Vivian Divine Is Dead by Lauren Sabel Page B

the dark isn’t so dark. I nestle against Nick’s shoulder, letting silence and the crackling of the fire fill me with his words. I feel like there’s a cut straight through his soul, and I’m looking into it.
    I see your soul , I want to say, but I bite my tongue, and hope he sees mine.
     
    My own scream wakes me. I sit straight up, my skin itching with fear.
    “What’s wrong?” Nick asks, sitting up beside me.
    It’s another nightmare. I’m in the black box again, something pressing into me from all sides, but I don’t feel guilty this time, I just feel scared.
    “Are you okay?” Nick searches my face for an answer, but I can’t bring myself to speak. I shake my head, and as if the tears were lodged in there, they shake out and pour down my cheeks.
    Nick strokes the tears off my face, and I’m embarrassed, but I can’t stop crying.
    I never cry in front of anyone! Even at Mom’s funeral I didn’t shed a single tear for the cameras. But this time, it’s like the floodgates opened, and my fear and sadness and shame are pouring out all over him.
    But Nick doesn’t seem to mind. He takes me in his arms and rocks me, back and forth, more gently than I ever thought possible. I don’t want to speak, to ruin the moment. And then I think: This is the most intimate moment I’ve ever had . So I let him hold me and rock me and rub my back. Neither of us says a word. Then the impossible happens: I drift back off to sleep, somehow comforted in Nick’s arms.

Chapter Eleven
    I WAKE THE NEXT MORNING still wrapped in Nick’s arms. The world is unbearably bright, and it smells like pine needles and damp soil. I bury my head in his chest, wanting to stay there forever. But nature has other ideas. I wait until pain fills my bladder, wanting every last moment with Nick, then I stand up and hobble deeper into the woods to find a place to pee.
    The woods aren’t so scary this morning. They’re dressed in the orange-and-black wings of monarchs. There’s a flowering meadow to my left, and when I glance to my right, I’m surprised to see that we are less than fifty feet from the windy dirt road. We were supposed to stay off the road, but we must have crossed it last night in the dark.
    After I find a place to pee, I stand up and head back toward Nick, amazed at how the ground is a fluttering orange carpet, its smooth surface broken only by a small mound at the end of the clearing. A bundle of firewood? I imagine the pride lighting up Nick’s face when I return, cradling an armful of wood for our morning fire.
    As I walk, butterflies lift into the air and swirl around my legs, their wings tickling my skin. I feel something growing inside of me, a small flame of happiness that I haven’t felt since Mom died. I want to cup my hands around it, to protect this tiny feeling of joy flickering inside of me, warming the ice that’s frozen across my heart. I think of Nick’s arms, his smile, his strong chest pressed against my back . . .
    When I reach the mound at the end of the clearing, it’s layered with butterflies. There’s a sweet smell that I can’t place. I reach down to grab the wood, and the butterflies spring off it, leaving something exposed in the sunshine: a body.
     
    My scream echoes through the forest, bouncing off trees and scaring the whole forest to life. Orange wings rain down on me, beating against me like a heavy snow. Birds call in shrieking high voices. I hear Nick yell “Ines!” and his footsteps charging toward me. All this is happening in slow motion, as if from very far away, because I can’t do anything but look at him: the dark suit, pale skin, and two giant orange butterflies resting on his eyelids.
    A physical pain surges in my chest, rolling up my throat, into the back of my mouth . . . I vomit in the bushes. I crouch over and try to hide myself behind a tree. The bitter taste of vomit coats the back of my tongue.
    Nick skids to a stop when he reaches me, the branches breaking under his