, I wouldn't have signed off on sending you home that night."

"You might believe me...but I don't think Brian does."

"Has he told you he doesn't?"

"No. We haven't really talked about it- or anything at all, I guess. It was late when we got home and then I slept through most of yesterday, and then this morning we got up and went straight here so...even when I was awake, he hardly said a word to me."

"Do you think he's angry, or that he's just unsure what to say?" she asks.

"I think he's angry. I think...he's pissed off thinking that I did this," you make a rolling motion with your hand to symbolize how you tumbled down the stairwell, "either as revenge, to make him feel guilty after he said he was leaving- or because I was just so upset, like I couldn't deal with the idea of not having him around. And neither is true." You also don't know which assumption you hate the most- that he would believe you were really that manipulative as to do the former, or that you were so utterly dependent that you'd rather die than be without him. 'I get that you're needy, but jesus,' you can hear Elliot's voice saying, and your hand clenches into a fist.

"Well- that's something you'd need to talk over with him, obviously. But without giving away too much of our conversation, I can tell you that wasn't the impression I got when I spoke to him."

"What did he say?"

"I don't think he was angry as much as he was concerned. I could tell that he was caught off guard by the burns- he wasn't expecting that- but I didn't get a sense of anger from him. Frustration, maybe."

"At me?"

She gives you this pointed look. "I think that's something you should be asking him, not me." You fight to keep yourself from saying that if it was really so simple, talking with him like that, then you probably wouldn't be sitting here right now. "He clearly cares a lot about you and wants to help- but he doesn't know how."

"What if I don't want his help?"

"Is that really how you feel?"

"Yes. No." Feeling your aching joints start to stiffen after sitting for so long, you gingerly pull yourself up off the couch and make your way over to the window, leaning against the wall for support. "I mean, if I hadn't fallen...I'm not sure if he'd even still be here. And now he's unpacked his stuff, but how long is that going to last? I don't want him to stay because he feels sorry for me or he's scared of what I might do otherwise, but if he's just planning on staying until he decides I'm okay enough for him to leave- I'd kinda like to know that. Because before all this, when he told me he was done...he was really pissed. I don't doubt that he meant it. And I guess I don't blame him either."

"Well. Again- that's going to be something the two of you need to discuss. But I'm wondering...before either of you make any major decisions about your relationship, maybe he needs to know what's really been going on with you."

"No. No, I can't," you say, shaking your head for emphasis because it's not going to happen. "There's no way I could...he can't find out. Not about Elliot, and not about the. No."

"But do you think-"

"I told you, no. Look, it took a hell of a lot for me to come here today and tell you all this, so don't push it, okay? I'm here. I'm talking. That's all you're getting out of me for now."

"No one's forcing you to do anything, I promise. And I understand this has been hard for you- but we've discussed a lot and you've been very honest with me, and that takes a lot of courage. I get that. So can we talk about where you go from here?"

You shuffle back to the couch, starting to feel dizzy from standing up even for such a brief period of time. "Not back to work, I know that much. I'm out for a few days until the doctor rechecks my head and says I'm good to go."

"That sounds like a good thing- you need that time to rest and get your strength back."

"I know, but I still hate it. Although I shouldn't...I should just be grateful. I'm lucky that I wasn't badly hurt. Or worse. I could've been like my mom, I could've landed in just the right way and that would've been it for me. I realize that. Even though it was an accident," you hurry to add. "The way things were going, it was inevitable that something would happen. And I can't say...I'm not going to pretend that I had this huge revelation or this big come to Jesus moment where I've realized how wonderful life is. I still wish that, when I was back in that cabin, I should've shot both of us when I had the chance. But I didn't. And now it's too late, so it's time to figure out what I'm going to do instead."

"Instead of dying."

You look down at your hands, flexing your fingers while you gather your thoughts. "That night- the other night, being in that hospital- it was terrifying. The whole thing. It felt like I was back where I started. Maybe it was even worse in some ways...I guess I can't really say for sure because I honestly don't remember much about the time I spent in the hospital after, ah. You know. And the parts I do remember, it all feels really numb, like I'm thinking about something that happened to someone else. I guess I was in shock and...well. This time I was more aware. Enough to be afraid, at least when I was awake and conscious, and-" You look back up, swallowing several times. "I know I'm the only one to blame for it all. That's the worst part. I can be angry at him, I can say to myself that if it wasn't for all that, I'd never be in this situation, but...ultimately, he didn't destroy me. I'm the only one who can- and I've come way too close to doing just that."

