VALOR

SIX

I don't remember much about the drive back to the apartment. As soon as I'm slumped in the seat, a wave of exhaustion mixed with the blinding pain knocks me out. When the car pulls up into the driveway, I wake to Ethan muttering to himself. He comes alongside and opens my door, looking surprised to see me awake. I don't let him help me out of the car, although his hand doesn't move from my shoulder.

We trudge up to my apartment—all four flights of stairs—where I fumble to unlock the door. Once inside, I collapse onto my bed as Ethan sinks into the chair.

"Why . . . do doors hate me so much?" It's the first thing that comes to my mind and it's entirely unhelpful.

He shakes his head, disbelief spreading across his face.

There's a pause. I press a hand against the receding headache and wonder where to start. We've just escaped a dangerous situation that only provided more scary questions, it was my fault we ended up there, and my best friend is still completely in the dark.

Not to mention the problem of my very questionable sanity. How do people recover from this?

"Vivian," Ethan says at last, shaking me from my thoughts. "I—what—I don't—" He cuts off, dropping his head into his hands.

It hurts to see him like this, but what cuts deeper is that it's my fault. I dragged him to the warehouse, I didn't listen, I put both of us in danger without sharing vital information about the situation. If he'd been so much as injured, I'd—

I stop myself, realizing Ethan himself had said something similar back at the warehouse. I think about how I'd felt when I thought I'd killed that man; could I really go that far to save someone? To save Ethan?

Would I? I don't like the answer my mind comes up with.

A life is a life is a life is a life.

"I'm so sorry, Ethan. I shouldn't have gone there and I should have told you from the beginning before I escalated everything like that."

He sighs, still not looking up. "I'm going to be honest. I'd be beyond angry if I wasn't so freaking scared."

We're back to that anger and fear. I suddenly realize that I've lived with them for so long that it became strange to see them on someone elses' face. I didn't think it was possible for them to exist like this in Ethan, but I didn't think most of this was possible.

So I steel my nerves and begin. "I'm going to tell you everything."

-----

Detailing the unusual events of the past few days takes a while, but by the time I'm finished I'm once again overwhelmed by the weight of what I've experienced. Just describing everything is emotionally draining. Add that to my physical exhaustion and I want to crawl in bed for a week.

I'd worried about Ethan's reaction, but for the most part he seems quiet, thoughtful, or maybe just too stunned to form a thought aloud. Part of me wonders if this is a good thing or if it will lead to a worse situation. It's hard to read him in this.

When I finish speaking, he scans my face as if reading my experience for himself. I wait, too exhausted to feel tense anymore.

"This—this is—dang, Viv, how are you still sane?"

"I'm not sure I am sometimes," I say, staring up at the ceiling. "It was crazy; I thought I was losing it because it didn't seem real. Most of the time there was no actual evidence, like it was all in my mind."

He nods slowly. "That makes sense. At least you had the flashdrive. Is it okay if I see the video?"

I shrug, standing up to grab my phone from where I'd abandoned it on the desk. As I turn around, however, I stumble, catching myself on the bed. Ethan looks concerned, but I glare at him until his focus returns to the topic at hand.