As soon as she gives back control, I am silent. Light is settling into the driver's seat, struggling to calm his shaking hands. Good.

I almost smile. Alyssa must have scared him half to death.

Light doesn't start the car, doesn't even move. He's sitting in the ocean between us, lulling into each and every wave. And there are so many waves. Battering my heart, my head, everything. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to feel, if anything I'm feeling is right. Whatever right is.

Light's hands itch to find mine, but he does his best to remain still. A statue of alabaster: untouchable. He's sits next to me as if he's forcing himself to stay, as if he's trapped in a straight-jacket. I scowl, tearing my nails across my leggings. He doesn't have to be here. He could just leave. Perhaps that would be better for both of us. If he leaves, I won't have to see him every day, have to imagine his green eyes in the back of my mind in class. I won't have to continually stare at my plate at breakfast because he's sitting across from me.

With him, life is too complicated.

But the best things are.

The tingling in my stomach is an instinct, and yet what I feel, is impossible to explain. Nothing is simple. Nothing ever was. My hands find the edge of my top and I fiddle with the buttons. Until he turns to me, eyes full yet hollow at the same time.

"I've been meaning to talk to you. Alone," he starts. Alone. I want to tell him that we're never alone, that we will always be haunted by the voices in our heads. But I don't. I sit, and he sits and together, we shut out the world.

"I know I have a lot to answer for," he carries on.

"Yes. You do. You watched them do those things to me. You watched me fade away day by day. And you did nothing. How could you just sit back and do nothing?" His face scrunches, as if I've slapped him.

"I tried to remain indifferent. Believe me, I did".

"Maybe you should have," I find myself snapping. "Maybe you should have forgotten me". The window steams up, my breath like fire against it. Dr. Light turns away, facing the tangle of bushes by the curb. The tangle of broken roots that my life has become.

"I couldn't forget someone like you," he whispers. His words are the kind that tear at my seams, but they don't tear me apart. Still facing the window, I picture the back garden, the flowers, the lush grass. I picture myself sitting on the couch, a murder mystery curled into my hand. In a few minutes, I'm calm enough to speak again.

"Why me?" I say to him. He turns and in the wingmirror, I see his hand reach up to touch my shoulder. It falls too soon. I'm not going to let him escape this, not here, not now. He needs to come clean.

"Why did you choose me?"

"I saw you countless times in the facility, but every time didn't seem long enough. Before the Foundation ruined my life, it ruined yours. The first day Doctor Steele showed you to me on the surveillance, I made a vow to hate him. I made a vow to somehow, to set you free. I was under the illusion that what they were doing was good. But every time I saw you in pain, every time I saw you crying, it made me wonder who I was. What I was doing this for. You were a child and I didn't believe Steele when he told me you had agreed to this. No one would agree to what happened to you," he adds quietly. To us, he doesn't need to say. He eases back into the seat, breathing out in a way that makes me think he's been holding those words inside since the day we met.

"I didn't choose you," he continues slowly. "I think you chose me. That moment, when I walked past you down that hall, when I caught a glimpse of you up close. When your eyes opened, just a little... I knew. The hardest thing I ever had to do was walk away from you". Jeweller's eyes lock onto mine, pulling me into his orbit. This time, I break away.

"But you did".

"I know, and it was the worst mistake I ever made. But I couldn't do anything. Janus practically owned me – they still do. And I let them. I'm just as a bad as they are". Suddenly, he slams his hands onto the steering wheel, making the car shake. His hair starts to turn black at the temples. Panic stretches my chest, freezes my limbs so I can't grab his shoulder. Can't touch his face when my hands itch to cup his cheeks. Instead, I use the only other power available.

"Light," I cry. "Bohemian! Bo!" Instantly, the blackness recedes, the pupils retracting their familiar lime green. The steering wheel holds faint imprints of where his fingers have rested, but other than that, the car remains untouched. Mum won't notice. Not that I expect her to root through his car or anything.

Staring at me, Light uncurls a smile and starts to laugh. At first, it's a low rumble. But gradually escalates into a deep throaty chuckle. My eyes wide, I reach out to touch his shoulder, to tell him everything's okay.

"You called me Bo," he says when the laughing subsides. So that's what set him off. Blushing, my hand falls back onto my lap. Focusing on the dashboard, I avoid meeting his gaze.

"Sorry". It was too intimate. Inappropriate. That almost makes me laugh. None of this is 'appropriate'. I think we crossed that line three years ago, when I was forced into a coma.

"I won't do it again," I tell him. He shakes his head.

"No, it's okay. I like it".

"I like it too. It's shorter than Bohemian at least". He smiles, warm like the heater of the car.

"Yes. I agree".

"So do I". I taste the nickname on my lips. "Bo". We sit in silence, ever so briefly, before he adds,

"Perhaps don't call me that in front of your mother". Nodding, I clap a hand to my mouth to stop the giggle.

"Yeah. That would be a one-way ticket to being grounded for the rest of my life".

Another laugh cut short by the deft hand of reality. Reality hits you so suddenly, I've discovered. You banish your thoughts for only a brief second before the truth weaves itself back into the tapestry of your life. And I know what Bo is. Who he is. What he's done. What he hasn't done. What he should have done. I understand. At least, I'm trying to. I understand that he's afraid. But can fear truly circumvent, truly blind him to everything that's happened? Everything he let them do to me. A child. A girl who was just like him once: lost and alone.

In the urban nightmare of the carpark, mottled concrete atop deeply carved potholes, I tip my head back against the passenger seat. Sitting in a car owned by the people who put me in a coma. Who stole three years – more than three years – of my life. Our life. I turn to Bo, but I can't meet his eyes.

"You should have left. You shouldn't have stayed". Bo shook his head.

"The moment I let them put you in the coma, the moment you screamed and fought a broke a Nurse's nose, I knew I had to find a way to free you one day. To help you, or, at the very least, understand you."

"So, you signed yourself up for the cerebral trials," I finish. He nods, hands clenching the steering wheel. I fight the urge to reach out and clasp them with my own.

"I wasn't thinking straight. I was in a haze. It was a punishment, and a mistake. I thought I needed to feel the pain you must have felt. When I lay there, I thought of all the procedures you'd endured: the MRI scans, the electroshock, the CT scans, all without your consent. The blood samples, the bone marrow, the spinal fluid, the DNA samples. I hated myself for letting it happen".

I put my hand over his.

"It wasn't your fault. You were up against an entire organisation, one that raised you." Bo shakes his head, knees shaking in the footwell of the car.

Outside, the wind gathers speed, as if trying to slip into the interior through the hood or the trunk. Leaves leap to their deaths from the tree branches, carried into a new world by the breeze. Around us, the car park is still.

"You should have left," I repeat. Bo turns to me, eyes as hazy as the sun above us.

"I couldn't leave you. I wanted to know you, the real you. I had to stay. For you." All of it, for me. Becoming my psychiatrist, for me. Trying to make me hate him, to keep me safe. All of it, for me. Not for us. My smile drops.

"What about Alyssa? Please, it's her life just as much as mine. She didn't kill your friend. I know she didn't, and I will prove it." Bo strikes the steering wheel, rattling the car.

"She's a killer and a liar," he snaps. Winces. Apologies under his breath. I sit forward, crossing my arms.

"She is just as much a part of me as I am of her. You need to trust us. Trust me." I look away.

If he despises Alyssa, then he might as well hate me too.

Bo sighs, physically deflating. His toned arms seem to shrink to toothpicks. Before I can say anything, he turns toward me, taking my hand.

"I'm sorry, Alice. I do trust you. Do you trust me?"

I don't answer.