The labyrinth of backstreets seemed a hundred times worse now that my heart was thundering with the strength of a deadly hurricane. I couldn't tell apart its panicked beats from the sound of approaching footsteps, or distinguish nearby whispers and voices from my own strident, wheezing breaths.

Blinding splashes of color painted across crumbling walls flashed before my eyes with every thrumming pulse. I held on tight to Juan's hand, trying not to lose sight of him amidst the chaos, trying not to let go amidst the frantic rush. My nails dug too deep into his skin, and I could feel his gripping fingers bruising my wrist.

The faces drawn on discolored murals seemed like they were staring at us. There were tiny holes speckled on every other wall, none bigger than a bullet. I wondered if there were eyes peering from the other side, quietly following us as we tried to get away.

Pablo's men could have been lurking anywhere–around corners, behind doors, atop roofs–perhaps with a gun aimed at our heads.

We were like two little flies, stuck in a giant spider's web, tangled in a net like the electrical wires dangling above our heads. Kicking, fighting, struggling to fly away, too desperate to realize we were already damned.

How long will this go on for? The streets were endless, so dark and narrow they almost looked like tunnels. There was no light in the distance, no end in sight.

I choked on the clouds of dust our hurried steps kicked up. I couldn't breathe, I could taste blood on the back of my tongue, and I could feel a fire tearing up my lungs. This doesn't stop until we're both dead, he'd said.

Juan grabbed me by the arm and stopped me dead in my tracks. His long finger pointed beneath my chin, straight and steady as an order.

"Wait for me here," he whispered.

I nodded, and once he'd spun around and disappeared around yet another corner, everything fell quiet. It wasn't the calm, peaceful kind of quiet, it was the eerie one that sends all of your senses into overdrive, makes your skin crawl with millions of itchy little bugs, and makes you hold your breath, too afraid you'd shatter the silence and it would rain down on you like a hailstorm.

I wished I had found a better spot to hide and wait. I stood out like a sore thumb on this empty street. My dark hoodie wasn't much of a camouflage against the alley's colorful walls, and it just wasn't a particularly nice place to be. Raw sewage leaked from rusted pipes and trickled past my feet, seeping into the soles of my shoes and stinking up the street.

The regular echo of falling drops sounded like the tick of a clock, marking every second with a trepidating tap, taunting and tormenting, for what felt like forever. And with every second, another tear of worry bled through my pores, sticking a wild strand of hair to my forehead. A little lump I couldn't swallow drowned my short breaths before they'd even left my throat.

Three streets away, a motorbike's exhaust pipe let out a deafening pop. I jumped. I jumped as a rat scurried five feet ahead in the alley, and again when a large piece of tarp flapped in the breeze. I jumped at every sound, every movement, every panicked skip of my heart. Yet when footsteps approached, I froze.

I stood still, gaze fixed on the ground, holding my breath. Heavy boots kept on trudging towards me, painfully slowly. There were a thousand things I could have done, and not a single one I did. I guessed I prayed they'd mistake me for a statue or something. I watched as their feet stopped right in front of me.

"Permiso," mumbled a man.

Excuse me.

I looked up, and the guy pointed down the street. I took a step back, and he quickly squeezed past me.

"Perdón," I murmured as he walked away.

Sorry.

And so when someone grabbed my arm, I jumped again.

"Fuck, Sarah," groaned Juan. "You need to chill."

"Maybe you should unchill," I hissed, narrowing my eyes at him. "Or maybe, you know– acknowledge we're being chased by half a cartel, and if you sneak up on me, I'm going to jump."

He rolled his eyes at me. "There is not a single way I could have announced my presence that wouldn't have made you shit your pants."

"Yes, there is," I muttered, although at that moment I couldn't come up with one.

"Also, don't think I don't know what we're up against," he said. "Just because I'm not acting batshit crazy doesn't mean I'm not concerned."

"Why are you calling me batshit crazy?" I cried.

Juan shrugged off my question, and pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "When you're done externalizing your emotions by taking them out on me, you can follow me down that street. I've found our way out."

He didn't wait for me to head down the narrow road, but it didn't take me more than a second to decide I'd go along with him. In two steps, I'd caught up, and grabbed tight onto his hand to make sure he wouldn't leave me behind.

We walked out onto a large and busy street, a hustle and bustle so different from that of the alleys where I'd been hiding, I felt like I'd just opened up a door and ended up on the edge of a ravine.

