Willow

Willow was sure that she had perfected the technique of pretending to pay attention in class when her thoughts were completely elsewhere. She knew how to make it look like she was industriously taking notes when she was doing nothing more than scribbling, she knew how to make it look like she was following along in the text even when her book was open to the wrong page, and she knew how to nod along at key moments to make it look like she was listening.

But somehow those dubious skills seem to have deserted her. Because today, Willow knows that it’s all too obvious to anyone who cares to look, that although she may physically be in French class, her mind is far from present.

She can’t stop thinking about what happened in the stacks. She can’t stop thinking about what happened with David the night before that, and she can’t stop wondering how she will behave, how she shouldbehave the next time that she sees either Guy or her brother.

At least she’d been given a small reprieve with David. When she’d finally gone home the night before, dreading the confrontation that she was sure would take place, Cathy had reminded her that David had gone to yet another conference, and wasn’t due back until much later today. As for Cathy, she hadn’t said much of anything to her about the whole mess. She’d already expressed her feelings in her note, and Willow was grateful that she clearly didn’t see the need to discuss it any further.

Willow is sure that when she sees David again, things will be very uncomfortable, but she’s nowhere near as sure of what seeing Guy will be like. There’s no reason that things shouldn’t be fine, better than fine, actually . . . except for the fact that she herself is far from fine.

Willow closes her eyes as unbidden images of their afternoon wash over her. It is impossible to think of their day together with unmixed emotions: It was wonderful to talk to him. She should never have talked to him about how she became a cutter. It was wonderful to kiss him. It was terrifyingto kiss him. It was incredibly moving to hear about his hopes and fears. She’s not strong enough to take on someone else’s pain.

Things were simple before she met him. There was the accident, and there was the razor. Life revolved around both of them. Now things are far from simple.

Maybe she just needs a little time to sort things out. Who’s to say that she’s going to see him today anyway? This is her last period, he may or may not be outside afterward, he’s never called her or anything, she’s the one . . .

This time it doesn’t bother her, though. It is absurd to her that after everything that’s happened, all she can think about is Will he call or should I call him first?It’s the sort of thing that she and Markie used to spend hours obsessing over. For a second she feels just like a regular girl again.

Class ends and she leaves the room with everyone else. She looks over her shoulder as she walks down the hall, both relieved and disappointed that he doesn’t seem to be around.

There are plenty of students milling around on the pavement outside school, but again, no Guy. Willow does see Laurie and Chloe, however, and she walks over to them.

“So, whaddya think?” Laurie smiles at Willow as she pivots on one heel. Willow is confused for a moment until she realizes that Laurie is asking about her new shoes.

“You should have come with us,” Chloe joins in. “They had a lot of great things on sale. I got two pairs, but I’m not wearing either of them today,” she adds as Willow glances over at her feet.

“The same ones as Laurie, only I promised not to wear mine until next year when we’re at different schools.” Chloe makes a rueful face. “And then a pair that are way too fancy to wear to school, but they’re really great. Black. Superhigh. Super strappy.”

“We’re headed to the park right now,” Laurie says. “No money left to do anything else. You want to hang out with us today?”

“Sure,” Willow responds after a few seconds. This is probably exactly what she needs. No scenes with her brother, no rehearsing those scenes beforehand, no wondering about Guy and how things are going to proceed with him, just hanging out in the park and talking about nothing more emotionally demanding than shoes. Perfect.

“So, did you ever get that internship you were interviewing for?” Willow asks Laurie as they cross the street and start walking toward the park.

“Haven’t you figured out by now that it’s dangerous to ask her questions about stuff like that?” Chloe says, kicking a stone out of her path.

Willow looks at Chloe with a question in her eyes, which quickly turns to a shared grin as Laurie launches into a diatribe regarding the pros and cons of working for a recommendation versus working for cash.

