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My throat burns. The apartment reeks of failure. I'm not sure what happened, but I guess I must have fucked up somehow. I didn't take enough. Maybe I've been taking too many pills, and my body is too used to it. Maybe I called him at some point.

"Hey, baby," Silas says when he turns around. "You're awake. Here."

He grabs a Gatorade from the fridge and brings it over, sitting at the edge of the bed and twisting off the cap before extending it to me.

And I just stare at it.

"Sit up, Noah. You need to drink this."

I open my mouth to speak, but my throat is far too dry, and no sound comes out. I push myself into a seated position, leaning back against the headboard. Silas must have changed my clothes at some point, because I'm in a tank top and leggingsnow, the writing on my arms now just dark ink smears on my skin. Around me, the room turns onto its side. I retch, covering my mouth with my hand.

"To your left," Silas says. "There's a trash can."

I pick up the small bathroom trash can from the floor beside me, hold it between my legs, and dry heave until bile comes up my throat. From the looks of it, this isn't the first time.

Placing it back on the ground, I take the drink from him, closing my eyes as I drain at least half of it before setting it aside.

"I didn't want this to happen," I tell him. "You being here, I mean. I just wanted to die."

"Noah—"

"This wasn't some kind of trick…or Tate-esque manipulation. I didn't want you to save me and force you to take care of me. You can leave."

"I'm not leaving you, Noah," Silas says. "Ever again."

"That's not what I want. I don't want your pity."

"I don't pity you. Iloveyou."

I check the clock on the wall. It's already four in the afternoon. I've been out for around eighteen hours. That's eighteen additional hours that the police have had to piece together the trail of the missing hiker Tate left for them, leading directly to me.

"They're going to come for me, Silas. You're going to get caught."

He sighs. "If that happens, I'll deal with it."

But I see the worry in his eyes. And I know what Silas means when he says that he'll deal with it. He'll either kill them orthey'll kill him. And even if it's the former, he won't get very far leaving a trail of police officers in his wake.

"You look scared."

"I am scared, Noah. Last night was the most terrifying night of my life. I didn't sleep at all. I stayed up all night just to make sure your heart was beating and your lungs were working and taking care of you when you threw up."

"I didn't want you to. I was supposed to die."

A light knock on the door causes me to jump.

"It's Tate," he says. He kisses me on the forehead before moving toward the door.

"Silas, no," I say, my eyes filling with tears. "Please don't."

"He came over here after you last night. He stuck his fingers down your throat until you threw everything up, and he's been checking on you every hour all day and night, Noah."

"I don't care. Ihatehim."

He sighs, shrugging. "Well, he doesn't hate you."

When he reaches for the doorknob anyway, I turn so my back faces the entryway and curl into myself, staring out that kitchen window.

"Hey…how's she doing?" Tate asks in a hushed tone.