Cars whooshed by, speeding over potholes and the mushy chunks of a pineapple that seemed to have rolled off a market stall just an hour or two before. Gravel sputtered out from under spinning wheels, spurts of dirt hit my face and dust crept into my eyes.

I could hear roaring engines, honking horns, a cacophony of shouting voices, and screeching rust, rising from every side of the street, all fighting to be heard amidst the chaos. Everything seemed like it was going so fast, or perhaps I was the one who acted too slow.

I'd let go of Juan's hand for two seconds, just while I processed the scenes around me, And in those two seconds, he'd darted into the crazy traffic and crossed a third of the street. On the sidewalk opposite us, a man whistled and raised his arm, waving us over to his rusty pickup truck.

Juan pulled a thin wad of cash out of the front pocket of his backpack and handed it to the man. The driver counted them three or four times, flicking through the notes with the tips of his calloused fingers.

His eyebrows rose and movements slowed with each recount, until he dropped the last half of the cigarette he'd been balancing between his lips. He shook his head, as if he'd woken up from a daydream.

It seemed like Juan had paid him a lot of money. Perhaps even too much. I hoped it would be worth it, but I couldn't help but feel bitter. Juan was willing to spend seemingly unbelievable amounts of money for a ride in the back of a beat-up pick-up, and yet still he'd suggested I should sell Ana's necklace.

"Sarah," hollered Juan, as he stood in the truck's bed. "Get in."

I threw him my backpack, and the man held my hand to help me climb up there with Juan. At least all that money got us decent service, I just wished there'd be some comfort with it.

We hadn't even moved yet, and Juan's left side was already veiled in a layer of dust. He laid down, with his head on his bag, his arms crossed and his eyes peacefully shut, like he'd done this a thousand times before. I tried to do the same, but I just couldn't keep my eyes closed.

The truck shuddered, and backed up onto the road, triggering a loud lament of car horns behind us. I curled up in the ball, hoping the people around us couldn't see me, and wishing that Juan would hold me.

I stared at the sky above us. Fluffy clouds waltzed across the perfect azure, like little lambs in a pasture. I wanted to reach up and try to touch them, feel the warm afternoon sun on my skin, but I was afraid I might be seen. There were still a few things standing between me and freedom.

The tangled powerlines hanging above my head turned into twisting branches as we left the small town. I could see birds, flying back and forth from one branch to another, but I couldn't hear their songs over the loud humming of the engine.

Sunbeams battled shadows among the leaves, piercing the fresh breeze to plant soft kisses on my forehead. I let myself take a deep breath. I was okay.

Part of me wished I could sit up, and take one last look at the landscapes before I left this part of the world forever. I remembered how pretty the sights were when I first arrived, with all the forests, mountains, and rivers.

It would have been more interesting to take one last look at the beauty around me, rather than try to decipher the boring shapes in the clouds, but I felt a bittersweet pinch to my heart just thinking about it. It was best to look up, and not back.

"Sarah, are you okay?" asked Juan, as he wiped my cheek with his curled-up knuckle.

"I feel weird." "Not like I'm ill, but– I don't know."

"I get it. Being free after all this time feels like you're being dropped from a high-rise building. And you don't know if you have a parachute to soften the landing."

"Yeah," I breathed. "So where are we going now?"

"We're leaving the country. We're crossing the border today," he said. "Before Pablo finds you, and before my Dad figures out I've left him without a grandson too."

"Okay, but like, where?"

"It doesn't really have a name, Sarah. It's in the middle of nowhere," lifted a finger to point back at the driver. "This dude is getting us as close as he can to the border, and then we'll go the rest of the way on foot."

He pulled out his phone, and showed me on a map where the man driving the truck had agreed to drop us off. And then he zoomed out, and scrolled, and scrolled, for what felt like forever.

Holy shit, I thought. That's a long way to go. Even as the crow flies, and let alone on foot.

"See that bend in the big river? The one that looks like a horseshoe? We're meeting the other guy there, and he'll help us get across," he told me. "Then when we get to the other side, I'll drain my bank account, which gives us twenty thousand dollars, more or less. We can keep some stuff like your ring and sell them later, so we're not flying to Europe with suspicious amounts of cash, and my Dad won't be able to track us down all the way over there."

Juan paused, with his finger hovering half an inch above his phone's screen. His forehead creased, and he turned his head toward me.

"Did you bring the passports?" he asked.

