Breathe. Breathe.

Breathe.

Cindy wrapped her arms around her waist and slid down against the brick wall. Chilled air filled her lungs with each harried breath. Cold seeped from the bricks and through the heavy cotton of her sweatshirt, chilling her skin. It shouldn't feel good but it did. Comforting. Reassuring.

Because she could feel it.

She squeezed her eyes closed and rested her forehead against her knees, concentrating on nothing more than breathing. Inhale, hold it, exhale. Slow, steady. Inhale. Exhale. Again, until her heart slowed, until it no longer felt like it was ready to burst from her chest and run away.

A vision of a comic heart sprouting legs and racing away, a look of panic on its funny face, came to mind. Cindy choked back the laugh bubbling in her throat, afraid to let it break free.

Afraid the laughter would sound more like a cackle of insanity if it broke free. Afraid she wouldn't be able to stop if she started.

Another vision sprang to mind, of her being dragged away as she cackled, unable to stop. Over and over and over as she was thrown into a room filled with darkness and cold. Of her flesh freezing and chipping off, dropping away until there was nothing left but a skeleton, its mouth opened as it continued to cackle for all eternity.

A shudder wracked her body, one that had nothing to do with the cold night air and everything to do with the somber vision. What if the doctor was wrong? What if her therapist was wrong? What if she never got better?

Was this what she had to look forward to for the rest of her life?

What if she really was insane? What if she was already locked in that room, tied to a bed, with only her mind allowed to wander?

She finally understood, with frightening clarity, why her father had chosen the path he took. Was this how he'd felt? Like his own mind, once so brilliant, had turned on him? That he'd been trapped forever in a prison of his own making, betrayed by what he had once trusted? With no way out, except for a final darkness that would last forever?

Cindy fisted her hands, digging her short nails into her palms. Feeling. No, she wasn't trapped, not like her father had been. Not yet.

Please, God, not ever.

She was getting better. That's what they kept telling her. And each day would be better than the one before it. She wanted to believe it. She had to believe it, had to hold on to that hope.

Something her father never had.

She shifted against the concrete sidewalk, knowing she should get up. It probably wasn't healthy, sitting here like this in the cold winter air wearing nothing but jeans that were too baggy and a sweatshirt that all but dwarfed her. And the sidewalk probably wasn't clean, was probably covered in dirt and grime and germs and—

She didn't care. Not yet. She needed to calm herself down. Get a grip. Try not to view her panicked flight as a setback.

Breathe. Breathe.

Breathe.

She'd made it inside, that was definitely progress, she had to keep telling herself that. She hadn't expected to see Ethan, not really. And she certainly hadn't expected the flash of emotion she thought she'd glimpsed in his eyes when he first walked over. Unless she was simply imagining that, too.

Probably.

Maybe, somewhere in the back of her cloudy mind, she had known it was a possibility he might see her, come over and say hello. They had been friends, after all, a lifetime ago.

No. Even though a small piece of her knew it might be possible, she hadn't expected it. She had told herself—had convinced herself—that Ethan wouldn't want to see her. Why would he? It had been forever. Things changed. He was probably seeing someone else.

Sadness washed over her at the thought and she pushed it away. Cindy had no claims on him, not now, not then. She had no right to even think of claims, especially not now, not after…

She let the thought trail off, unwilling to finish it. Just one more way her life had changed in the last few months, one more thing to expect from the long, lonely months stretching before her.

Just one more reason why she should get up. Go back inside. Ask Maggie to take her home. No, she couldn't go back inside, it was too much. She shifted, reaching for the phone in her back pocket. She'd send Maggie a text instead, let her know she was outside, that she was okay but ready to go home—

The door opened, letting music and voices drift out into the chilled night air. It was probably Maggie, coming to check on her. Cindy pushed the phone back into her pocket and turned her head, the jumble of excuses dying on her lips.

Not Maggie.

Ethan.

Her heart slammed into her chest and she waited for the panic to creep back in, to take hold and demand she get up, run. But it wasn't panic she felt. It was…

She frowned, unable to place the odd feeling at first. No, not panic. Something different. Sorrow, yes. Regret. But something else, too, something she didn't want to acknowledge, couldn't acknowledge. Not now. Not anymore.

Breathe. Breathe.

He took a few hesitant steps toward her, his face covered in shadows, his body silhouetted by the light behind him. Tall, broad yet lean, an odd combination of strength and gentleness. His hair was longer than she remembered, the shaggy length dipping past the collar of the shirt he wore.

She wished she could see his face more clearly, wanted to see if his angled jaw was covered in the carefully maintained two-day stubble he had preferred on the island. Was it? She thought so. She had just seen him, shouldn't she remember?

He paused several feet away, his hands jammed into the front pockets of his jeans. Then he just stood there, watching her. Maybe it was better she couldn't see his face, couldn't see the pity she was certain must be in his eyes as he looked down at her.

She turned her head, let her gaze drop to the frayed hole in the knee of her jeans. Would he leave if she just ignored him? He should. And she should tell him to leave, tell him she didn't want him standing there, looming over her, watching her.

"Is it okay if I sit? Not right next to you. Over here." He nodded to a spot a few feet to her left.

Cindy heard the hesitation and uncertainty in his words, felt her heart crack just a little at the confusion in his voice. Maggie must have talked to him, must have told him…something.