“I mean, it would look so good if I had that kind of experience.” Laurie chews on her lower lip fretfully. “But I’d love to have some money right now. Especially now, since I spent practically everything I had the other day. The thing is, though, I don’t even know if I’ve gotten the internship. I’m supposed to hear this week—”

“It sure does.” Willow doesn’t remember Andy’s arms at all, but she has to agree with Chloe. Rowing really does give people amazing arms. She turns her head away, aware that not everyone finds blushing sweet. “Are you . . . interested in him?” Willow asks after a moment.

“Maybe you should give him more of a chance,” Laurie interjects. “After all, we hardly know him any better than Willow does.”

“No, he’s not new or anything like that,” Chloe says as they enter the park. “We just never really spent any time with him before.”

“He used to go out with the most horrible girl,” Laurie adds as they all sit down on the grass. “Elizabeth something or other. She left last year, though.” She takes off her new shoes and starts rubbing her feet. “I shouldn’t have worn these two days in a row.”

“Yeah, it’s sort of like a worrisome sign that he’s interested in me after her.” Chloe represses a shudder. “I mean, am I like Elizabeth in any way?” She looks at Laurie.

“I don’t know.” Chloe shrugs. “You just seem to have stuff that people need, like when we were here with Andy and you had those handy wipey things.”

“Oh.” Willow nods. She wonders if Chloe notices that it’s a rather odd assortment of things that she carries around with her, far more unusual than the nail polish and other paraphernalia that Chloe obviously packs. She feels exposed, guilty even, like a heroin addict who’s been caught with her works.

“Anyway, getting back to Andy—Ouch!” Laurie exclaims as she pops a particularly nasty-looking blister. “Don’t make up your mind about him yet, who knows, he may turn out to be okay. I’m sure that when Adrian shows up, he’ll be tagging along and—”

“Adrian is showing up?” Willow blurts out. She doesn’t know why that surprises her. It makes total sense, obviously he and Laurie are together but . . .

“I’m pretty sure that Guy will be coming with them,” Laurie says, as if she can read Willow’s mind. “Because I know that he was going with Adrian on whatever errand it was he had to do.”

“That should be good though, right?” Laurie looks at Willow. “I mean, and don’t give me a hard time, Chloe,” she says as the other girl starts to speak. “You do like him, right? I didn’t mean to bother you the other day, but, c’mon, tell us.”

“Yes,” Willow says. “I like him.” Privately she thinks how bland and pallid the word likeis as a way to describe her feelings. But as much as she might feel for him, she hopes that he won’t show up. She was expecting some time alone to sort things out, she wasn’t counting on their first meeting after the stacks being in mixed company.

“Now he’ssomeone to have interested in you.” Chloe leans forward, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, don’t worry.” She touches Willow’s arm. “I’ve known him for three years and nothing . . .” She shrugs eloquently.

“And no Diet Cokes.” Chloe groans. “Maybe I can get Andy to go find one of those hot dog carts. There’s usually a couple in the park, somewhere. It shouldn’t take him too long.”

Her hands tremble a little and she drops the box of Band-Aids in the grass. She curses under her breath, annoyed at herself for being so flustered. Well, at least now she doesn’t have to wonder how she’ll feel when she sees Guy.

“Sssh!” Laurie elbows Chloe in the ribs. “He thinks everyone is that way. Please,it took me monthsto train him, don’t go giving him any ideas.” She stops talking as they come within hearing distance.

Willow watches Adrian give Laurie a kiss. She feels rather than sees Guy sit down across from her. She shoves the Band-Aids back into her bag. There should be nothing awkward about this. He’s someone she really likes, and unless she’s completely mistaken, he likes her too, so what’s the big deal? There’s nothing so unusual about that.

“Hi,” Guy says to Willow. He smiles at her. Not the same way that he’s smiled at her when they’ve been alone. There’s nothing particularly intimate about it, but it is genuine.

“Anyone else want anything?” Andy interrupts as he moves between her and Guy. He not only cuts her off verbally, but physically as well. “What about you, Willow?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing for me.” Willow knows that he’s just trying to be nice, but still, she finds him irritating. Did he have to get in the way like that?