My heart fell in my chest, a free fall six-hundred feet tall, like it was a little rock Juan had kicked off a cliff.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," I hissed.

His concerned face held up for a minute, before it twisted into a shit-eating grin.

"Please tell me you have them," I begged him.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he chuckled.

As a matter of fact, yes, I often do. Because whether he'd forgotten our passports in the car, or was just joking that he did, those were equally idiotic things to do. I shook my head, more in despair than as a negative answer.

"Show me the passports," I said, reaching for his backpack.

He pulled it away before I could grab it. "Why, don't you believe me?"

I stared at him, and he stared back. While he was too busy trying his best not to blink, I jerked forward to grab the bag. He grabbed me by the wrist and pinned me down to the truck's bed. His lips were a mere inch away from mine– if we hit a pothole, it would be one painful kiss.

"You don't trust me," he murmured.

"No, I do," I stuttered.

Juan's eyes scanned mine like he was reading the pages of an open book. He laughed a little, but soon enough his toothy smile turned into gritting teeth.

"No you don't," he mumbled.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, and scraped my teeth against the words that had stayed stuck on the tip of my tongue.

"Do I need to take a bullet for you to realize how much I love you?" he asked.

"No."

He let go of my hand, and let out a sigh. "I hope so, Sarah."

The pick-up truck stopped about an hour later, and dropped us off around the bend on a deserted road. Juan adjusted the straps of my backpack so they fit snugly onto my shoulders, and thanked the driver with no more than a few words.

He held my hand to help me out of the truck bed, and as we hopped over a wide, sludge-filled ditch on the side of the road. He held it all the way through an endless, overgrown corn field, and warned me over and over about snakes that might be hiding between the rows.

He never let go, and instead gripped tighter every time he felt it slip away. I wondered if there was a point he was trying to make. He held it for so long, that I was the one who finally let go, only to wipe the clamminess off on the side of my leg.

The field ended on the edge of a pretty grove. The afternoon heat was almost unbearable, and a little shade was more than welcome.

Between each palm tree, golden rays of sun hit the ground and reflected off the specks of dust suspended in the air. Vines climbed up and across, stretching between each tree, hanging like Christmas garlands between the fronds. Ferns grew halfway up the palm trees' trunks. A few tufts of grass managed to grow here and there on the otherwise naked ground.

It was pretty, at first, but it grew old the longer we walked. Even in the shadow of the trees, the sweltering air still had me sweating like a pig, and my feet were already getting sore. I'd fallen out a goddamn window just a few days before, and the sneakers Juan had given me were a size or two too small.

"Is it always this hot around here?" I complained.

"You should take off your sweater," Juan snickered.

I rolled my eyes at him. "I'm not wearing anything underneath it."

"And?" he shrugged, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I don't mind."

I teasingly lifted the hem of my sweater, revealing bare skin up to the small curve under my breasts. A glint lit up Juan's eyes, and he bit the corner of his lip.

"Do you want to take a break?" he asked.

"Sure."

I ran my fingers across a fallen tree trunk to check for bugs, and dropped my backpack beside it. The rotting bark cracked beneath my weight as let myself down with a huff.

"Oh, that kind of break," he mumbled.

"We're not going to have sex in a forest, Juan," I groaned. "We have better things to do."

His eyebrows rose up. "Nothing is better than sex."

"What about running away so we don't get killed?" I muttered. "Not dying is better than sex."

"Well, I'm dying to make love to you," he crooned.

I ignored him, and pulled out a small bottle of water from the bottom of my bag. That was all the water we'd brought, and it would have to last a while, so I only took one careful sip– just enough to soothe my parched throat.

Juan reluctantly sat down next to me, and threw me one of the chocolate-chip granola bars he'd brought with us for snacks.

"Look," hollered Juan.

I lifted my head up, and a little flash of bright orange wings fluttered right past my face.

"Flying Doritos," we said in unison.

We smiled at each other and let out timid laughs.

As annoying as Juan was sometimes, he was the one and only man I could see myself spending my life with. Never again would I find anyone else who could look at a little orange butterfly and compare it to a spicy flying tortilla chip.

We were an unlikely match, and sometimes I felt like we might not work out, but it was the little moments like these where I knew we were just meant to be.

"Sarah?" murmured Juan, and at first I didn't hear him. "Sarah."

"Hmm?"

That spark in his eyes hadn't faded. In fact, they shined ten times brighter now.