She took a deep breath, curled her hand into a fist, then slowly nodded.

"I didn't mean to freak you out. Earlier, I mean."

"I'm good." She almost laughed as she said the words. Good? Not even close. Had Maggie told him what was wrong with her? Is that why he was here now? Why he seemed so hesitant? Cindy wanted to ask but kept the question to herself, afraid of the answer.

"Maggie wasn't sure if you were still hungry. She told me to tell you the food's waiting if you are."

Was she still hungry? Cindy tilted her head to the side, trying to decide. Yes, she was, surprisingly. But there was no way she could go back inside, not now. She probably shouldn't have pushed it by coming here tonight, no matter what her therapist said. She wasn't ready, not yet.

Maybe not ever.

"Did you want to go inside and eat?"

She looked over, surprised to see Ethan watching her so carefully. Almost like he was waiting for her to take off running again.

She took another deep breath, forced her hands to uncurl, and shook her head. "No. I'm good."

He shifted and for one horrifying second, she thought he was going to reach out for her. But no, he was just adjusting positions, turning so he was kind of facing her instead of leaning against the wall.

"You can't sit out here all night. It's too cold. You're going to get sick."

"I'm not crazy." And oh God, why had she said that? The words had spilled from her lips, filled with bitterness, edged with panic even she could hear. Her gaze darted to Ethan as she waited, wondering what he would say. What he would do.

He didn't do anything, though, just sat there, his long legs folded in front of him like he was ready to do yoga. She could see his face now, she realized. Could see his eyes, deep smoky blue, fringed in thick, dark lashes. But she didn't see pity in their depths, or judgment—just concern, and maybe a little confusion.

"I didn't think you were."

"I'm pretty sure my mom does, pretty sure she thinks I'm insane. She won't even look at me anymore." Her voice broke and she took a shaky breath, forced her gaze away from his before he could see too much. It was bad enough she was saying too much—why was she telling him this?—she couldn't let him see the worry and the fear she carried with her.

Silence settled around them, broken only by the sounds of the night: cars driving by, their tires whirring against the blacktop of the road; the muted sound of music coming from inside, barely audible through the closed door and thick brick walls; the hum of the street lamp on the corner, so soft she wondered if the noise was nothing more than her imagination.

The sound of Ethan breathing, deep and steady. Alive. So alive.

She closed her eyes, remembered the feel of his chest rising and falling against her back as they curled together in his bed. Remembered the feel of hard flesh and muscle beneath her hands, warm and alive. Remembered the feel of strong hands caressing her, their touch as gentle and reassuring as the quiet words he whispered in her ear as they made love.

Memories, bittersweet and painful. She squeezed her eyes tighter, willing away the burning tears, knowing that memories would be all she'd have now. How could she have anything else, when she was so afraid most of the time? When anxiety froze her, made her flinch or pull away whenever someone touched her?

Just one more thing she'd lost, one more thing she'd never get back, no matter what they told her.

"Cindy. Look at me. Please." Ethan's voice was so soft, so tender. Filled with confusion, yes, but also with understanding. How could he understand, when she didn't understand herself?

She opened her eyes, turned her head just the slightest bit. His gaze caught hers, held it. He was closer now, less than a foot away. How had he gotten so close without her realizing it?

But there was no panic. No fear. Just…just Ethan.

"I don't think you're insane."

"How can you say that? You don't even know what happened. What's going on."

"No. But I know you. And you're not crazy."

The words shouldn't have meant anything. They were just words, something uttered as nothing more than an empty assurance. But they weren't empty; she could see the truth in Ethan's eyes. He believed her.

No, he believed in her.

She wanted to thank him but her throat was too thick so she simply nodded, hoping that would be enough. Maybe it was, if the small grin he gave her meant anything.

"Did you want me to take you home?"

"Maggie—"

"I can tell her. You don't need to go inside if you don't want to."

She should tell him it wasn't that. No, not that at all. She was worried she'd freak out if she was in close quarters with anyone but Maggie. She was used to Maggie. They were friends, comfortable around each other.

But she was friends with Ethan, too. At least, she had been. Maybe…maybe she wouldn't freak out.

But could she take that chance?

He bounced to his feet then leaned down, holding his hand out for her to take. She shied away at first, waiting for the panic to overtake her. The panic didn't come. Anxiety, yes, but not as overwhelming as she expected, not like what she'd already experienced. She stared at his hand, almost afraid to move. What if she took it then froze? What if simply touching him made her drop to the ground and curl into a ball of anxiety and fear?

What if she took it and nothing happened?

She hesitated, her eyes darting to his for a split second, long enough to see understanding and reassurance in their depths. This was Ethan. She knew Ethan. Trusted him. Knew he wouldn't judge her. Just like Maggie didn't judge her.

She took a deep breath and slowly raised her arm, her body stiffening in anticipation as Ethan's hand closed around hers. Warm, gentle. She took another deep breath and slowly curled her fingers around his, felt strength seeping into her through his touch. Then he tugged, helping her to her feet. He kept her hand in his for a few seconds, his fingers squeezing hers before releasing it. Then he stepped back and grinned, the crooked boyish grin that she remembered.

"Better?"

She swallowed against the lump in her throat and slowly nodded. Cautious hope bloomed in her chest. "It's a start."