The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 8

by Beth Brower

I was between them before I realised how. Facing Pierce, my hands on his arms. I’d broken the grip of his right hand, though he was still holding on with his left. “Let go, Niall,” I shouted. “Let him go!” I looked at Pierce’s face, I caught his gaze with mine and held it fast, then threw my arms around him with such force, he could do nothing but stumble backwards. Unbalanced for a moment and then his arms came around me, pulling me against his chest and anchoring himself. Out of breath, half out of his mind. The press of his cheek against mine made me realise I’d been crying. “Pierce,” I whispered, deliberately choosing his father’s surname. “Pierce. It’s time. It’s time to go. It’s time to leave.” His entire body tightened; a storm so strong it felt like holding on to a gale-force wind. He was fighting, fighting. He could not let go. “Niall.” A rip of a breath in response, his frame quaking with anger, and Pierce let his head drop down against my shoulder. “It’s time to leave this room, to go outside,” I whispered. “There is space, there are long roads, your life is elsewhere. It’s time to go.” I don’t understand why I said what I did, but it was as if he were trapped in a corner not of his own making, yet only he could find a way out. He held me tightly, and I could feel his nod against my shoulder. He kissed my cheek, eyes red with tears. “Long roads,” he repeated. “You’re right. We should go.” He released me. And without a glance to his mother or sister, or the man i...