Juliette pulled herself up to her feet, pausing as she glanced down at Hunter. The sight of him still bound and sprawled on the floor fueled her determination to heed his words. She stepped out onto the grassy clearing, squinting against the piercing sunlight. All her worries about leaving now seemed like wasted energy. They were hidden deep within the woods, a small clearing just large enough for the shipping container in which they were trapped. The spaces between the trees were wide enough for a small vehicle to pass through, but there was no road in sight. She looked around both ends of the trailer; the dense forest extended endlessly in all directions. She couldn't hear anything that suggested civilization was nearby. Just to be sure, she screamed for help until her voice gave out. A group of birds nesting in a tree across the clearing took off with loud, angry squawks, but no other response came.
Derick had meticulously planned this. He must have started plotting how to kidnap and probably murder Hunter from the moment he was expelled from Rosedale. Thoroughness was undeniable. Damn it. Juliette felt tears welling up but fought them back with a deep breath. She couldn't afford any weakness now; there wasn't time for it. Exhaling sharply, she managed to suppress her urge to cry for the moment.
"Forget it," she muttered, walking back inside with some relief after finally managing to relieve herself. It offered a small comfort at least.
"You barely searched!" Hunter exclaimed.
"There's nothing," she replied flatly.
"He drove us here; there has to be some way out…" Hunter trailed off when Juliette shook her head solemnly at him.
"We're somewhere in these woods, and while the trees are sparse enough for a car to get through, there's no clear route."
"Can't you walk around some more? Maybe there's something further away."
Juliette sat down beside him, folding her arms over her knees. "If it were your choice alone, that would be different, but I won't risk your life."
"I would if I could," Hunter argued.
"But you can't," Juliette shot back. "So don't ask me again."
"We have time—"
"You can't know that, Hunter! If I find nothing or lose my way or if the police arrive too late—you'll die."
"I don't think so," Hunter said softly. "I believe he wants to prolong this; he's not going to kill me quickly."
"How is that better?" Juliette snapped back angrily. "I leave and he tortures you while I possibly find help?"
"He will torture me regardless. You won't stop him." His tone was so matter-of-fact it made Juliette flinch. He softened his gaze as he continued, "You need to understand that."
Juliette was fully aware of the situation, even though Hunter might not realize it yet. She knew that, as long as she maneuvered things correctly, a time would come when her presence would be essential to saving his life. She just hoped that when that moment arrived, he would be able to forgive her. "I'll be with you when it happens," she said softly, glancing down at her hands. "You're asking a lot from me."
Hunter exhaled deeply, clearly exasperated. He seemed on the verge of arguing but then unexpectedly laughed.
"What?" Juliette snapped, her tone edged with irritation.
"We really do argue in circles, don't we?" he observed.
"Yes," Juliette responded flatly. "It makes me dizzy."
"Alright," Hunter conceded with a final sigh. "I can't change your mind, so I'll stop before you pull out your sweatshirt again."
Juliette immediately felt a wave of relief wash over her, releasing all her pent-up frustration and defensiveness in one go. Tears began to well up uncontrollably, spilling over her eyelids and streaming down her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away.
"Are you crying?" Hunter's voice was tinged with sympathetic amusement.
"Shut up. I hate this," Juliette sniffed and scrubbed at her face. "This is all your fault."
Hunter's jaw dropped in astonishment. "My fault? What did I do?"
"I'm—I'm all emotional and sensitive and everything now," Juliette said, both dismayed and disgusted. She pointed accusingly at Hunter. "You...you broke me. I don't function properly anymore; I can't st—why am I still crying?" She raised her voice to cover the emotion that clogged her throat. The tears flowed faster, fueled by her frustration and desperation to make them stop. "Damn it." She pressed her fingers tightly against her eyes in an attempt to halt the tears through sheer pressure on her tear ducts. "Damn it, damn it, damn it."
Hunter looked utterly perplexed. "What happened?" he asked, chuckling a bit through his bewilderment. "You won."
