When Sayid stumbled back into camp, his head bleeding and radio-related equipment smashed, I started to feel a little bit on edge. Joanna had died in a stupid accident, but this was undisputable violence. It freaked me right out. Maybe he –Sawyer, though I didn't like to think of him by name- had been right. Maybe it was best for me to stay close to Jack and people like him, people who would protect me.

And then along came Boone, with a name burning on his lips, hated.

"What happened?" Jack asked

"Sawyer." He coughed, bloody. I gasped as though I'd just been slapped. I stood up, wanting desperately to run to him, or to run away from this situation, just to run. But I couldn't. There was nowhere to go, no excuse to go off by myself. And I was afraid. Not afraid of him. No, no, no I wasn't afraid of him. He wasn't dangerous for me. I wasn't afraid of him. I kept telling myself these things, these lies, but still I couldn't leave the safe, dim camp. I couldn't do it.

I sat back down, against a wall of rock, and bunched my knees up to my chest. I sat there, rocking slightly, and became more and more agitated as Boone regaled us with the story of Shannon's asthma and how Sawyer . . . Sawyer had her goddamned ventolin. I felt sick, especially when I looked at the poor girl, pale and terrified and wheezing. I had asthma when I was little, but I'd grown out of it so fully that I hadn't carried an inhaler in years. I still remembered how scary it could be, though. The worst feeling in the world. Imagine you have your lips wrapped around a straw, and your nose plugged. Now, it's a wide straw, and if you work really hard you can get almost enough air through it. But it's tightening, and the more it tightens the more you panic, and the more you panic the faster it tightens. People all around you are telling you to calm down, relax, take big, deep breaths. But you know it's only going to get worse and worse until that straw has sealed up completely. You cough weakly, because it feels like maybe you can get rid of the straw if you do. Your chest is tightening around your lungs as though your ribcage is one big vice, and your lungs themselves are like little balloons that somebody is trying to blow up, but the constriction doesn't let them expand far enough.

I shook my head, snapping out of the horrible imagery, because I myself was starting to feel the slight stirrings of an attack, just thinking about one. I felt a terrible rage consume me at the thought that Shannon was going through this and Sawyer could stop it, but wasn't willing to. I wasn't alone in feeling this way.

Jack headed off towards the beach, the look on his face scaring me a little. I followed after him, a few minutes later, as inconspicuously as possible. Part of me really didn't want to, but I couldn't help myself. By the time I got to the beach, it was clear they'd just had a big testosterone-filled moment, but Kate arrived seconds before me and eased the tension. Of course. Kate. Their favourite opiate.

I stood in the bushes silently as Jack stomped off. Actually, he stomped closer to me, so that after Kate followed him, I could hear their conversation clearly. I prayed they wouldn't see me.

"I'm going to kill him." Jack seethed. I clenched my jaw unwillingly.

"That's not going to help us get the medicine."

"Maybe not, but it'll feel good."

"So, what's stopping you?"

"We're not savages, Kate. Not yet."

"Let me talk to Sawyer."

"What makes you think he's going to listen to you?"

"He says we have a connection."

"Do you?" No. No, no, no, they don't. I lied to myself, again.

Kate rolled her eyes, all insulted-like. "Please."

I went back towards the cave. I couldn't bear to see the two of them and their connection. To be honest, I couldn't even bear to see him right now. I didn't know what to think, but he was acting like a monster. A bad person. Before today, I hadn't believed it for a second, I'd thought he had good in him, deep down. He did. He brought me my platypus and worried about me when he'd seen me crying. So why was he such an asshole to the rest of the world?

I took my time getting back to the caves, just wandering through the jungle and stopping to watch centipedes and stuff every once in a while. Until I heard voices. First, Sayid's pleasantly smooth accent.

"Jack, what will happen if she doesn't get the medicine?" A long pause, silence. "Then we have to make Sawyer give it to us."

"Yeah, that's what I'm going to do."

"No, not you, me. I served for five years in the Republican Guard."

"I thought you were a communications officer."

"Part of my training entailed getting the enemy to communicate." My stomach squeezed in a sharp cramp of fear. "Just give me ten minutes with him. He'll give us the medicine." Another long pause, doubtful. Say no, Jack. Talk about how we're not savages. Say no. "Is that a yes?" Sayid said dryly.

"Yes."

I ran, then. I didn't much care if they heard me, they wouldn't see me in the dim jungle. I ran as fast as I could, ran until my chest ached and threatened me with long-dormant asthma. I stopped in front of Sawyer's tent. He was sleeping. I was afraid to wake him, but I had to. Had to warn him. but if I warned him . . . I'd be taking the element of surprise away from Jack and Sayid, of course. He might end up hurting them. He was the bad guy. He had asked for this. Wouldn't it be beyond wrong to ruin their necessary plan? But . . . turmoil tore through me, panicking me.

"Sawyer?" I said quietly, not yet really deciding whether I wanted to wake him. He slept on. Maybe I could go through his things, find the medicine, and then they wouldn't have to hurt him.

