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The first time I set foot on shore, I felt this weird sense of relief and absolute terror at the same time. Lara did too, I think. The expression on her face was harder than usual, and that says something.
It's just... on the boat we were safe. No-one could get to us. Our own little island, if you will. And now we were out on the open again, everyone could reach us, anything could happen.
When medical personnel came to pick us up, I was afraid Lara would go crazy, that she would scream and fight and run as strangers' hands guided her away.
But she didn't.
She took my hand and waited, face blank, for them to come. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't pry my hand free. Her grip was absolute, not meant to be let go.
I think it reassured her as much as it did me, maybe even more.
I had never really noticed before, but her hands used to be soft, slender. They were rough and warm now, full of cuts and scrapes, twitching ever so often.
She looks at them sometimes and I can almost see her wondering. 'Are these the hands of a killer?'