Juliette let out a loud groan and drummed her feet on the floor repeatedly to vent some of her irritation. She forced herself to take deep breaths and refused to look at Hunter until she had regained some composure. It felt like she was truly starting to lose her sanity. Another day confined like this might push her over the edge into total madness—or maybe it was another day confined with Hunter specifically that was driving her crazy since technically she could leave at any time if she wanted to—total madness almost seemed preferable because then she wouldn't be aware of how much she was deteriorating mentally.
The idea of complete insanity actually calmed her; imagining herself in such a state dried up her tears. After taking a long, steady breath that confirmed the crying had finally stopped, she addressed Hunter's earlier comment. "It's not a fun fight to win."
"And here I thought you saw every victory as something worth celebrating.
Juliette reclined on the floor, lying flat on her back, and shielded her face with her hands. "I'm not that obnoxious, am I?" she asked, her voice muffled.
"What do you think?" came Hunter's response.
Dropping her hands from her face, Juliette looked over at him with a smile that she knew was feeble. Pulling off such a look was difficult when her eyes were bloodshot and swollen from incessant crying. "I think it's a miracle you deal with me," she said.
Hunter rested his chin on the floor to maintain eye contact. "I could probably list a few reasons why I do."
Juliette arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "Are you sure? Because right now I'm thinking I'm the absolute worst."
"You're not as bad as you think. Completely tolerable, I promise," Hunter assured her.
"Prove it," Juliette challenged him as she pushed herself up to sit, leaning back on her palms. "Give me a list. I dare you."
"Oh. Okay." Hunter seemed caught off guard for a moment. "Uh, well, for starters, you're unapologetically yourself. Even though it irritates me half the time, I wish I had that quality."
"That's half a reason at best," Juliette mocked, trying to project confidence despite the fact that her body shook with unfamiliar nerves.
Hunter made another attempt. "You're brutally honest, and you don't tolerate anyone's nonsense. Especially not mine."
"None of this is making me sound any less obnoxious," Juliette pointed out.
"You are obnoxious," Hunter confirmed with sincerity. "But I like it, so it's okay."
"So it's only okay because you like it?" Juliette teased further. "That doesn't sound very progressive of you."
"I thought this was about listing what I find—my favorite things about you," Hunter protested. "You can't ask for my opinion and then criticize me for it."
Juliette didn't miss his slip of the tongue—things he finds attractive about her—but she let it slide. She had often wondered why Hunter was drawn to her but had always stopped short of finding out. Though it ostensibly didn't matter to her, deep down an ember of curiosity burned within her mind. At this moment, feeling worthless and incompetent, she selfishly craved the ego boost.
Feigning annoyance, she asked, "How's your tolerance for me now?"
"Waning significantly by the second," Hunter replied.
"That's a victory I'll celebrate," Juliette said triumphantly.
Humor flickered across his face despite the bruises and swelling that marred his features. His broad, carefree smile could illuminate anyone's day—and for Juliette, it frequently did just that.
"You know how to get what you want," Hunter continued sincerely. "You're brilliant and more driven and passionate than anyone I've ever met."
"Except maybe you," Juliette countered quickly. She would have said the same about him; she didn't think she was passionate about anything in the way he was devoted to music. Maybe close—but not quite there.
Hunter attempted to shrug, momentarily forgetting about the restrictive chains. The shackles tightened, digging into his skin, prompting him to hiss, "Shit." He added, "I'm a one track mind. You push yourself in everything you do."
Juliette worked on adjusting the chains to provide him relief, finding it more challenging than anticipated but eventually succeeding. She looked at Hunter's open palm, contemplating grasping his hand again. Initially meant to comfort him, she had found solace in that contact herself. The urge to reach out now puzzled her because he appeared fine.
Hunter stopped listing attributes and fixed his gaze on her.
"What? Are you done?" Juliette teased with a hint of self-consciousness. "That's a weak list."
"I'm waiting for you to stop me," he replied seriously, his expression both wary and intrigued.
"Keep waiting," she retorted but inwardly debated whether she should halt him to avoid causing any discomfort due to her sudden sentimentality. Outwardly, she remained resolute.
"Really?" His grin mocked her concerns. "I like sensitive Juliette."
"At least one of us does," Juliette muttered with disdain. "I'd toss her into a meat grinder right after Derick."
Hunter shook his head, still smiling. "Cut her some slack; she's new to the outside world."
"Fine. Derick first then twice over."