Now Willow has her chance to smile at Guy, but he’s too busy looking in his backpack for something to even notice. As he shifts things around, Willow can see the blue leather corner of The Tempeststuck in there among his other books. The sight of it makes her feel better. He wouldn’t really be carrying it around unless it meant something to him, would he? Unless shemeant something to him?

He looks up suddenly, their eyes meet, and she can’t help it, she starts to blush. Willow glances away for a second, embarrassed, but then turns to him, determined to get over her awkwardness and to finally say hello. Only, as she looks at him, it is impossible not to think about everything that happened. The memory of what it was like to kiss him washes over her, blotting out the here and now. His features become fragmented, images of their time in the stacks are suddenly superimposed over his face.

Willow’s blush deepens as she remembers grabbing his hands, forcefully grabbingthem and placing them on her breasts. And then, as if that weren’t bad enough, she remembers starting to cut in front of him. She can’t think about these things right now—it would be one thing if they were alone together, but surrounded by everyone else? Willow drops her head in her hands for a second, as if by covering her eyes, she can blot out the pictures.

“No, well, the thing is, it’s more that I just have so much work . . . I should get going.” Willow shakes her head regretfully. “I’ll see you all later, okay?” She gets her things together and stands up. Slowly, calmly, as if she really does wish that she could stay there with them.

If she was embarrassed and uncomfortable before, there simply aren’t words to describe how she feels now. She briefly considers ramming her head into the stone wall that borders the park. It would make a novel change from cutting anyway.

Willow can’t stop herself from reliving the incident throughout the entire walk home. She goes back and forth between convincing herself that nothing so very dreadful happened and being sure that she’s completely ruined everything.

She’s looking forward to sitting at her desk. Maybe getting to work will prove to be the distraction that she needs. But unfortunately, as she unlocks the door she’s confronted by the sounds of Isabelle, screaming as if her lungs are fit to burst. Cathy is holding her while she paces back and forth on the phone. She looks completely overwhelmed. Willow drops her keys on the hall table and goes into the kitchen.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Cathy says above the screaming. “What?” she speaks into the phone. “Okay, thank you, yes, call it in to the pharmacy.” She hangs up and looks at Willow.

“She’s burning up, poor little thing.” Cathy presses a kiss against Isabelle’s forehead. “They called me at work to come and pick her up. It’s just an ear infection, the doctor said that there’s nothing to worry about, that super high fevers are really common . . .” Clearly she’s trying to reassure herself as much as Willow. “I have to go to the pharmacy and pick up her prescription. Will you be okay with her until I get back?”

“Of course,” Willow says, taking Isabelle from Cathy. Now is not the time to remind Cathy that David wouldn’t approve of her staying with the baby. “I’ll be fine,” she says calmly. “Go to the pharmacy.”

“Thank you,” Cathy says, pulling on her sweater and grabbing her purse. “I don’t know how long this will take, sometimes they make you wait while they make up the prescription. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She dashes out the door.

Willow walks over to the window, Isabelle in her arms, and watches as Cathy runs down the street. “I’m sorry you feel so sick,” she says, bouncing the baby up and down on her hip. But Isabelle seems a little calmer than she did a few minutes ago, she’s no longer crying quite so forcefully. Her tears are subsiding, punctuated by little snuffles. Willow thinks how wonderful it would be, and not just for poor Isabelle’s sake either, if when Cathy came home, everything was under perfect control, Isabelle calm, sleeping even, the kitchen clean. . . .

Willow wants rather desperately to repay Cathy’s faith in her. Not only that, but she’s sure that taking care of Isabelle, taking care of her perfectly that is, might go a little way toward smoothing things over with David when he finally comes home.

Of course, she’s not exactly sure what taking care of Isabelle perfectly might entail. There’s only so much she can do with a sick baby, after all, but maybe feeding her, and changing her, would be a good start. She does feel wet.

