Page 43 of Bound By Thorns
I frowned, the memories slipping through my mind like shards of broken glass. “I kept seeing Logan,” I said finally. “Seeing what they were doing to him. It was… unbearable. He didn’t deserve any of it. I wanted to get him out. Ineededto getusout.”
Gabriella nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Maybe that’s why you started wanting to escape,” she said softly. “Because of Logan.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My chest tightened as I stared at her, my mind racing. “I… I guess,” I whispered.
“What did you feel when you first saw Logan?”
“Confused,” I said after a moment. “Shocked, too. I couldn’t believe he was there.”
Her pen hovered over the notepad, but she didn’t write anything, her attention fully on me. “What else?”
I swallowed hard, my voice faltering. “Hopeful. I felt hopeful. Like maybe everything wasn’t lost. And then… I was happy.” I bit my lip, the admission feeling strange, almost selfish. “But I hated myself for that. For being happy while we were both stuck in that hell.”
Gabriella’s expression softened, her voice gentle. “Why did you hate yourself for being happy?”
“Because it felt wrong,” I said quietly. “He was suffering. And I was standing there, thinking how good it was to see someone familiar. Someone who reminded me of what I used to be. I wanted to ask him about Squad Two—about Pedro and Brewer. I wanted to know if they were okay.”
Her voice was steady, even as she pushed further. “And did you ask him?”
“No,” I whispered, my throat tightening. “The first time he saw me, he hated me. I could see it in his eyes. He looked at me like he was…” I trailed off, the word catching in my throat. “Disgusted.”
Blinking back the sting of tears, I continued. “Like I was part of it. Like I was one of them.”
Gabriella gave me a moment before speaking again. “Let’s go back to the hope you felt. Why do you think seeing Logan gave you hope?”
“I don’t know,” I said hesitantly, but she didn’t let me off the hook. Her silence urged me to dig deeper.
“I guess… because he represented something real,” I said finally. “Something from outside that place. He wasn’t just another prisoner. He was Squad Six. He was…home.”
Gabriella nodded, her voice soft but firm. “And why did you want to ask him about Pedro and Brewer? What did knowing about them mean to you?”
“They were my team. My family. If they were alive… if they were okay… it meant some part of me hadn’t failed completely.”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “So, Logan gave you that push to escape. He reminded you of what you were fighting for. Of the life you’d lost but still wanted to get back to.”
“Yes,” I said quietly.
Gabriella studied me for a moment, then her tone shifted, pressing gently. “But why Logan? There were other prisoners, weren’t there? Why only escape with him?”
I blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Because…” I struggled for an answer. “Because he’s Squad Six.”
Her brow lifted slightly, and she tilted her head. “Just that? Because he’s Squad Six?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, frustration creeping into my voice. “I just… I felt like I had to. Like it was the only thing I could do that mattered.”
Gabriella leaned back slightly, her voice thoughtful. “Maybe it wasn’t just about Logan. Maybe it was about something deeper.”
I frowned, unsure of where she was going. “What do you mean?”
She set the notepad down on the armrest. “You lost Kyle and Riley. They were part of your squad, your family. And you couldn’t save them. That kind of guilt doesn’t just disappear. It finds a way to stay with you.”
My stomach twisted at her words, but I stayed silent, waiting.
“So when you saw Logan,” she continued, “he gave you an opportunity to act. To try to fix what you couldn’t with your own squad. Maybe saving him felt like a way to deal with the guilt of surviving when Kyle and Riley didn’t.”
The room felt too quiet. “You think I was trying to… make up for it?” I asked slowly, the realization dawning on me.
Gabriella nodded. “It’s possible. You’ve been carrying the weight of their deaths, Kaylan. Maybe saving Logan was your way of finding purpose in that guilt. A way of telling yourself that their loss—and your survival—could still mean something.”