"When did you fall in love with me?" he asked.

I choked on a little chuckle. "That's a good question, actually."

He stared off into the distance, his gaze lost far beyond the endless maze of vines and palm trees.

"For me, it happened on that day," he whispered. "You know, at the beach."

"Before or after I was roofied?"

"The second you agreed to get on my bicycle and escape from the guards," he answered confidently. "I love a girl who's not afraid of adventure. And then when you noticed I was quoting Titanic, I knew you were the one."

"And then you went and got a handjob from a crazy British chick in the club," I cackled, albeit a little sour.

"It was a blowjob," he corrected me, always the hopeless romantic. "I thought you'd never be mine, so I had to get my mind off of you somehow."

"I knew it," I snickered. "I knew you were jealous of that guy."

Juan shook his head and scoffed. "I punched your Dan-Dan in the face because he was an asshole. I knew he wasn't any competition. He was an ugly motherfucker, you know. Mind you, he probably looks even more like Owen Wilson now that I broke his nose."

"You didn't really need to cause that much of a scene, though," I said.

He shrugged, and stared off in the distance again. He was probably picturing us on that warm strip of black sand again, either playing in the waves, or staring at the sunset while we quizzed each other about butterflies and movie quotes. Maybe clutching me in his arms as I slowly passed out, with a drunken smile on my face. At least, I was.

I hoped we'd live a thousand more of those sweet moments, growing old on a beach where the sand was another color. I wondered if there were nice beaches in Hungary, or wherever else we'd end up.

"Have you figured it out yet?" he asked.

"What?"

"When you fell in love."

I hadn't thought of it, but I didn't really have to. I'd fallen in love again and again, every day since he'd walked into my life. Each time a little harder.

Whenever he stared at me with those big dark eyes. With every waft of his perfume. Every time he said something racy that made me squeeze my legs real hard, and with each of the boyish grins that followed my reactions.

I'd fallen in love with his sweet words, all the promises he had yet to keep, the way he held my hand or grabbed my waist, the times he told me I was pretty. How he made me feel like no one else ever had– loved, alive and free.

I chewed the cap of my water bottle, and thought of an answer that wasn't so cheesy. "Probably the first time I saw you."

"That's cheating. Love at first sight doesn't exist," he said. "I mean, I know panties drop in unison whenever I walk into a room, but that's attraction, not love. It's different."

"Alright, then," I smiled. "Maybe when I went on that whole rant about Pablo's buttons when I was high off my tits, and you stayed and listened to the whole thing."

Juan grinned. "Who wouldn't? It was the best thing I've ever heard."

Our little, orange, Dorito-looking friend circled us a few times, before it decided to land on the tip of Juan's finger. Juan's smile widened as he watched the butterfly softly bat its wings, and then some more as he glanced at me.

"No way," I gasped. "How did you do that?"

"Try it, it's super easy," he said. "You just hold out your hand, and then after a while, they come and rest on your finger. I think the sugar from the granola bar helps."

Juan tried to move his hand towards me, but just as I stretched out mine, the butterfly flew away.

"Aw, too late," I sighed.

"He'll come back. Just wait, and try not to move so much." Juan held my wrist to keep it still. "Butterflies are like women. All you need is a bunch of sweet stuff and a shit ton of patience."

We waited for a while, smiling at each other like the two brainless idiots we probably were, and the butterfly came back. It barely grazed my finger, and I flinched at the tickling feeling, scaring it away, but it was good enough for me.

"I think of you whenever I see them, now," murmured Juan.

"I feel them in my stomach whenever I think of you," I replied.

He pursed his lips, squeezing them into a shape that looked somewhat like a heart, and his cheeks seemed to blush, just a bit.

"I was going to say something dirty, but that's the sweetest thing anyone has ever told me, and I don't want to ruin it," he laughed.

I playfully rolled my eyes, and dusted the granola crumbs off my knees.

"Should we get going?" I said.

Juan agreed, so we stood up and kept on walking. The sooner we were out of this country, the better. I knew there weren't many things that could keep Pablo away, but having a border between us could only help. His influence couldn't stretch to the other side of the world, anyway.

The grove stretched for longer than I thought it would, and then ended abruptly on the edge of a cliff. A barren landscape stretched ahead of us, from the foot of the mountain all the way to the horizon. Hopefully, this was the last step of our exhausting adventure.

