Air rushed past her as she fell the last ten or so feet to the dirt floor below. She hit the floor hard, rolling even without having to guide her body into the motion. When she stopped she was lying flat on her back staring up at the ceiling which was riddled with holes. It was a wonder the whole thing hadn't collapsed around them.

          A soft thud in the dirt beside her had Rosie turning to see Oliver rising to one knee. He looked towards her and smiled impishly. "Easy peasy," he said before rising to both feet and closing the distance between them.

          By the time he reached her, Rosie was already sitting up. Her concern that her shoulder had been dislocated proved unfounded, but it still felt like it was on fire.

          "Are you okay?" he asked.

          "Sure," Rosie lied, forcing a smile to her lips. "I nearly died, why wouldn't I be okay?"

          Oliver quirked a brow. "Was that supposed to be a joke? If it was, you're terrible. You should quit while you're ahead," Oliver teased.

          Rosie rolled her eyes.

          "Where does it hurt?" Oliver asked, his tone patient.

          "I told you, I'm fine," Rosie insisted.

          "And you're lying," Oliver countered, "I don't understand why, but you are."

          Rosie felt a flush rise to her cheeks. "How do you know if I'm lying or not?"

         "Because you're still sitting on the floor for one," he explained, "and I can see it in your eyes. You're in pain, Rosie, and I don't think any less of you for it. Now please, stop fighting me and let me help you."

          Rosie bit hard on her lower lip and averted her eyes.

          Why did he have to be so damn understanding all the time? If he got angry, or shouted at her, or even walked away when she was being unreasonably stubborn, then it would have been so much easier for Rosie to keep him at arm's length.

          When she didn't answer, Oliver took it upon himself to start examining her. He was gentle, and proper, and when his hands came into contact with her injured shoulder, try as she might, Rosie gave herself away with a whimper that refused to stay locked behind gritted teeth.

          "Damn it, Rosie," Oliver muttered as his fingers propped gently at the tender joint. "I'm sorry, this is my fault."

          "Sorry?" Rosie questioned after she had caught her breath. All the turning and twisting had caused the pain to intensify to near unbearable levels. "Why are you," another gasping breath escaped her as his fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot, "sorry? I would have died. You saved me."

          "Yeah, right" Oliver murmured, the statement lacking his usual conviction. Rosie frowned and wanted to ask more but a long, dark shadow fell over them.

          "What in the hell are you two doin' in here?"

          Hayes stood in the doorway of the barn, his broad shoulders and tall stature dwarfing the otherwise wide opening. In one hand he held a rag streaked with oil and grease, in the other a wrench, long and lethal.

          "The loft," Oliver began, motioning back towards their crumbling haven.

          Rosie expected outrage, angry, yelling, but Hayes simply smiled, a wide toothy grin reminiscent of a shark. Rosie shivered and felt Oliver's hand tighten where it rested against her shoulder. It hurt, but she didn't mind the pain, not when it served as a distraction from whatever horrible thoughts lurked unspoken in the dark corners of Mr. Hayes mind.

          "What a shame," he said at last, slinging the wrench upwards to rest against his shoulder. His gaze flickered towards Oliver, a darkness stealing over his face. "You kids best not linger, who can really say how much longer this ole' barn will stay standing. Be a shame if someone got hurt... or killed."

          Turning on his heel, Hayes strolled from the barn, whistling a jaunty little tune that lingered long after they had lost sight of him.

          "I don't like it," Oliver said for the tenth time since he and Rosie had vacated the barn. They had gone back behind the house where a narrow creek ran along the back of the property acting as a natural boundary between Mr. Hayes' land and that of his neighbor Mr. Evans.

          Rosie ignored him again and focused on washing the worst of the dust and dirt from the barn off her arms and legs while Oliver paced back and forth behind her.

          "I really don't-"

          "Like it, I know, Ollie," Rosie interrupted, trying hard to be patient with him. The pain in shoulder had subsided some, but a soreness was setting in that would only get worse before it got better. It'd be days before it stopped hurting, a week perhaps, or maybe longer if she worked it too hard.

          "Did you see the way he looked at you?" Oliver asked, his tone low.

          Rosie, who was in the process of shaking water from her hands, paused and looked back at him in surprise. He had stopped pacing and was staring at his feet, his hands balled into tight fists. Even from several feet away Rosie could see he was shaking.

          Was it fear?

          No, she thought ruefully, not fear, anger.

          This troubled her for she had never seen Oliver act this way before. He was so easy going, generally happy, with intermittent bouts of melancholy to keep things interesting. Rosie often envied him and his ability to feel such a vast range of emotions so fearlessly, though she would never admit to it.

          "Ollie..." Rosie began, only to stop, unsure of what to say.

          "I did," Oliver continued as though she hadn't spoken at all. "I saw, and I wanted to take that wrench and hit him in his smug face. I've never felt like that before, Rosie."

          Rosie abandoned her seat by the river to stand in front of him. A hot wind wove around them, as turbulent and heated as the emotions radiating from the boy standing before her.

          "It's nothing, Ollie," Rosie insisted.

