Sometimes I forget that I can hurt you. That you are capable of being hurt

Before we sit down, he puts his mouth next to my ear and says, “I like your hair that way.

Just do what you're supposed to.

Everything inside me screams for just one more kiss, one more word, one more glance, one more.

For a few minutes we kiss, deep in the chasm, with the roar of water all around us. And we rise, hand in hand, I realize that if we had both chosen differently, we might have ended up doing the same thing, in a safer place, in gray clothes instead of black ones.

I am still the person who would have died rather than kill you

The man running toward me is not a man, he is a boy. A shaggy-haired boy with a crease between his eyebrows. Will. Dull-eyed and mindless, but still Will. He stops running and mirrors me, his feet planted and his gun up. In an instant, I see his finger poised over the trigger and hear the bullet slide into the chamber, and I fire. My eyes squeezed shut. Can't breathe. The bullet hit him in the head. I know because that's where I aimed it.