Page 103 of Molt

He looks away.

“I’m sorry.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize for wanting to live.”

I stare at him.

“Do you?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Do you want to live?”

“Of course.”

“Then look at me and say it.”

His eyes meet mine. “I want to live.”

The words almost destroy me. Because some selfish part of me wanted him to say no. Wanted him to say he’d happily disappear into me. Wanted him to make this romantic. Beautiful and tragic.

Anything except what it actually is.

Terrifying.

He wants to live and I’m consuming him.

“I don’t want you to die.”

“I know.”

“Stop.”

He closes his mouth.

I laugh weakly.

“Sorry.”

A strange pressure starts behind my left eye. I press my fingers against it.

He notices immediately. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Lenora.”

“My eye hurts.”

He is across the room before I finish the sentence. “Don’t touch it.”

“I’m not peeling my eyeball, August.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

The pressure increases and I wince. It isn’t pain exactly. More like something pressing from behind trying to fit where there isn’t room. My vision doubles. “August.”