Hanna

I wake with a feeling of dying. I don’t know where or how, but it’s as if a train cut me into tiny pieces, each part of my being so far apart I don’t know if I’ll gather all of them to even get out of bed.

I visit Michael’s room. It’s empty. I get my clothing and dress, then come down, and after not being able to find Michael or Lyn in the house I stalk outside. By the time I reach the garage with its door open my stomach is already in knots. Just as I think something’s wrong I hear voices coming from the garage, together with some metallic clattering. I step closer.

“…I just get the urge, you know?” Lyn’s voice, soft. “My therapist said I punish myself, just like I isolate. So it’s kind of a cycle, but I could never feel like they get it.”

I hear Michael sneer. “I get it,” a pause. “Doesn’t it bother you? This situation?”

“Of course it does! Are you kidding? I have a murderer and his hostage—”

“She’s not my—”

“Right, sorry, but yeah, I have you in my house and I still haven’t called the cops! God damn it. Yes, it bothers me.”

It takes a moment for me to process, but it feels like a lifetime. Pure horror overtaking me, I slam my hand on the door into the garage and burst inside. “What?”

Both of them look up at me, their faces shocked and confused; Lyn, sitting on a wooden workbench by the wall, and Michel digging in the engine of a lawnmower.

“You told her?” I point at Lyn, my eyebrows knitted. Why did he tell her? I don’t understand.

Michael tightens his jaw.

“He did,” Lyn says. “And we’re all good so far. You’re scheduled to leave as soon as he’s healed.”

Rage boils in me and I erupt. “Don’t you think he ain’t gonna heal if he keeps fixing your shit!”

A whole soup of emotions spills over my head. Confusion, rage, fear. Given that Michel’s so closed off I never accounted for him beginning to talk with Lyn. I imagined myself being the bridge between them both. What does this mean? Is it good that he’s opening up? Should I be glad instead and stop overreacting? I don’t think I am overreacting.

My one hand propped against the door, I take a few deep inhales.

The most important thing is that Lyn’s keeping us secret, and maybe knowing who Michael is will deter her from considering that option at all.

“And how do we know that once we leave you’re not gonna send anyone after us?” I ask. I don’t think I ever stared at anyone with this amount of cold malice before. I feel like I could hurt her if I needed to. I shoot Michael a disappointed look that questions his intelligence, letting him see the mixture of all of my feelings.

Lyn gapes, lost.

From his crouched position by the lawnmower Michael stands. His throat bobs as he swallows, then he levels my glare with his equally cold eyes. Yet his gaze is not defensive, it’s defeated. “I wanted to kill myself last night.”

I choke up. Fuck.

“She stopped me,” he says, then shifts his feet as if debating whether to continue. “I’m just as lost as you are, Freckles,” he shakes his head lightly. “Everything hurts, inside and out, and I…” he trails off and I see him fight with himself in his internal world. “…I just place one foot in front of the other. One step at the time. Just like you told me.” Small wrinkles appear around his eyebrows as he fails to conceal this raw pain. I understand how big a step he’s making right now. He’s being vulnerable, he’s not hiding his truth.

I nod, still confused, but at least knowing he’s not planning to leave me.

Why did I even think that?

He hasn’t talked to me much, but he’s still keeping his promise, right? It’s good for him to open up and as long as Lyn’s not ratting us out we should be fine.

Should…

…

Four days later I really wish for us to get on the run again and back into the survival mode where our mental health is a second priority. Yet we stay. I attempt to sleep with Michael in one bed once more, but he wakes again, freaking me out. He apologizes later on, all but crying into my shoulder. Being a mentally attached victim that I am I forgive him, calm him, and try to better him. But at the same time I begin feeling old hate toward him, a hard to control urge to hurt him, to make him suffer.

But I can’t run off.

On the fifth day Lyn goes back to work. She had called in sick once we showed up at her house. She kindly asks us not to fuck up her house and tells us we’re free to go any time. Weirdly, she doesn’t mention anything about stealing and I figure she has plenty of money to go around.