For some reason, Dora the Explorer's voice rang in my head. Snake-filled cornfield, romantic palm tree forest, stupidly long desert. And then I remembered how I'd made that dumb joke to Mafer, on the night she pretended she'd help me escape, so I smacked Dora's voice out of my head, like nothing more than another intrusive thought. Soon, I'd never have to think about her or any of these other assholes, ever again.

Juan found a rocky, rugged path that led us down the side of the cliff. He walked in front of me, and caught me each of the few times I slipped. Please God, let this be our last step, I begged.

The air was heavy, and the ground was covered in a blinding white layer of dust. It filled my lungs, and caked the inside of my mouth and nose, making me sneeze and cough.

I craved the shadows, and almost missed the cool air inside that grimy hotel where we'd spent the night. Sparse trees, most of which were nothing more than wooden skeletons devoid of leaves, offered no relent from the merciless sun.

Soon enough, my neck and hands were bright red with sunburns, and I figured my face was too, given how badly it was stinging. That stabbing pain in my legs had never left, and it was starting to get overwhelming. I sat down on the first rock I could find.

"I need a break," I mumbled.

"Again? We're nearly there, Sarah," whined Juan. "If we keep going, we'll make it before sundown."

I winced as I ran my finger across the back of my heel. Juan was exaggerating a little. We'd had our last break ages ago, and it was a miracle I'd made it so far. My finger was covered in blood, and I just knew my feet were now nothing more than a gnarly mush of blisters and sores.

I sheltered my eyes from the sun with my hand, and looked across the wasted slopes ahead of us, that led to more barren land, stretching as far as I could see.

"Are you sure? I don't see a river nearby."

"If we keep walking towards the East, we'll be there in thirty minutes," said Juan, glancing at his watch.

"Then why are we walking towards the West?" I asked.

He set his hands on his hips, and cocked his head to one side. "The Sun sets in the East. We're walking towards the East."

"Juan, the sun sets in the West," I sighed, and pointed my hand towards the setting sun. "This is the West. The North is to our right, and the East is behind us."

Juan kicked a rock, and clenched his jaw so tight his face seemed deformed.

"Are we lost?" I asked, although I was fairly sure I knew the answer to that question.

"Well, the good thing is that if I don't know where we are, there's no way Pablo will ever find us," he answered with an awkward smile.

I shut my eyes, and buried my burning face in the palm of my hands. I sucked in a deep breath, and counted to four. It wasn't enough. At this point, my problem would only be solved if I held my breath and counted to four thousand.

"So, the guy who's helping us cross the border," I said, and the knot in my throat made my voice sound one octave higher. "Is he going to wait for us?"

Juan's fingers fidgeted around his pockets. "Maybe I should warn him–"

"Maybe you should," I retorted.

"–but my phone ran out of battery a few minutes ago."

I slammed my forehead down onto my knees.

Public service announcement for all of you out there. The perfect man doesn't have a Greek god's chiseled abs, colorful orbs where his eyes should be, and a deep voice that sends shivers down your spine. He has a functional brain, a sense of direction, and at the bare minimum, some kind of communication skills. Learn from my mistakes, I beg you.

"Please tell me this is a nightmare," I whined.

"I know what we can do," he said. "We head North, and at some point, we'll find the river. From that point on, we head left, and we'll find the horseshoe part where we're supposed to meet the guy."

"Right," I said.

"Great, then let's go."

"No, I meant we head right," I muttered. "If we're heading North, then East is right."

He let out a nervous chuckle. "Oh, yeah, brain fart."

At this point, it wasn't a brain fart. It was a continuous stream of fecal thought matter oozing from his skull. Irritable Brain Syndrome, at the very least.

I picked up my backpack, and stood up so fast it made me feel dizzy. "How long have we been walking in the wrong direction?"

"Two hours," said Juan. "And a half."

"Great, so we have at least five hours more until we get there," I mumbled.

I managed to take a single step forward, before I slipped on a rock and fell backward with a pathetic thump. I thought about staying there and letting the sun fry me to death, but Juan picked me up.

"I think we should stop for the night," he said. "I didn't bring any flashlights."

I shrugged, and slapped my hands on my sides with a loud, desperate sigh. "I mean, at this point, why don't we find a nice cliff and jump off of it."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I fucked up."

"That you did. Now let's find shelter before the sun goes down," I groaned, as I swung an arm out, gesturing at the deserted landscape ahead of us. "Do you know of any nice hotels in the area?"

