their little town doesnât feel safe any more. emily died in the woodsââ a snake bite. now, the snakeâs here, itâs one of them, and⌠itâs her fault.
guilt wraps âround her ribs and crushes. if she hadnât been so selfish, if she hadnât been so childish, to think gettinâ her parents back wouldnât come without consequence⌠she doesnât even want them now, not any more, not if it means losing the people sheâs come to call home. darby thinks back to the last conversations she had with keiran, the last texts they shared.
darby shudders and itâs like clark has a sixth sense: heâs there, pressinâ close, and god above and satan below, this universe cannot take him too. darbyâs arms uncross and she turns to bury herself against clarkâs chest, breathe him in.
if you take him too, iâll kill you, she thinks, like it can possibly make a difference. if youâre so mad i asked, just take me instead.
she balls clarks shirt in her hands and screws her eyes shut as more tears run hot down her cheeks. sheâs not the only one sufferinâ; sheâs got to stay strong. for clark. for cassandra. for keiran.
â d-donât you go disappearinâ on me, too, â she barely whispers, and holds tighter. she presses her cheek against his chest and listens to the steady budum-budum of his heart. â okay ? â
clark felt like he was walking into a big dark cave with nothing to protect him and no one to hold onto and that all the pressure to figure out how to bring light into the cave was on him, even though he had no supplies and no idea what he was doing. not even a fire-starting for dummies book.
there was nothing he could do to comfort his friends. nothing he could do to make any of this better, or right, or go away. nothing he could do to make anyone forget this ever happened. nothing he could do to help them get out of here.
he hated feeling useless. he liked winning. he liked being part of the guard, feeling a little in-control. but the way things were looking right now brought him back to being a little kid in class, not understanding how everyone else was understanding what was going on, and not understanding why he couldnât understand.
he still felt like that sometimes. like everyone else was running marathons and he was on a treadmill, working just as hard but not going anywhere.
and when everyone else was all fucked up, and he couldnât do anything about it. couldnât express himself well enough to be the right kind of sad. couldnât say anything without wondering if he was going to make it worse.
he couldnât make it worse. he refused. instead, he just bent his head down to touch darbyâs as she cried into his chest and held her tight. so tight he might never let go.
âi wonât,â he says into her hair. âpromise, i wonât.â