Willow walks into Isabelle’s bedroom and lays her down on the changing table. Now, she may have changed many diapers in her time—she’s been babysitting since she was thirteen—but she’s never changed Isabelle. Although it’s not the most challenging activity, it is a little more difficult than she would have thought, since Isabelle, alone among all the babies that Willow has ever met, wears cloth diapers.

David gives Cathy a hard time about this, since they’re incalculably more expensive than disposable diapers, difficult to even find, and more inconvenient in every way possible, but Cathy, who studied environmental law, always insists.

But Isabelle is not as cooperative as she might be. Clearly the poor little girl doesn’t feel well. Instead of lying still she fusses and kicks, and Willow, unused to diaper pins, manages to stab her. Rather sharply too, if the baby’s screams are anything to go by.

“Oh, no!” Willow is horrified. How could she do such a thing? She stares transfixed at the minute pinprick blossoming red that mars her niece’s perfect, tender flesh. There’s something absolutely obscene about damaging something so flawless.

Willow slowly reaches out her hand and touches the spot where she pricked Isabelle. Just as when Guy touched her, Willow’s hand completely obliterates the mark that she made. Well, that’s not very surprising. What she has inflicted on Isabelle greatly differs from the gashes that score her own stomach. But what if that tiny little mark were to grow? For a second she imagines Isabelle’s skin scored all over, savaged by a razor, the way that her own is. How would she feel if, say, ten or fifteen years from now she found out that Isabelle was a cutter?

“Well, we’re off to a great start here, don’t you think?” she says in a shaky voice. So much for taking care of her niece perfectly. At least Isabelle has stopped crying. Willow can’t help feeling that the baby has recovered from the episode far better than she herself has.

“How about something to eat?” She opens the cupboards and rummages around. Today even the pretzels and baby food are gone. “Yeah, so much for that.” Willow slams the doors shut and moves to the refrigerator.

At least the refrigerator is more promising. There are half a dozen eggs, and some butter among other things. Willow puts Isabelle in her high chair and grabs a couple of the eggs and a bowl. She sets a pan on the stove and throws some butter in. As she beats the eggs she thinks about what just happened. She absentmindedly pours the eggs in the pan, then dumps the bowl in the sink.

Willow stares out the widow, but she barely even registers the park outside. The only thing she sees is Isabelle’s perfect skin. She’s so lost in thought that she forgets about the eggs for a second.

This is her first thought. She has done it again. David was right, she really will finish the rest of the family off. As her eyes start to tear from the acrid smoke, she has another thought as well. What if this time around she managed to save Isabelle? What if this time things are different?

But the smoke starts to dissipate, and Willow can see that really, of course there is no fire. How likely would it be that some burned scrambled eggs could turn into a three-alarm fire anyway?

There is no fire, she will neither kill nor save Isabelle in some dramatic gesture. She is simply a girl who has made a filthy mess, a girl who is incapable of taking care of her niece, as incapable of that as she is of everything else these days.

Willow takes the smoking pan and tosses it into the sink, where it hisses and splutters angrily. As she stares at the smoke that drifts toward the ceiling, it occurs to her that maybe for once, David was being completely honest when he said that his reservations about leaving her alone were simply because she is too overwrought to take care of a six-month-old. Based on the evidence she’d have to agree with him.

The doorbell rings. Willow can only hope that it isn’t Cathy, so weighed down by packages that she can’t manage her keys, or even worse, David, home from his conference.

This time Willow doesn’t blush, and she doesn’t feel flustered either. She’s much too relieved that it’s him as opposed to David or Cathy.

“Umm . . .” Willow surveys the smoky kitchen. Her plan, to take care of Isabelle perfectly, could not have backfired more spectacularly. “I guess I’m continuing to screw up my life and anyone else’s who comes into contact with me.” She goes over to the sink and picks up a sponge, intending to scrub the burned pan. “That sounds about right, what do you think?”

