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‘He is.’

Playing the fool, you make a show of looking under the sheet, behind you at the scrub, then across at the Separates.

‘Nope, can’t see him. Reckon you might’ve killed him.’

My fingers clench into fists. I want to punch this Ty out of you, this part I never bargained for. I shouldn’t have had to wait ten years for this.

‘You’re not the same person either, if you really want to know,’ you say, more quietly now. ‘You’re kind of a bitch.’

I kick the camp bed. ‘I’m trying to help you.’

‘Right, but you kidnapped me. Or have you forgotten that?’

‘I just wanted to talk, understand.’

You snort. ‘Well, Gem, seems only one of us has grown up. Seems one of us is still a little kid.’

You suck your teeth as you watch me, and I remember how you used to chew on native tobacco leaves for hours, sometimes mixing them with ash from the fire first, how I thought then that it suited you, that you looked like a cowboy.

‘No point remembering all those crap parts of life, is there?’ you say. ‘You have to move on, Gem. Forget.’

A hot breeze tickles the backs of my legs, then whips sharp bits of sand against my skin. ‘Prison hasn’t helped you at all.’

‘You have no idea about me,’ you say with a shrug. ‘Not now. Not ever.’

‘I do. I’m the one who remembers.’

Your eyes hold mine, softer for a second, before you grin again. ‘Can’t step into the same river twice, Gem. The river’s older and dirtier and full of shit.’

I shake my head. ‘You said you loved the land, wanted to save it. You wanted to be authentic.’

‘See my words got you hot and sweaty, at least.’

The twinkle in your eyes says you’re still laughing at me. I approach the camp bed again and want to kick, kick, kick, until your insides are so shaken up that when they reassemble you are you, not him. I lean down to grab your shoulders, ready to shake. But when I get close, I stop. Your face is calmer now, expectant—you’re daring me to lose it, to hurt you. I don’t want to give you what you want.

‘Do you think you deserve it then?’ I say. ‘You want me to punish you?’

Another shrug. ‘Once you get it out of your system, maybe you’ll see sense. You’ll see you have to take me back.’

Is that some sort of apology? A shred of remorse, of humanity, left in you after all?

‘So, you know you did wrong?’ I say, my fingers clenching your shoulders. ‘Know you fucked me up?’

That curl of your lip. ‘Reckon that’s pretty obvious.’

I grip my hands tight enough to hurt you, but I stop myself from squeezing any tighter. Your hold on me changing my hold on you.

‘You don’t care at all,’ I say.

Your caring is the least I deserve. You don’t blink as I stare at you, waiting for your words of apology. My face is so close to yours, I could bite you. Instead, I lean down closer and press my lips to yours.

I kiss you.

Your lips are softer than I expected. When you don’t kiss back, I press harder, angry, as you freeze beneath me. I push my tongue into your mouth, slamming into your teeth. My hands are on you, moving down, pressing and pushing at you, willingyou to respond. And you do. With a roar, you push me from you, shoving so hard that I stumble back into the dirt. I look up at you, my breath gone. So, there is strength left in you.

‘No,’ you say.

Your eyes are glinting with fury. You wrench your legs away from the camp bed, straining the rope ties. They hold, and you arch your back against the bed.