“Should we go?” I ask Michael once we meet in the living room. “We can take something, find her stash, perhaps?”

“No,” he says simply, reading a book.

“Why not?” I sit on the edge of the sofa where he’s laying, “I understand it’s bad but the longer we stay here the more at risk we are. I feel shitty about exploiting Lyn, but we can’t trust her. She knows everything about us. Our real names for God’s sake!” I feel guilty for saying this because Lyn has done nothing to make us distrust her, but this can’t go on forever.

“I need more time and then we’ll go. But we’re not stealing anything.” Michael places his hand on my upper arm and my body melts into his touch, my panic abating.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“I just… I feel lonely,” I whisper.

He looks up from the book, takes off his glasses. It’s like I forced him to finally take me in.

“I’m sorry,” he exhales. “I know you think we’re still gonna run, and we might, but I don’t know if I can handle it. Going anywhere with you.”

I sink my head into my hands. “Great. So I’m trapped. I can’t leave you but you don’t want to move.”

“No,” he says. “If you go. I will not stop you. I will go with you and we’ll figure it out.”

“But it would be hard for you.”

“Yes.”

I sit for a bit, savoring Michael’s hand, but my feelings don’t go away.

“Do you trust her?” I ask.

“No, but I have no choice now. I…” he hesitates. “I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t intend on telling her. It’s just, in the forest, I had a gun to my head and I was…” he trails off, embarrassed.

“You were a mess?”

He tips his chin once. I remind myself this situation is good for us, but deep down it starts feeling like a knot I have no idea how to untangle. I can’t leave Michael, but I feel obligated to be there for him and want him to be with me, but I despise him. I hate Lyn for her over the top hospitality and I hate myself for picking her and not someone else who’s not that fucked up, but I’m also grateful because we can heal in peace. But I don’t want to heal because I feel like everything’s falling apart.

My head pounds with overwhelm. I don’t want to look at this knot altogether. Even my temples start to sting.

“I’m gonna go take a walk,” I stand. “I need to think.”

I throw on my shoes and Lyn’s coat, then walk out the back into the woods. The fresh air helps, but it’s like a band-aid on a broken bone.

I halt by the graves, in thought. No one ever talks about consequences in movies. The hero kills the bad guys and gets the girl. The girl is not at all affected by all the massacre and eagerly falls into the hero’s hands who’s strong and manly, and surely can always protect his woman.

What a load of bullshit.

Life of action might keep you focused on the task, but once you stop it gets real messy.

To avoid overwhelming myself again I just walk on.

I spend four hours outside, walking through uncharted woods, climbing over ridges, and jumping over brooks. I stumble into three other houses but give them a wide berth.

When I return in the evening I find Lyn leaned on Michael’s room’s door. It’s cracked, but they can’t see each other face to face.

“What—”

Lyn puts her finger to her lips and waves me away with a soft bat of her palm. “He’s opening up,” she whispers and gives me thumbs up. “That’s good, right?”

I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jeans, my hands getting clammy. “Yeah,” I say. “I guess.” Lyn turns her head to the door. “Yeah, keep going. I’m listening.”

“It’s gray, I think,” Michael answers.

What?

“Mine’s pink,” Lyn says.

A pause. “That’s an ugly color,” Michael says.

Are they talking about their favorite colors? With all that’s going on? What the actual fuck?

Another thought rings in my mind like a church bell. He’s talking to her. He’s getting closer to her.

Her and not me.

The snap inside my chest is unmistakable, a shift so sudden I throw myself forward. “Get away from him!” I push Lyn from the door, shoving her with all my strength. I know he said he’s not gonna leave me. But he is. He’s leaving me emotionally. He’s leaving me for her.

Lyn yelps as she stumbles but regains her balance. Yet I regain nothing, not the inner balance I imagined I had after taking that walk. I’m helpless to control the red that spreads over my vision. She’s threatening my survival. And Michael is my survival. If he’s not with me I’m dead.

I attack her, fingers in tight fists. “He’s mine!” She screams and I just pound and scratch against her body, until I’m torn away. Michael pulls me back into his room and slams the door with his foot. I kick and screech like I’m being butchered because it feels like I am.

