“Something horrible had happened here, and had left it's residue behind. It seemed to rise from the bottom of the tiled pool and leak from the ceiling, clinging to the walls and binding itself like some parasite into any host it could ensnare. I imagined it's cold fingers rooting inside me, spreading throughout, and leaving traces of itself embedded in my soul.”

“He looked like he wanted to say something but his jaw tensed andinstead he let his hand travel from my elbow to my hand, the strong pulse from his fingers like a balm to my injured soul. I raised our entwined handsand placed them over the steady thumping of his heart a twin of the rhythm in my own chest. I pressed my head to his chest letting the steady paceof his heart and his citrusy, musky scent envelop me, lull me into a place of security. A place safe enough that I didn’t have to pretend I was okay. Ifailed to sniff back the tears that began to leak from me.”

“A few minutes after discovering we had a goal but no plan, Brent was laughing heartily at a pathetic joke I had made. It reminded me of the firstday on campus when I had thought his laughter sounded like a melody. It did now, even more so. It was music, beautiful, in a manly way, like asensual, slow jazz. I loved jazz.“Jazz, huh?” Brent asked, his voice suddenly husky.“Uh . . . what?”“My laugh reminds you of jazz? Is there anything about me you don’t find attractive?” He rubbed his hand over his lips trying to cover his smirk.“So tell me, how much do you love jazz?”I’m sure my face was pinker than the inside of a watermelon. “I didn’t say any of that.”“You didn’t have to say it, Yara, I could hear it.” Brent tapped the side of his head. “I can hear your thoughts.”“You’re not serious.”“Oh, but I am,” he said, completely straight-faced.”

“Going through a tragedy leaves an impression on people’s souls. Once you’ve had a loss, you learn to deal with it and move on, but you carry that hurt with you always" - Yara Silva `Intrinsical”

“I gulped; I had the overwhelming sensation that what we had done wasn’t enough. I’m not sure what I had expected, maybe a fairy tale endingwhere a magic wand fixed everything, including all the darkness we had been through.But this was no fairy tale. Nothing could bring back the thirty boys that had died. Nothing could take away the grief that had torn their family’shearts into shreds. Experiences like this, I realized, are wounds that never quite healed; they stayed with you and no amount of justice would erasethe scar.”

“An old western standoff had nothing on the looks that my mom and grandma were exchanging. A tumbleweed could have rolled through the kitchen and neither would have noticed.”

“Brent put his arm around me whispering, “I know.” I wasn’t sure if he was agreeing with the fact that we had conquered Thomas, if he knew thereal reason I had risked so much to save him, or if he understood why I was crying. I decided it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he washolding me.”