“Just ’cause you burned some . . .” He joins her at the sink and glances into the pan. “Hmm, I’m guessing these were eggs at one point?”

“No, that’s not the only reason.” Willow attacks the pan with the sponge. It’s tough going. She should have soaked it first.

The whole process of washing the pot seems futile suddenly. She wonders what would happen if she just threw it out the window. Instead she settles for the trash can under the sink. Maybe if she covers it with enough garbage David and Cathy won’t even notice.

“About those migraines in the park—” Guy starts to say, but they are interrupted by the sound of a key in the lock, and David’s voice calling out.

Willow is glad that the smoke has cleared somewhat, and that she has managed to get rid of the pan, but she’d prefer it if he didn’t enter the kitchen just yet. She picks up Isabelle and walks into the foyer.

“Hi,” she says warily. This is, after all, the first time that she has seen David since her fit a couple of nights ago. She has no idea how to act toward him. Given how close-mouthed David’s been lately, she can hardly expect him to start something in front of Guy. Still, she imagines that he will make reference to the other night somehow,if only because her being left alone with Isabelle would have to reactivate the argument.

“Hello.” David nods to Guy, but it’s clear that he’s preoccupied. “What’s going on?” He looks confused. “Where’s Cathy?” David reaches out to take the baby from Willow.

Willow can’t believe how stupid she’s been. Of course it would have made much more sense to do that than anything else. She braces herself for David’s condemnation.

But David doesn’t seem as if he cares very much about reprimanding her. He’s far more interested in Isabelle’s welfare. Willow knows that this is only natural and correct. Furthermore, she has no interest in having any kind of replay of the other night. Yet as she watches David kiss his daughter, she is struck by a pain so sharp, so brutal, that she nearly doubles over.

She clutches her stomach. For a second she is sure that she is going to faint. The ache is so intense that she is surprised, when she looks down at herself, to see that there is no blood springing through her clothes, that this pain is not self-inflicted. This is the pain that she has been fighting for so long.

Of course David’s first concern would be for his daughter. Willow is not hurt by the fact that she is not first with him. It is that she will neverbe first with anyone again. She will never be anyone’s child again. This happens to everyone, it will happen to Isabelle too, but surely not as soon as it has happened to her.

“I’m okay, just . . .” Willow straightens up. The pain is gone. She has no idea how, she can only be thankful that it is so. “I’m just a little . . .” She searches for the right thing to say. Migraines won’t fly with David. “I’m really tired, that’s all. We’re . . . I’m going to go upstairs and lie down.” She winces at her choice of words, and wonders if David or Guy has picked up on them, but David has already turned back to Isabelle.

Willow walks up the stairs to her room. The episode has left her feeling completely drained. She feels like she could sleep for a thousand years. She opens the door and eyes her bed longingly. She wonders what Guy would do if she just got under the covers and closed her eyes.

Instead of doing that she sits at her desk and Guy is the one who gets the bed. He doesn’t get under the covers, but he does sit down and lean against the pillows. The sight of him on her bed is anything but comfortable and she has to look away for a few moments to compose herself.

But even though she is uncomfortable, even though she is still reeling from what happened downstairs, seeing him like this, without the complications of other people, she knows, suddenly, what her feelings are. She can’t rationally say that being with him is too complicated, that her fidelity is only to the razor. She is powerless to make such a decision. She cannot do otherwise but be with him.

“Oh,” Willow interrupts him. “I . . . was . . .” She wishes she could tell him that she ran out of the park because she was so overcome by the memory of the way that they kissed, but saying those words is nearly as overwhelming as the act itself. “It was just that I was . . . Well, I wasn’t going to doanything.” She hopes that he will get her oblique reference. Surely this must be why he is asking, because he’s worried that she had a date with her blades?

“Yeah, that isn’t what I was thinking. I was just wondering if you really get migraines or if you were just trying to avoid me. Either way, you were kind of rude.” There is a definite edge to his normally calm voice, and Willow is sure that she can hear something else beneath the words.

