This chapter makes me smile that we finally got to this point ;-)

He pulls me down the hall, his fingers interlocked with mine, keeping me close to his side. Others stare from their doors, though the further in we go, the less clear their gazes become, and I wonder if this is where the truly insane hide. Jane Jolie's screams follow us, though by now they're nothing more than a soft echo at the back of our minds.

Even then, I can't help glancing over my shoulder—maybe more out of habit than anything—but I'm still waiting to be caught by an orderly. I'm not exactly sure what we're doing wrong, but anything with my green savoir seems scandalous and wrong…but only in the best of ways.

The tingles traveling from my fingertips and up my arm, electrify my heartbeat 'til it's racing so fast I'm not sure if my body will hold out. But his quick glance and soft smile filled with so much—dare I say—longing, keeps me on my feet and steadily fastened to his side. Though it takes much effort on my part that I'm panting with exertion, I keep up with his strides.

"Where are we going?"

Another glance. Another smile. "We're almost there."

There are only closed doors in this wing. Large, intricately carved old oak doors that loom down our path, marking each step we make. There are no patients. No crazy eyes to ask questions when words are too hard to speak. Until finally, he steps up to one of those fine looking doors and opens it, pulling me silently inside and locking us away from the horrors of the prison.

The room is an office of sorts. A large window overlooks the cliff that falls into the ocean, a dusty red cedar desk sits in front of it, surrounded by busy shelves and a leather couch near a forgotten fireplace. It feels familiar. The fingerprint swirls in the settled dust. The overturned books on the table flipped to random pages. The scattered papers and pens on the desk. Maybe it's because it reminds me of Dr. Black's office, though smaller in scale and nowhere near as grand.

"What is this room?"

My green savoir leans over the desk, his eyes following the words on the paper. "The only thing they let me keep."

"They?" I wander over to the couch, not by choice it seems. My feet carry me as if they know what to do more than I. The leather is worn with time, but the dust on one side is disturbed, pushed to the edges, forming the perfect shape for me to sit on.

My green savoir watches me with careful eyes. I hate it. I already miss the tiny glances and smiles. "The orderlies."

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Why not?"

I grimace at his roundabout answers. "Won't you tell me your name?"

"What do you call me in your head?" Another tiny smile, this one tinged as if he knows a secret I don't.

I shake my head no, my cheeks heating with red. "You know my name. It only seems fair that you give me yours."

He comes around the desk, stepping up to the couch so that his knees just barely brush against mine. "I've already given it to you."

I hold my breath in surprise, my eyes so wide they ache as I search my brain for a time when he spoke more than just a few words to me. "You have?"

His stare down at me is gentle with understanding as he sweeps his knuckles across my blush. "Yes, but I'm not surprised you don't remember with all those cocktails running through you."

"There isn't any in me now."

"I'm glad." When he sits next to me in a flurry of undisturbed dust, my body knows this is a first. "Before, I told you my secrets. My worries. My plans. My…desires."

I swallow. "I don't remember."

"I know." He takes his hand into mine again, interlocking our fingers, glancing down at our connection long enough that I wonder what he is thinking. "But since you don't remember, I'll tell you my name one more time."

"Yes…"

"Edward."