"Sure," Hunter responded sarcastically though with an amused glint in his eyes that Juliette caught. "And listen—you know I was just arguing against it, but I love how you've got my back."
Juliette's gaze drifted over the fresh cuts and bruises marking Hunter's back as he corrected himself, "I mean how you fight for those you care about. Sorry for my poor phrasing."
Juliette felt a pang of guilt; she didn't believe she'd been supportive lately, either literally or figuratively. "I don't know about that," she said remorsefully. "It's difficult to claim fighting for someone when you've ignored them for weeks."
"No one's perfect," Hunter remarked lightly though his somber eyes told another story—he urged her silently to forgive herself as he had forgiven her. Juliette couldn't fathom it yet.
"The thing is though," Juliette continued, "after saying we're best friends no matter what yesterday, I still picked a fight with you for no reason."
"Alright, granted that was quite bitchy," Hunter agreed but maintained a suspiciously positive demeanor. "Would it help if I retracted that?"
"In what reality would that make anyone feel better?"
"Good because I would've had to lie. I stand by it," he affirmed.
"Lunacy."
"The fact you're this upset proves my point."
"Or – or –" emphasizing each word for impact, Juliette argued back: "It proves I'm at least somewhat decent as a human being."
"Juliette, you're more than just decent," Hunter insisted fervently. "It's beyond decency to risk your life for someone else—for me."
"I don't think you know very many decent people."
"Clearly, you are right," Hunter replied, twirling his index finger in a slow circle to refer to the room around him and point out Derick. "But also – and I mean also –" He mimicked her repetition, adding a mocking tone. "Your standard for decency is way too high. Much too high."
Juliette rolled her eyes, conceding with a tilt of her head. That was likely true. "Way too high," she corrected.
"I know. I was trying to sound quirky."
"Not quirky, just wrong."
"Can you see my hand? Look at my hand." He was giving her the middle finger. Juliette responded by flipping him off, struggling to maintain a straight face and failing spectacularly.
"I did know I could call you," said Hunter, steering back to their original topic. "And if I had told you something was wrong, you would've forgotten all the awkwardness and discussed it with me."
Juliette nodded in agreement. She definitely would have; she felt certain of it but still didn't see it as excusing her actions.
"I was just embarrassed," Hunter confessed. "And I didn't want us to fix our problems simply because you felt pity for me."
"That's –"
"Stupid, I know," he interjected before she could finish.
Juliette wasn't going to say stupid. She had actually been about to say that it mirrored what she herself would have done; she would have sat at home yearning to talk to Hunter but wouldn't have reached out for the very same reason. She wanted resolutions on everyday terms so that she'd know they were genuine and long-lasting.
Their conflict hadn't been fully resolved when Derick had attacked them, but Juliette found comfort in knowing she was ready to admit her own stupidity and selfishness before their brush with mortal peril.
"When it really matters, I know I can always count on you to listen," said Hunter. "Like really listen, even though you might pretend otherwise."
"What?" Juliette feigned having zoned out.
"You're hilarious."
Juliette's playful reaction belied the unfamiliar tingle she felt inside. It was akin to anxiety but not quite; it felt more like a gentle buzz. She realized then that she hadn't drunk any water since their dinner with Mrs. Rosewood and suspected dehydration was fogging her brain.
"The way you remember random details from our conversations that even I forget—it's one of my favorite things about you; it amazes me every time."
Juliette hadn't been aware that she did this. Listening to Hunter came naturally; he never bored her.
Hunter seemed to sense what she was thinking. "And I love how our conversations flow endlessly without running dry."
"Like when I called after soccer practice just to rant about Melissa—"
"And we ended up talking until dawn," Hunter chuckled. "On a school night, proving just how responsible we truly are."
Juliette had no regrets. Despite falling asleep during history class and earning detention, she remained unapologetic.
"Half the things you say don't even make sense to me," Hunter remarked. "But you obsess over whatever you want even if nobody understands or cares." He wore a little half-smile throughout their entire conversation. "And I love how you ask me about music even though you know nothing about it and never will."
He kept using that word: "love." It made her heart constrict and pound painfully in her chest. Her blood surged thickly through her veins. She wished fervently that he would choose any other word.
