I wake up and am beyond relieved when I breathe and it doesn’t hurt as bad as it has for the past week. I’m finally getting better from the beating from Hades. But there’s another pain that may not ever go away. It’s a nagging pain, deep down in the very depths of my heart. It started immediately when Plath said the word “love” then looked ashamed he had admitted it. But he was honest, more honest than he has ever been with me. So, maybe ashamed is the wrong word? He was shocked.

I look down at what I’m wearing. It’s dirty and stained with blood. Plath let me wear some of his clothes the other day when he washed my clothes, but I either need to wash them again or go buy some. Only problem—I have no money.

I walk down the hall and hear Nate talking to Plath in the kitchen. I stop and stay hidden in the hall so I can eavesdrop.

“She’s our ticket to freedom. She dies then it stops all of this! Hundreds die every month and for what? Nothing! If she dies, she saves us all. We can live normal lives. You don’t want that?” Nate asks quietly; then I hear the sink turn on.

I hear Plath talking, but the water running makes it hard to understand.

The water turns off, and I catch the end of what he says, “I swear if any of you try to kill her-”

“We won’t. I promise. I’m just saying she’s right, and if word gets out who she really is, there will be a whole new problem to worry about. Some will want to turn her in to keep the Sphere intact, but most will want her dead.” Nate stops talking; then I hear footsteps coming in my direction.

I hurry back into the bathroom and shut the door without a sound. I start to hyperventilate as what Nate said hits me. Last night I said I wanted to die; I begged Plath because I knew without a doubt that it’s what’s best if dying could end all of this. But then he told me he loved me. That one single word made this more complicated than it already was.

I’M NOT SURE exactly how long I’ve stayed in the bathroom, but I know it’s been awhile by how numb my legs are. I stand up to wake them and hear a light tap on the door.

“Do you plan on staying in there all day?” Plath asks from the other side of the door.

The tone of his voice is sort of hard to understand. He sounds like he wants me to come out, but then again there’s an edge to his voice that makes me think he wants me to stay locked up in here forever.

“Plath,” my voice comes out in a whisper, and tears start to fall.

I hear the doorknob wiggle. “Orion, let me in,” he says worriedly.

“No.” Now my few tears have turned into streams pouring down my cheeks.

“I will break the fucking door down!”

I laugh coldly and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.

“I’m not hurting myself if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I hear his fist pound once on the door. “Open the door and prove it!”

“Did you mean it?” I ask so quietly, I’m shocked when he answers.

“Mean what?”

I pause. I want to know. I already know. I need to hear him say it again.

“That you love me?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

I stand up and walk to the door. I lean against it. “You have said a lot of things that aren’t true, Plath. Do you honest-to-God love me? Truth or not?”

“Truth.”

I unlock the door and scoot back. He opens it and comes in, closing the door behind him.

“I have a confession to make,” he says inching closer.

I laugh a little. Him and his confessions… He picks me up and sets me on the counter by the sink and wedges himself between my legs. He wraps his arms gently around my waist, and a familiar cocky grin spreads across his face.

“All along you’ve been this fever. A virus. Infecting every cell in my body, exploding them, causing the virus to spread so fast that my body couldn’t stop it. I gave up a long time ago trying to find a cure. It’s easier to just give in.”

I laugh. “You just made me sound like cancer.”

He nods. “Stage four. The bad kind.”

I laugh again and shake my head. My smile fades as I watch him closely. Everything about the way he moves, the way he speaks, makes me feel like I can’t live without him.

“I’m not sure how to respond. I want you to stay. I want you to go. My mind is so screwed up. We can’t offer each other a happily ever after.”

“I’m not asking for a happily ever after. What’s so wrong with being in love in the middle of hell?”

“Everything.”

“Why?”

“Because! No one can fall in love in a world that’s on fire. We’re only setting ourselves up for disappointment. We’ll be burned alive, and it will hurt worse.”

“That is bullshit because I’m not falling; I’m already in. I’m in so deep, there’s no way out. That is proof that we are capable of being in love. And if all of this does end up with us getting ‘burned’, which it most likely will, then I’m okay with that. But loving you gives me something to look forward to, a light in all of this darkness. Something to cling to when there’s nothing else to grasp.”

I look down at my hands that are folded in front of me. “But... But what if I can’t love you back the way you want me to. I just don’t know how to do this. I don’t see this light you’re talking about. All I see is more pain when something happens, and you disappoint me or I disappoint you.” I take a deep breath and let it out as I look in his dark eyes. “Maybe you’re right. It is possible to be in love in the middle of hell. But it’s scary, Plath. We are capable of loving each other, but we’ve been down this road before. I just don’t know if I can let my heart go there again.”

He takes his hand and touches my neck, letting his finger fall to my chest. He stops his finger near my left breast, close to my heart.

“We both hurt. Our hearts have been manipulated and played with to the point of destruction. There’s nothing left to break. But I need this hole gone.” He points to his own heart.

I watch his hand for a moment then look back at him. His hand cups the side of my face gently, and his fingers intertwine with my hair. I close my eyes as I focus on his soothing touch and allow myself to be lulled by his words.

“I’m giving you what love I have left. Freely and without asking for it in return. Just please, let me love you. Stop telling me I can’t, because no matter what you say, I won’t stop.”

I swallow hard. “Okay,” I whisper. “But I’m not promising I’ll be good at this.”

“Me neither.”