He has to stay with me. He has to... Or I’ll die…

He pushes me on the bed and pins me down. “Hanna! Look at me. Look at me!”

I kiss him. Without any warning. I need to feel him, smell him, need to know he’s here with me. He kisses me back, his body tight and heavy against mine, pulling me from an onslaught of uncontrollable emotions. “You’re here,” I whimper once I pull my lips away from his.

“I am, and I’m not going anywhere.” He gathers me into his arms, a blanket of safety around my body.

I curl my fingers into his shirt, clinging to him like he’s the only island in an endless ocean. Deep calmness sets into my head and muscles. And, of course, after every fit where I can’t control myself, a heavy-duty realization follows.

“Oh fuck,” I utter. “What have I done?”

The door to the room opens and Lyn peeks in. She holds her hand to her neck where I scratched her.

We all flit our glances around each other.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though I’m not sure if she hears it. I feel a deep flush setting into my cheeks and I hide in Michael's chest. His heart pounds fast against my ear.

When I raise my head at Michael he’s looking at Lyn, almost as lost as I am. I hate to see him weak. It freaks me out just like it did when he was unconscious on the bed at the motel. I know I can’t blame him for it because he’s going through a lot as well, but this is what I feel.

The next day, Lyn comes back from work with a man. A mid-aged friendly-looking fella in a warm green parka.

Michael and I instantly get up from a sofa in the den, both shifting our feet into a defensive stance. “Well,” Lyn opens up her palms as Michael and I glare at the man. Michael’s hand slides to the back of his pants instinctively, but there’s nothing there. He puffs instead, inhaling deeply and hair on his arms spiking up.

Lyn hurries to defuse the stern atmosphere. “This is Jonathan. I trust him and he has helped me in my hard times.”

We observe the man dubiously, both cautious.

Lyn’s voice gains a deeper streak of sweetness. “He’s a, uh, a shrink. We agreed to keep it confidential,” before we freak out more she extends her hands in calming gestures. “I just told him I have people that need help. And he’s agreed to do me a favor.”

As to why did she invite this man instead of just offering to meet him somewhere is beyond me. But then I know I would’ve refused that offer.

Michael and I exchange glances and Michael deflates, relaxing. He turns us his back and trots up the stairs.

“I guess that’s a no,” Jonathan says, his tone pleasant.

I stay in the den, scrutinizing this Johnathan. “You work with people who have problems?”

“You could say,” a gentle closed smile curves on his stubble-covered face.

After a glance back at the staircase I tilt my head. Despite Mikey outright refusing the help I do want to fix myself. Even if I’m scared. “I’ll talk to you.”

On the first day Jonathan and I discuss my life, my family, his work. It reminds me of school, of guidance counselors, but a little deeper. John appears to be a local shrink and has a small cozy office room in his one-story house on the outskirts of the town. He tells me I can have as many panic attacks as I want. I can cry and scream, and no one’s going to fault or hurt me for it. At first, it surprises me and takes a while to stomach that fact. I do stomach it and, on the second, day Jonathan ends up holding me in his arms for two hours while I cry. And on the third one. On the fourth one I tell him the truth. I reveal it all and then literally beg him not to address authorities. He swears to keep everything a secret. I’m not sure if I should trust him, but with no other choice, I do. I also understand how Michael must’ve felt when he ratted everything out to Lyn.

Lyn takes over my duties, watching over Michael. I tell her what to say as I tend to avoid him myself, but want to stay close all the same. It’s not as easy as I thought it would be, to detach myself from him. Every time the nightmares plague me I sneak into his bed and sidle up to his warmth.

More than often he asks me to leave, but sometimes, if he’s feeling more or less peaceful, he lets me stay.

“You’re persistent, Freckles.”

“Stockholm, remember?” I hug him from behind. Though he’s hardly a little spoon.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay. You’re keeping your promise, you’re still here.”

He puts his hand on mine and we lay in silence, listening to the winds outside. We don’t sleep.