          "Don't say it's nothing!" Oliver exploded causing Rosie to take a step back in surprise, unable to immediately name the new and very real feeling of distress that swept over her in the wake of his outburst. Oliver himself looked equally surprised, but the fire burning in his eyes did not fade. "Don't say it's nothing," he repeated, this time quieter, calmer, but no less angry.

          This in turn made her angry.

          What right did he have to yell and shout? It wasn't any of his business anyway. He was the one who wanted to leave, to have adventures, to see the world, and she was only holding him back. The irony of the situation was not lost to her. All those times she had wished for this very thing and now that she had it, she wished she had never wanted for it.

           She wished she had never had to see that look of desperation, that wild anger, those clenched fists. It was a side of Oliver she had never really wanted to provoke no matter her claims, and oh how she regretted it in that moment.

          Then again, perhaps it was for the best.

          Maybe this was what they both needed to be able to live the lives they wanted. Oliver to be free of the invisible ties that bound him to this place, and Rosie to simply be left as was her lot in life. It was bound to happen, why drag it out if she could cut ties before it got any more complicated.

          "It's my life, Ollie, and it's none of your business what I do with it," Rosie said, hating herself even as the words spilled from her like poison from a bottle. Oliver grimaced and Rosie felt her resolve falter. Steeling herself against the inevitable, she pressed on. "I'm tired of you always butting in and trying to tell me what's best. You want to go? Then go! Just leave already! Or maybe you just like making other people's lives miserable. Maybe you're scared."

          By the time Rosie stopped shouting, much of the anger had faded from Oliver's countenance. His shoulders slumped forward, his hands fell to hang loosely at his sides, and his eyes shone with sadness and a hurt that was unmistakable.

          Rosie wanted to reach out and touch his face, to pull him into a tight hug and never let go, to tell him a thousand times that she was sorry and she didn't mean it, but she didn't. She knew that if she let Oliver carry on as he had been, he would get himself killed and she didn't want that on her conscience.

          He was her only friend after all.

          Without a word, Oliver turned and started slowly back towards the house.

          "Ollie..." Rosie whispered, reaching out towards him now that he had turned his back to her.

          This is for the best, this is what you wanted, let him go.

          Waiting until he was out of sight, Rosie returned to her spot by the creek where she crouched down and buried her face in her hands. Tears, hot and wet, pooled against her palms. Rosie, not one for such public shows of emotion, made no effort to still their progress as they slid in thin rivulets down her arms. The salty streams gathered at the tips of her elbows where they lingered a moment before finding their final resting place in the swift current of the creek at her feet.

          That night was the loneliest that Rosie had felt in a long while.

          When she had returned to the house, Oliver had been nowhere in sight. She went about her daily chores, looking for signs of his presence around the property as she worked.

          Nothing.

          As the sun sank low on the horizon and the boys fostered by Hayes returned from the fields looking tired and beaten down after the day's hard work, Rosie searched each haggard face for Oliver, hoping he had gone to work out his frustrations with physical labor.

          He wasn't among them.

          At dinner which consisted of a hard roll and watered down stew, they ate in silence, no one           asking about Oliver, or where the two had been the night before. The only one who seemed more interested in who was at the table than in eating their food, was Hayes.

          Rosie had made a conscious effort to sit as far away from the man as possible, which still didn't seem to be far enough. He watched her all through dinner which resulted in Rosie simply pushing her food around on her plate with her spoon, her appetite spoiled. Once everyone was done, Rosie gathered up the plates, hesitating when it came time to take the one resting in front of Mr. Hayes.

          He noticed her reluctance and grinned.

          "What's wrong, girl?" Hayes asked as he leaned back in his chair, completely relaxed.

Rosie said nothing and made sure to stay as far back as possible as she quickly gathered up his plate. He laughed and she could feel his eyes on her as she hurried towards the far end of the small room where a large metal tub was set up for washing.

           Taking her time, Rosie scraped the uneaten food back into the pot, not that there was much but every bit counted. She then took more time than usual to ensure each plate was cleaned and dried and put away.

          Normally once dinner was done, the others would retreat to their rooms, Mr. Hayes included, and Rosie was left alone to see to the cleaning.

          Well, not entirely alone, Oliver often hung around and helped out. Sometimes he would wash while she dried, sometimes the opposite. The boys took their leave as usual, but Mr. Hayes remained in his chair at the head of the table.

          He never spoke, he simply watched causing Rosie to become increasingly more concerned about the reason behind his presence.

           When the last dish was returned to its proper place, Rosie made a beeline towards the door. She was almost there when she heard the sound of wood scraping against wood.

"Hold up there, girl," Hayes called and she turned to see he had pushed his chair back from the table but he hadn't stood. He was still sitting there, watching her with those dark eyes, his large hands resting against his thighs.

          Rosie simply stared at him, waiting for him to say something.

          He smirked, "Where is that little boyfriend of yours, girl?"

          "He's not by boyfriend," Rosie snapped, "and he's gone."

          Hayes snorted. "They'll find him soon enough, bring him back here, he'll be punished of course," the thought brought a sinister smile to settle against his hard features, "but by then it'll be too late for you, girl."

          Rosie felt her blood run cold and a shudder of pure disgust visibly racked her small frame at the implication of his words.

          "C'mere girl," Hayes demanded, his tone edged with malice. "It's about time you started taking on other responsibilities."