Juan's brow furrowed. "Sarah, please, I don't want to fight."

"Whatever," I spat.

He pinched the bridge of his nose like I'd given him a migraine, as if he himself wasn't the biggest headache I'd ever met. My head hurt too, and it was all his fault, for dragging me through the wilderness for so long, under the blistering sun, with nothing more than the sweater on my back, the heavy bag on my shoulders, two granola bars, and a small bottle of water I'd already emptied.

I led the way this time, making sure we headed in a productive, Northeastern direction, instead of Juan's idiotic and ill-fated Westbound hike. He followed behind me, dragging his feet, and keeping quiet.

He only piped up a few minutes later, to point out a little alcove on the side of a small, craggy cliff. A cave, I thought. Amazing, welcome back to the Stone Age. I'll pick berries for dinner and he can hunt down a mammoth.

Now it was certain, I really missed that dirty hotel. Even another night at Pablo's house would be nicer than this Hell.

"It should shelter us from the wind," said Juan.

"Is it enough?" I huffed.

"It'll have to be," he muttered. "I forgot to pack my trusty little camping tent."

The Sun had set a few minutes ago, tinting the world in a gloomy shade of blue. Mother Nature was a sarcastic piece of shit, and as soon as the moon came out, she blew a cold breeze, and made me wish I'd packed a few more sunburns to keep me warm.

My whole body shivered. I felt sick and feverish.

"Are you cold?" Juan worried.

"I'm fine," I mumbled.

He sighed, and stomped over to the closest, dead-looking tree. He keeled it over with one big kick, and broke its thin branches up into little sticks.

He piled them up on the ground, and looked up at me.

"Do you know how to light a fire?" he asked.

"Not really, no," I muttered, shuffling through my backpack in the hopes I'd find some food.

Juan frowned. "Didn't you grow up poor?"

"Poor people have stoves Juan, we don't use fucking flintstones anymore," I spat. "It's the twenty-first century."

He knelt down next to his stupid little pile of sticks, hunched over like a caveman. He picked up two rocks and started banging them together.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Lighting a fire," he huffed. "Since you don't want to help."

"Lighting a fire?" I scoffed. "With rocks?"

He stared at me with a confused look on his face. His eyes swept left and right for a good minute, and then he resumed scraping his pebbles against one another. I shook my head, and he sighed.

He didn't even manage to get a spark. He gave up after a while, threw the stones to the ground, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He stuck one between his lips, and lit it up with a lighter he found in his pocket.

"Oh my God," I couldn't help but scream. "You fucking dumbass."

"What? I'm stressed out, Sarah," he cried. "You're fucking stressing me out."

"Give me the damn lighter," I grumbled.

I set fire to a bunch of twigs, and shoved them under a pile of bigger sticks. I got down on my hands and knees, softly blew on the flames, and soon enough, prehistoric miracle, the campfire was lit.

Juan stared at the fire, his eyes as wide as a small child watching Christmas lights.

"Ooh," he breathed.

"Lighter," I spat, clicking the flame right in front of his face. "Makes fire. It's not some advanced technology."

"I didn't know it was enough to light a whole fire," he said.

"And what did you think you'd achieve, banging two rocks together? A huge explosion?" I sighed, slapping my hand on my forehead. "How are you going to survive, Juan?"

"Well, I know how to turn on a stove," he muttered, crossing his arms as he sat down in the dirt.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I didn't know why I'd followed him in the first place. Granted, I didn't know we'd have to put our survival skills to the test like this, but geez. I knew he wasn't the cleverest I'd ever met, but he was pushing the boundaries of clueless.

I laid back and stared at the stars as they began to appear in the night sky, grinding my teeth and biting my tongue so I wouldn't bully him some more.

I just wasn't worth it. He looked sad enough already, and he'd spent his life being told he was worthless. I knew how that felt. If I piled on any more, maybe he'd regret running away with me, leave me while I was sleeping, and that was the last thing I wanted.

Once my anger settled, I felt like an asshole. I didn't regret coming with Juan. He might have been dumb, but he was nice to me, and that was all that mattered.

He'd be frustrating at times, and there would be many things I'd have to teach him, and we'd probably have to hold out on camping trips in the near future. But that's what I get for falling in love with a himbo, isn't it?

"I'm sorry I got us lost, Sarah," Juan said softly. "I really am."

"That's okay," I answered. "I'd be lost without you, anyway."