Sayid appeared, a few metres away from me, and walked purposefully towards Sawyer. He picked up a big metal pipe on the way. I put a hand over my mouth, suddenly terrified not only for Sawyer but for myself. Jack was wrong, these people were capable of being savages. I had this irrational fear that if I screamed or even gasped, Sayid would use that pipe on me, too. It was stupid, of course. He would never hurt innocent little Cammy. But still, I was held in place by terror and did my best to contain myself when Sayid whacked Sawyer over the head with the pipe. I only jumped a little, and my tears were soundless. Jack was soon there, and the two of them dragged Sawyer away. I followed, yet again. What would they do to him? Maybe I could do something, anything, to convince them to stop. Maybe . . .

They tied him to a tree in the middle of a big clearing. Far enough away that no one would hear his screams, I thought involuntarily. He was still unconscious . . . until they splashed water on his face, drenching his hair and waking him. I just stared at him, soaking wet and momentarily disoriented, until he spoke. I didn't hear the words, just the tone. He was scared, defensive, angry as hell. I bit down on a knuckle, hard, to keep from making noise. Not hard enough to draw blood, that's a load of BS given to us in books and movies and whatever else. People don't bite themselves –or others- hard enough to draw blood, unless they're a freaking vampire. I thought of this now, because I tried, for a moment, to break the skin. I wanted to leave a mark, wanted to take my excess emotion out on myself in a dramatic way. Maybe enough to distract myself from the scene in front of me. And it didn't work; I could only leave little purple dents.

"It doesn't have to be this way." Jack said, desperately looking for an out, for himself. He didn't want this. I still hated him for doing it.

"Yeah, it does." Sawyer said. Why? Why does it have to come to this, Sawyer? You big, stupid, masochistic asshole! Why? I wanted to scream it all at him, but I didn't.

And then it started. Bamboo under his fingernails. The screaming only went on for five, maybe ten seconds, but it was enough to shatter my resolve. I took a step or two forward, prepared to run into that clearing and stop the torture. But Jack called Sayid off. The screaming paused, leaving Sawyer panting but refusing to admit anything.

"No, don't stop now. I think my sinuses are clearing."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Jack shouted, aghast.

"Perhaps losing an eye will loosen your tongue." Sayid warned, the tip of his blade dancing around Sawyer's temple. I knew he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't go that far. Sawyer didn't seem to know that, though.

"Okay, okay."

But it wasn't that simple. He had to find another way to break my heart. Another direction to slice it along. I ended up feeling it, or at least, vividly imagining it, as his words gasped out.

"The only person I'll tell is her."

"Kate?" Jack knew.

"That's the deal."

And I heard it, too. The wet, meaty tear as the bottom of my heart was ripped unevenly away, leaving so much raw and exposed and in agony.

Sayid and Jack left. To go get Kate. Miraculously, I contained my tears, pretended my heart was whole, even though the man I loved –and yes, the realization had just hit me with the heartbreak. Simultaneously.- had just been tortured, and on top of that, asked to see her. Yes, somehow, I kept it all under wraps. For now. And I stepped forward, out of my hiding place.

"Sawy . . . .Sawyer." I literally felt like I was choking on the word. It pulled the top of my stomach upwards with it and squeezed through my throat.

"Cammy? What the fuck are you doing here."

I shrugged, the words not yet formed in my mouth.

"You didn't just . . . aw, Thursday, did you just see . . ."

I nodded.

"You're not going to be, like, traumatized for life after seeing that display of violence, are you?'

I shrugged again. "Are you going to be alright?"

"Don't you go and care about me, Thursday. I deserved what I got."

"Why do you . . . why do you do it? Couldn't you just give it to them? That poor woman . . ."

"Thursday . . .I don't even have . . ." He started, but worthwhile words had just popped into my head, so I interrupted him.

"You can stop calling me Thursday. I've changed my fucking underwear." Okay, at least it seemed worthwhile and important, in my head.

He laughed. "Well, what day of the week is it now?"

"I guessed Saturday."

"Now, that just doesn't have the same ring to it."

"Why are you so cheerful? You've just been tortured."

"Cammy, I want you to get out of here now. Just go." He said, unexpectedly.

I nodded. "Alright . . . are you going to . . . never mind." I didn't want to know why he had requested Kate. I think I had a pretty good idea in my head already.

"Don't take it personally, Cammy." He said quietly

"Of course not." I said, just as quietly as him. Then I walked away. Back into the jungle, sort of slowly. I heard voices behind me, they grew quieter and quieter as I walked.

"So I'm here. Where is it?"

"Happy to tell you, as soon as I get that kiss."

"What? Are you serious?"

"Baby, I am tied to a tree in a jungle of mystery. I just got tortured by a damn spinal surgeon and a genuine Iraqi. Of course I'm serious. You're just not seeing the big picture here, Freckles. You really going to let that girl suffocate because you can't bring yourself to give me one little kiss? Hell, it's only first base. Lucky for you I ain't greedy."

"Okay." She said. I quickened my pace, not looking back. His reply was so faint, and I was so far away by this point, I could hardly make it out.

"Okay."

I broke into a run.