The Dark and Hollow Places - Carrie Ryan [88]
Bite marks.
I know he’s trying to remind me—remind both of us—that he’s infected. That he doesn’t know if he can infect me. That he’d never take the risk.
“What did you do during those days?” I ask, wanting to understand him.
“I waited,” he says, his voice distant. His eyes flicker, a flash of something that disappears.
“Waited for what?”
“To die.” That same flicker again. “Alone,” he adds in a whisper.
I open my mouth to ask for more but he cuts me off. “I’ve already had my days of waiting to die,” he says. “The question is, what would you do, Annah?”
The same question as last night, except now I actually have an answer. I’m tired of just surviving. I’m tired of waking up each day simply to make it to the next.
That isn’t enough anymore. It’s been what I’ve done for too long and when I look back on those strings of days they’re all empty. I want more. More than closing myself off, more than being afraid to let someone care about me and me about them.
I want Catcher.
And I’m tired of his fear that he could somehow infect me. So what? I’m already dying anyway—every day I live is closer to death. It’s like I told my sister before: what matters is what you do with the time you’re alive.
“I’d live,” I tell him. Then I step forward, slide my hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck and press my lips into his.
He’s so stunned that at first he doesn’t react and I take advantage of his hesitation, deepening the kiss. For a moment—one tiny space between heartbeats—he falls into me. He whimpers slightly, his head tilting to the side as he pushes hard against my mouth and fire engulfs me, races through my veins.
He tries to speak, his tongue forming words that I fight with my own. And then he lunges back, breaking us apart. I step forward, tugging his head to me, but he places his hands on my shoulders and pushes me away.
His eyes are wide, his lips parted and face flushed. He’s breathing fast and his hand shakes when he raises it to his neck. “God, Annah, what were you thinking?” With each word his voice hardens.
“I told you …” He paces in a tight circle. “God, Annah, I could infect you. I could have already infected you! I can’t believe you did that.”
He shakes his head, presses a fist to his chin and closes his eyes. Carefully, I shift closer to him, rest a hand on his forearm. “It’s okay,” I tell him softly.
He explodes. “It’s not okay! This”—he gestures back and forth between us—“isn’t okay!”
Grabbing my head between his hands, he pulls me close, until our lips are almost but not quite together. His breathing is fierce and fast, matching my own. I can tell that he’s angry and scared and panicking.
“You could die,” he’s telling me. “That kiss, it could kill you.”
I smile. “Don’t you get it, Catcher? With the horde already consuming the Dark City? With the Recruiters and their death cages? I’m already going to die. This Sanctuary isn’t safe—nowhere’s safe. Even without the horde, one day I’m going to die. Just like one day you’re going to die—”
“But that’s the difference, Annah! I’m. Not. Going. To. Die. Ever.” He drops his hands from my head and paces away from me. I feel the chill of the morning air on every spot Catcher just touched. “One day something will happen to me. My heart will stop working, I’ll get stabbed by the wrong person, I’ll drown or fall from a bridge or a building will collapse on top of me. And then I’ll come back.”
He spins to face me. “I could die today right here in your room and I’d come back.”
“But it’s oka—”
“Don’t tell me it’s okay!” he shouts. He seems shocked at his own rage and he storms away from me, arms crossed tight over his chest. I approach him slowly.
“Don’t tell me it’s okay,” he repeats, this time more in control. “Because it’s not. When I come back, I’ll attack you if you’re anywhere nearby.” His voice is