“I was . . . Huh?” She blinks as the meaning of what he’s said sinks in. But she has to admit that while she wouldn’t necessarily brand her behavior as rude, she knew, even as she was doing it, that it was at least very odd.

Now Willow knowsthat he has something going on. She wants to reassure him, she wants to tell him that she can’t stop thinking about the day that they spent together, that right now, she wants nothing more than to crawl underneath the covers with him. But the words die in her throat, so instead she says:

“You think you’re not complicatedand difficult?” Guy goes on as if he hadn’t heard her. “You think you’re easy to deal with? You think what happened after we kissed is the way things normally go?”

“No, I never thought that.” Willow shakes her head vehemently. She knows that he’s right, she’d be the first to say so, but she can’t help feeling hurt. Was the only thing that he took away from the other day the strangenessof it all? Didn’t he feel any of the things that she felt? “But I did think that maybe . . . maybe you had some fun. . . .”

Willow cannot believe that she has said something so profoundly stupid, and judging from the look on Guy’s face, he can’t either.

“Fun? Fun! Oh yeah! It’s been really FUN! You think that this isn’t playing hell with my mind ? Fuck that!” Guy practically spits the words out. Willow blinks. She’s not used to hearing him talk that way. “You think that this isn’t playing hell with my life? I’ve barely slept since the first time I saw your arm, let alone gotten any work done. You think I like this? That this is all fun? Fuck all of it, and fuck you too!”

Willow feels as if he’s slapped her. She didn’t realize that calm, easygoing Guy could get so angry. She didn’t realize that their day together didn’t hold any magic for him. She didn’t realize that he had the power to wound her quite so deeply.

“I don’t think that this is all fun,” she says after a few moments. Her voice is cold and hard. She is no longer interested in reassuring him. “But guess what, Guy, I never asked you to hang around either. Nobody invited you here today. You can just walk away. You can just leave.”

Willow is dying to ask him which part of their time in the library he’s referring to. Does he feel that he can’t walk away because of their kiss, or because of her cutting? But she doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah, okay,” Guy continues. “Maybe I would like to be around somebody who doesn’t need talking down all the time, but then what? I don’t need you on my conscience.”

Willow has her answer. She doesn’t like being his community service for the semester, and, if that’s all that’s keeping him, then she wants no part of it.

“Don’t make me your project, Guy. That’s what this is about? You don’t want to feel guilty? You don’t want me on your conscience? You look a little too old to be a Boy Scout.” Willow tries to make her voice as harsh as possible, but she is no more successful at this than she was at taking care of Isabelle. In fact, she sounds nothing so much as scared and vulnerable. “Go back to the other things you said you had going on this semester. The things you said I was going to complicate. All those classes you take up at the university, your rowing. Go ahead. Go somewhere else. Knock ten seconds off your time, but don’t worry about me anymore.”

Willow has no answer to this. Instead she thinks about all the things that she’s told him, all the things that he’s told her, and all the things that they’ve done together. How did it all get to be such a mess right now? She wishes that she could press the rewind button and simply erase the last ten minutes, but unfortunately that’s not possible, and she realizes that, difficult as it may be, it is up to her to salvage the situation.

“I’ll be all right,” she says after a moment. “If you’re staying here because you think you’re going to stop me from cutting, then leave. If you’re afraid that if you do leave I’ll alwaysbe a cutter, then that’s another reason for you to get out of here as quickly as possible. I don’t want you to stick around because of that. I don’t even know how that part of the story ends, but I do know if you go . . .” She trails off, puts her elbows on the desk, and rests her head in her hands. It is far easier to cut herself, to mutilate herself than to tell him how she feels.

“Then what? If I go, then what?” Guy’s voice is angry, angry enough so that Willow almost backs down from what she is going to say.