"I understand you're passionate about it. That part I get," Juliette replied, feigning nonchalance. She had to put a stop to this; her breathing was growing so shallow she teetered on the edge of hyperventilation. She shook herself to stave off what felt like near delirium. Being this dehydrated meant the last thing she could do was come up with a sensible response to his doting affection. "But now I'm going to stop you. My ego is about to explode, and neither of us wants that."
"Probably wise," he agreed with a laugh. "So, speaking of 'Tiny Dancer', I know you listen to all my Spotify playlists. Ella told me the other day."
"Traitor." Juliette felt herself flush once again. Though she would never admit it, she had spent considerable time listening to his music lately. It was disgustingly sentimental, but it comforted her whenever she missed him more than usual.
"Why hide that, you dork? I could have given you song recommendations."
"You didn't deserve the satisfaction," Juliette retorted, waving her hand dismissively. "I should have known Ella would be on your side."
"Everyone was on my side, Juliette." He was insufferably smug. Pulling off smugness while strung out and half-naked was, admittedly, an impressive skill.
"That is…" She faltered for a comeback. "Disappointingly 100% accurate."
"That's what happens when you're clearly in the wrong."
"Excuse me," said Juliette, puffing up in feigned offense. She threw his own words back at him in rebuttal, saying, "I thought I always had your back because I care so much."
Hunter mirrored her tone exactly: "You do—just with an asterisk. Your words, not mine."
Juliette had a sharp retort ready on the tip of her tongue but held it back at the sound of movement outside. Her stomach churned with anxiety despite her insistence on staying; she feared what Derick would do if he found her still with Hunter.
Hunter heard it too and tensed up instantly. They waited silently, breaths shallow and nerves alight. But nothing happened—Derick did not emerge from hiding. Juliette shot a questioning glance at Hunter, who had no answers for her either.
Pushing herself onto hands and knees, she cautiously crawled over to the door and peeked out into the clearing beyond the threshold. Relieved, she discovered a deer munching contentedly on a bush while keeping one wary eye trained on her every move.
She crawled back over to Hunter. "False alarm."
"Good," said Hunter, relief evident in his voice. "I haven't mentally prepared myself for whatever he's going to do yet."
Juliette hadn't either, nor did she plan to attempt. No amount of preparation would suffice. Just moments before, she had almost relaxed, owing much to Hunter's calming presence when he wasn't driving her mad.
"How long do you think we have?" Juliette asked, hoping Hunter's answer would allay her fears. She herself didn't think it was long, but wished for a different opinion to distract her from her growing pessimism.
"Ten minutes, if we're lucky." His reply dashed any remaining hope. "I'm thinking when he comes in, I'll say 'give me liberty or give me death.' Just for fun. That might throw him off."
"Please never ever ever do that," said Juliette, horrified at the suggestion. "He might actually, you know, 'give you death.'"
"I just want to see the look on his face," Hunter mused.
"Who said that anyway? It sounds so familiar."
"I don't know, one of the Founding Fathers, I think. Carlos would be so disappointed in me for not knowing which one." He laughed softly. "But remember? Celine put it in her book; that's actually what I'm referencing."
"Which book?" Juliette asked, knowing Celine had numerous works.
"The one I inspired. The irony of our current situation is incredible."
"Again I ask, which one?"
Previously surprised, Hunter now looked absolutely stunned. "Detective Moony Rescues a Boy? How do you not remember?"
Upon hearing this, Juliette recalled Celine basing a book on the boy she saw through a window. The irony was indeed palpable; at the time of Celine's writing, Hunter wasn't a prisoner like the character in her story. Yet now he was, almost as if Celine's book foreshadowed his fate. The thought made Juliette grimace; it seemed far too similar to something Celine would say.
"You think I read Celine's books?" she retorted.
"I can't believe you don't."
Juliette hadn't picked up one of Celine's books since Detective had rescued a groundhog—or perhaps it was a beaver; she wasn't certain. She probably should have read at least one by now. Celine's books were her greatest pride and joy. Juliette had never shown interest before but regretted it deeply now. She made herself a promise: if she and Hunter survived this ordeal, the first thing she'd do upon seeing Celine would be to request a copy of each of her books.