It smells a little bit like home.
That’s why I let myself rest against the old stone walls. My shoulders rise and fall as I try to breathe deeply. It hurts — but if there is one thing I’m good at it’s not letting myself think about the pain.
I reach for the flashlight in my pocket, and when I turn it on, Alexei flinches. It’s like the bright light actually hurts. I shift the beam away from him, but there is still enough light for me to see the details that I didn’t have time to fully notice on the dark, crowded street.
Scrapes and blood cover his knuckles. There is a split in his lip. Old bruises blend with new. The cut on his forehead has come open again, and his black hair is coated with red blood that still trickles slowly down his right temple.
“Don’t,” he says. I think it’s because I’m reaching for him. I’m bringing my sleeve to his cut, wiping his blood away.
“No, Gracie. Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.”
“You are not fine!” I run my fingers through his hair, pushing the strands away from his forehead. “They’re monsters.”
“Come on.” He takes my hand. “We should get home,” he says, but doesn’t move.
He stands too close. He looks at me too long. I think, for a second, that maybe he is going to kiss me.
I think maybe I am going to let him.
Thousands of people fill the streets above us. We are just feet away from an angry mob. But we are also alone in the glow of my flashlight’s narrow beam.
“Gracie.” Alexei exhales my name. He pushes my hair away from my face with one hand and holds on to me with the other, slipping his arm around my waist and pulling me close. It hurts but I can’t say so, not when he breathes deeply and says, “What are we going to do?”
Not I.
Not my government.
Not the embassy.
We.
What are we going to do?
Alexei and I are a we now, I realize. At least right here, right now. In this moment. And with the way he rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes, I feel like maybe this feeling — this togetherness — is going to follow us when we finally decide to go back into the light.
Alexei doesn’t speak again. He just holds me to his chest while he takes long, deep breaths. I feel my body moving with his chest.
Spence kissed me.
But this is more.
More intimate. More gentle. More emotion pounds through my veins than anything any boy has ever made me feel. For a second, we both just breathe, him out and me in. Me out and him in. It is like we are sharing breath, the very air that will keep us both alive. And in this moment, I stop thinking about my mother.
“It will pass, Alexei,” I say, remembering Ms. Chancellor’s words.
“Will it?” he asks. But it’s not really a question, I can tell. He pushes me away but takes my hand. He’s still holding it when I aim the flashlight down the long tunnel, to the place where it curves out of sight. It’s what the old explorers must have felt like, seeing the earth disappear over the edge of the horizon.
I know where we’re going.
And yet I can’t help but fear that beyond this point there might be dragons.
“Where have you been?”
Sure, Jamie’s hair is mussed and his shirt is ripped. Bruises and scrapes seem to cover every part of him. And yet it’s almost like he’s bulletproof. I knew he’d be okay, but as soon as I see him, I exhale and slump against the door, breathe a sigh of relief. I didn’t even realize how worried I was until I croak out, “You’re back.”
“Of course I’m back,” he tells me. “I’m worried about you.”
I just saw him take on a half dozen grown men, and yet I almost knock him off his feet when I say, “Thank you.”
He can’t decide whether to be mad at me or just happy that I’m here in the embassy, safe and sound.
“Where were you?” he asks instead.
“I helped Alexei home. We had to take a … back way. We couldn’t let anyone else see us.”
“What were you thinking, Gracie? Were you thinking? Going out there? Tonight? With him? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” He jerks back. It’s like the most awful thought in the world has just occurred to him, a thought he can’t unthink. “Are you?” he asks again. It’s not hyperbole, an exaggeration.
Jamie thinks I have a death wish.
He reaches for me, but I wince and pull away. My brother fought off a mob tonight, and yet this is what hurts him, I can tell. He didn’t save Spence. And this is one more reminder that he is three years too late to save me. Jamie’s armor isn’t quite so shining anymore. Which is probably a good thing. If I were to look in it, I know I wouldn’t like what I’d see.
“I wasn’t there to get hurt,” I assure him. “I’m fine. Alexei is fine. Thanks to you.”
This should bring them back together, mend whatever rift Spence’s death has caused, but Jamie hardens.
“I wasn’t there for him. I was there for you.”
“And I am fine,” I say again.
“You were literally being chased through the streets by an angry mob carrying torches!” Jamie yells, then shakes his head. His anger fades, and all that is left is a deep-seated fear as he whispers, “Mom hated this night.”
Compared to the shouts of the protestors and the noise of the crowd, the embassy is too quiet, too empty. So I say the words that, someday, Jamie is going to have to hear.