Neither of us bothers to settle back into our previous positions. With the amount of debris circling us, there really isn't anywhere to 'settle' anyway. So, we stay exactly where we are, face-to-face, trying to hide the fact that we're both fighting off wave after wave of despair. But the truth is, there's no denying it. It's been at least eight hours since the tornado hit and we haven't even heard the distant wail of sirens. The possibility of getting out of this dungeon seems futile.

"What's one thing you've always wanted to do before you die?" The question is vulgar. I know that. But, at this moment, with the reality of that dreaded "D" word taunting us, it seems appropriate. Why not dive into the dark waters of our final hours? Why not tell one person something we've always feared verbalizing? What's the harm if we're not going to live to be embarrassed by it later anyway?

Bryson smiles at the question. There's no humor in the smile; just understanding—a sense of resignation. We're both on the same page, and there's no reason to hold back any longer. We're free to say everything we've always been afraid to utter into existence.

So we do.

"I've always wanted to learn to surf," he confesses, his face softening.

I can almost picture his thoughts: sizzling sun, hot sand, crashing waves, the silky sensation of water on his skin, laughter, seagulls. I feel it. I feel his desire to be free of this hell and I can't help but want it too.

"Sounds nice," I sigh, crossing my legs and then moving a board out of the way so Bryson can stretch his legs out beside me. We're still facing each other, our thighs pressed tightly together, but I can see that his thoughts are elsewhere.

"Tell me something you've always wanted to do that you've never told anyone else before?" I challenge, turning up the stakes of the game. Part of me hopes he'll decline because then I'll know he still has hope. Hope that we'll make it out of here. But he simply chuckles, his eyes skimming my face as he debates what he's willing to share.

"I've always wanted to get married."

I don't think much of the confession. Lots of people look forward to marriage, so I'm not sure why that's something he finds juicy enough to share with me. He must see that I'm not impressed before he laughs again and drops his attention to his lap. I see him wince before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly as he clears his throat.

"Always," he repeats. "Like, since I was nine. It's not even because I'm obsessed with finding the perfect woman or having kids. I think I've just always craved having my own family. I've got a great family but we all kind of keep to ourselves. Both my parents work a lot, so I'm on my own most of the time and the relationship we do have is a bit shallow. That's bothered me for as long as I can remember, and as a kid, for some reason, I believed that I could do better. If I ever had a family of my own, we'd put effort into spending time together—bonding."

I watch Bryson's face as he talks about his dream and I can't help but feel lost. I have nothing comforting to say, no promises that will make him feel better. So, I remain quiet... watching.

"What about you?" he says, his palm pressed to the ground behind him as he rests his body weight into it. "What's something you'd like to do before you die?"

"Eat," I joke. "Take a really hot shower. Try sushi. Experience the intimacies of marriage. Be brave."

"Ha ha," he mutters sarcastically. "Those were horribly unimpressive. Plus, the never having had sushi before is just pathetic."

I see the glint of humor in his eyes but refrain from defending myself.

"So," he persists, "how about you choose to be brave now and tell me something worthy of my interest."

"Oh no," I say, waving my hands in front of me to discourage him from prying. "You don't want to know."

"Uh, yeah I do," he counters, amusement coating his words as he leans toward me, eyes locking with mine as he silently dares me to speak. "Tell me."

"Fine," I huff, drawing my knees to my chest and circling my arms around them. I keep my head down as I debate just how to word my dying wish, and even though my head knows it's stupid, my body is still tingling with nerves.

"Well...?" He teases, nudging his elbow against my knee.

I drop my head back and groan at the hole in the ceiling. I can't believe I'm about to say it, but with a simple burst of confidence, I let the confession stumble from my lips. I can barely decipher my own words, but I'm hoping Bryson can piece it together without an explanation. But, either he can't, or he's playing dumb.

"What?" he questions, grunting softly as he leans forward to hear me better.

I tilt my head, locking eyes with his as I take a deep, grime-infused breath before repeating myself. "There's a certain guy I've always wanted to..." I cough into my shoulder to hide my humiliation and then add with a shrug, "ya know? Enjoy a good smooch with." My goal is to unravel some of the tension with a little humor, but I fail myself. My body is stiff with insecurity and I do my best to conceal the havoc swarming in my chest.

When Bryson doesn't respond, I roll my eyes and let the words rush from my lips as I avoid his playful gaze. "I've always wanted to kiss you. There. Happy? Now I can die in utter humiliation."

Instantly my hands smack across my face to hide myself from his gaze. Even though it's dark, verbalizing those words to the very person you desire the action from is a miserable experience. Heat blasts up my back, swelling into my cheeks and offering several seconds of pure agony. I'm suddenly desperate to escape... this hole? my skin? my clothes? I don't know what I really need to escape from, but I'm suffocating beneath Bryson's stare and there's absolutely no freedom from it.

Parting my fingers, I chance a quick look at the boy in front of me. I expect disgust or confusion to be playing across his face, but instead, I find humor. He's actually enjoying my mortification.

Something hot stirs to life beneath my chest. Confidence. Anger. Self-pride. There's no way I'm going down like this. Embarrassment doesn't own me. With any other guy, I've always been able to stand up for myself. Bryson's the only guy I've ever felt unworthy of... and that ends now.

So I lean in and seal his lips with my own.

I expect shock. Maybe even a slight jump of surprise. Some kind of hint that I've caught him off guard. But instead, his hands slide up my arms to wrap around my shoulders where he pulls me closer. When I'm where he wants me, he lets his left hand drop to my hip, his thumb rubbing circles into the bone while the other tangles its way into my hair.

And then his lips are moving, parting slightly so he can tug my bottom lip between his own. Warmth explodes into my stomach, my arms wrapping around his shoulders as I deepen the kiss. He doesn't object. In fact, the sound that grumbles from his throat only strengthens my confidence.

Both of his hands are at my waist now, pulling me into him as he gently tilts my head so he can taste more of me. My body is tingling and I swear I'm going to melt into a wobbly pile of jello. He knows what he's doing, somehow managing to read my body language like a pro. He knows exactly what I want and I'm soaking up every second of his affection until he suddenly groans and pulls away.

"Wait," he hisses, carefully lifting me from his lap so that I'm seated beside him again. I battle the thoughts of rejection and annoyance as I watch him drop his head back, eyes pinched shut as he rubs the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry," I croak, my voice suddenly lost right along with my poise. "I shouldn't have—"

"No, no." He waves away my apology, his eyes still closed. He takes in a deep, difficult breath before tilting his head in my direction and pinning me with a look that sends fear skittering down my back. "Something's wrong."

"What?" I push up onto my knees, glancing around us, trying to see what it might be that's disturbed the atmosphere. "What is it?"

"My legs..." He pinches the bridge of his nose and heaves a sigh of frustration. "They were fine, but something isn't right. I can't—They don't." He takes an unsteady breath. "They seem to be going numb."

I'm no expert, but I've watched enough medical TV to know that's not a good sign. Lack of sensation in someone's legs usually means spinal damage... and spinal damage can be permanent.

I thought I'd given up hope, but I was wrong. Because suddenly, I'm more desperate to find a way out of here than ever before.

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Ooo la la! Not sure about you guys, but I definitely enjoyed this chapter. Haha!  What do you think was going through Bryson's head when he kissed Everly?