The Binding

by Bridget Collins

Which was worse? To feel nothing, or to grieve for something you no longer remembered? Surely when you forgot, you’d forget to be sad, or what was the point? And yet that numbness would take part of your self away, it would be like having pins and needles in your soul . . .

And I resented Darnay’s presence for other reasons too—the way he looked at me, the way I was conscious of the stink of pig muck or oil or sweat clinging to my shirt, the way he made my stomach churn. Somehow I always knew when he was under our roof, even when I hadn’t seen him arrive.

“May your darkness be quiet and the light come sooner than you need,”

“It’s you I want. If you don’t, then I’d rather have no one at all.”

Maybe I should have followed him; but somehow it went from too soon to too late, without the right moment in between.

“I know why you hated me,” he said. “Because you wanted me, and you were scared.”