The Greene Effect - REWRITE!!

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT - THE TRUTH

Amelia Greene -

I keep having the dream.

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Sarah was in my dream last night.

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I think I'm losing it.

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We were never supposed to be three. We could been seven, eight, or nine for all I know, but three just doesn't feel right.

I miss them beyond words. Daniels is alive and maybe close to home by now, ready to greet his future wife, pregnant and close to popping. I should be happy for him. But it doesn't feel right doing this without him.

It's like I can feel that Zussman is suffering. I can't explain how I do, but it keeps me up at night. He's unsafe, and it puts me on edge, sending me into a dark place I've feared for so long. Sometimes I flinch and know he's doing the same somewhere in this damned country.

Another thing I know is that the situation between Pierson and I is going more urgent, screaming to be addressed. I've hardly spoken to him, still angry from his dismissal of Zussman's capture, which was supposed to do me good. I thought I'd finally get over him with this rage and distance.

But it's only getting worse. As it always does. I could never avoid him for long, and when I did, it slowly hurt more and more. Goddamnit, I must be out of my mind. He's got nothing but a drunk streak going for him. He's not worth my time anymore.

You know.

I look at their cots, still empty, and hate how they look without either resting on them. It's quiet in here, and as much as it annoyed me when they wouldn't shut up, I begin to realize that I prefer the noise.

Looking at Zussman's reminds me of the time when he awoke me from my nightmare and held me for a bit after. I proposed the idea of telling him the story behind it, trying to get him to understand why it plagues me each time I close my eyes.

But now there's a chance I'll never get to tell him.

I sift through my bag, wanting to find something to distract myself with. Maybe Stiles will lend me a book. Something, anything, to get my mind off of the two empty cots that are ten times more prominent than they were before.

My finger grazes a soft material. I draw back in surprise, and then reach back down. Slowly, I pull out a familiar blue ribbon, that instantly ties around my throat and squeezes tight.

The damn matching ribbons. His must be in his bag, still sitting on the side of his cot. No one has touched it and no one will go near. But I know it's in there, mocking me, like the one in my hand.

This piece of shit. He wasn't even supposed to take it. We weren't supposed to be in that house for longer than ten minutes.

But I know I'm so glad to have this. I know it gives me an ounce of hope I can't afford to have. I gently stroke it, awed at how soft it still is, despite being shoved at the bottom for months now. This used to make someones hair so pretty. It makes my head throb.

A shadow at the tent flap alerts me. I somehow immediately know it's Stiles, and snap out of my weak moment.

"Oh, hey, Stiles." I quickly place the ribbon back into my bag, hoping he didn't see it. He'd know immediately how it affected me. I didn't want for him to see me that vulnerable, yet.

But judging by the way he eyes me, it looks like I don't have a choice.

"Hey," he starts slowly, moving cautiously, like I was the one with a temper around here. "How have you been?"