There are many answers that Willow can give to this question. She can tell him that if he goes she might be better off. She won’t be afraid of experiencing the things that so overwhelmed her in the stacks, that are starting to overwhelm her even as she sits there with him now. She won’t worry that there is someone who is intent on weaning her off of her extracurricular activities. She won’t have to worry about protecting someone else’s feelings. But she will have no one to talk to, no one who knows her, no one who understands. Willow looks at him, and the only answer that she can give, the truest answer is simply:

“Oh,” Guy says. He gets up from the bed, crosses over to where she is, and lowers himself until he is sitting on his heels in front of her. Willow wonders if he is aware of how closely he is mimicking her posture from yesterday. “You’re not my project,” he says finally. “You’re not my project,” he says again more forcefully. “And I don’t want to go anywhere else.”

She leans forward, until her forehead is brushing his. The most natural thing right now would be for them to kiss each other once again, but Willow knows that she can’t do that, she simply can’t risk it. She wonders why he wants to stay. He can get so much more somewhere, anywhereelse, without all of her added complications.

Willow isn’t sure if she has the energy to answer this. She’s bone weary. Exhausted. Trying to take care of Isabelle wore her out. The scene they just had wore her out. Just telling him the truth wore her out. Her life is wearing her out. But all of that fades away as she looks at Guy. She thinks that he’s beautiful. And as she remembers the way that he looked on the bed, so calm, so strong, so right,there is only one thing she wants to do. It may not be the answer that he was looking for, but it is the only one that she can give him.

“Okay.” He gets to his feet, pulls her up off the chair, and walks her to the bed. Guy lies back down in his former position, but Willow just sits on the edge and looks at him. She wonders if he can possibly feel her secret stash hidden under the mattress. She offers him a shy smile, because as much as she wants this, it is still difficult for her. He doesn’t appear to be having any difficulties, however. He just smiles back at her and holds out a hand.

Willow kicks off her shoes and, grasping his hand, crawls across the bed toward him. She has moved far beyond exhaustion and his chest is the best pillow she could ever imagine. But for all that, she’s trembling. What she has told him has left her naked; she feels as if she has ripped off a layer of her skin. Willow feels things, good things, to be sure, even wonderful things, but she is used to being deadened, anesthetized, and she knows of only one way to process this.

Guy is asleep within moments. But it is not so easy for Willow. She stares up at the ceiling. She tries to mimic his calm easy breathing. But she can’t quite do it, her breath remains a little panicky. She tries to focus instead on how wonderful his arms feel. She even laughs a little as she remembers Chloe’s comments about rowers. But still, she can’t stop trembling. Her hand strays to the edge of the mattress, goes underneath, feels for her supplies.

It occurs to Willow that she has handled far worse. Whatever it was that happened downstairs with David just now, however savage, was survivable. The realization makes her bolt upright. How is that she managed to endure that pain without any recourse to her trusty equipment?

Willow knows that she should find this comforting, but in fact it scares her more than almost anything. She breaks into a cold sweat. The idea, however fleeting, that she could possibly survive without her constant companion of the past seven months is simply too unsettling. She searches under the mattress more frantically. When her hand finally closes around the razor she squeezes it tightly. She has no need of more right now, but she does need to know that more is possible.

Guy shifts in his sleep, moving both of them, and somehow manages to dislodge her grip. The razor falls to the floor with a faint metallic ping.

Willow gets out of bed to retrieve it, and as she does so her gaze falls upon Guy’s backpack. An idea occurs to her. She checks to make certain that he really is asleep and when she is sure that he is, walks over to her desk and gets a pen. She pauses for a moment, looking at the box of still unused watercolors. It would be wonderful to do some kind of illustration, something that would go along with what she’s about to write, but it would take too long to dry, and besides, she’s in too much of a hurry to get back in bed with him. She goes over to his bag, unzips it as quietly as possible, and takes out the copy of The Tempest.

Willow gets back into bed, still clutching her razor, but it doesn’t matter, because she finds that this time her breathing does match Guy’s, and she too sleeps.