{and when I chose to live
there was no joy
it's just a line I crossed
it wasn't worth the pain my death would cost
so I was not lost or found}

"Hey Bri?"

He almost does a double take at hearing his name. The ride home from your appointment had been all but completely silent, and as soon as you walked through the door you had mumbled something about needing to lie down and headed toward the bedroom before having a sudden surge of bravery and turning back around. "Uh. Yeah?"

"I'm...there's a lot of things I want to say but...I don't know if you'll believe me."

"Oh?"

You head back into the bedroom and he follows you, taking your example and sitting down at the foot of the bed after you do. "I want you to know that I appreciate everything you've done for me these last couple of days. And I want you to know that...what I did, my intentions honestly were just to go get some air. It wasn't on purpose."

"Yeah, but those were." He points toward your arms, careful not to touch.

"I never said they weren't."

"I just don't understand why. All of this happens and...I think, what'd I miss? It's like all this time you're either hurting so much more than you let on, or else I've just been stupid enough to think it's all going to get better any day now."

"You're not stupid. It's...it's complicated."

He snorts. "Thanks. That helps me a lot to figure it out."

"I'm not asking you to...Brian, you can't save me."

"Yeah. I might be dumb, okay, but I'm not that dumb." He leans back on his hands, shakes his head. "You've gotta save yourself. I know by now there's no making you do anything you don't wanna do."

"You think I don't want to?"

"I dunno. I think you tell me what you think I wanna hear."

Well, he's not wrong about that. "What if this time is different? This is...what I meant when I said I didn't know if you'd believe the things I wanted to tell you."

"Can you blame me?"

"...No."

He turns to look at you for the first time since this conversation began. "So what is it? I mean, what's different this time?"

"I realized you're right. About me becoming like...I realized that my mom, for all her bullshit about how she should've just let him kill her- in the end, that's really what happened. She let him lead her to this slow death and...I'm not going to give anyone that kind of power over me. It's still my life and I'm ultimately the only one in control. But," you add, pausing when your voice starts to crack, "I don't want you to think I'm only saying this to keep you from leaving. And I don't want you staying because you feel obligated, or because you're afraid of what'll happen otherwise. Because I'll be okay."

He scrubs his hand over his face a few times and then sits up straight, tentatively reaching one arm out. It takes a moment for you to realize what he's doing, but as soon as you do you're leaning into his embrace, chin hooked over his shoulder. "I know you will. But I'm not going anywhere."

"Really?" you ask, embarrassed by your surprised tone and the tears that spring to your eyes.

"Well...yeah. We've made it this far, haven't we?"

You laugh at that- a nervous, relieved laugh- but you can't ignore how something in your heart is telling you this is only a temporary relief. That this is the beginning of the end, and that you need to start letting go so that when the time comes and he's walking out that door for real, you won't be running out after him. Because that time will come and you can't still be needing him this much when it does.

But for now...

"You gonna try and get some rest?"

"Uh- yeah, I guess." You look toward your pillow, weighing your options. "Will you, um...would you do something for me? Will you go get the paper and read for a while?"

He nods and you flash him a little appreciative smile. It was something he would do to fill the silence in those first couple of weeks afterward- sit next to you and read aloud from the newspaper. It was comforting, hearing his voice without having to hold your own end of a conversation, and he could filter the content of what you heard easier this way than with the TV. Nothing violent, nothing sad, just fluff human interest pieces and decorating tips and book reviews. Not that you ever paid attention to the words anyway- it was just a reminder that you were here and safe and not alone.

By the time he comes back, you've changed into a t-shirt and sweats and laid down on top of the comforter. He sits down next to you and hums to himself as he examines the front page. "Here we go. "The Pope And His Little Car."

{hold back the river let me look in your eyes
hold back the river so I can
stop for a minute and see where you hide}