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When Brooklynn exits the van, Senegal has been enveloped in heavy golden-pink light.
She'll reach the airplane in a few steps. Despite the gorgeous sunset, she's still thinking of being in the dark, hearing the screams of her friends, tripping the fire alarm and whispering a silent plea that it would be enough. Lately, she can’t seem to figure out where the guilt ends, and where she begins. Maybe they've become one. She tightens her grip on the briefcase. Just a few more steps and she will be gone.
When she feels the fingers close around her wrist, she knows better than to turn around. To turn around is to wreck her. To rip her still-bleeding heart out of her chest, to lay it out on the tarmac; shuddering, wounded. She shouldn’t turn her head—but she does so anyways.
It's Darius, eyes shining against the skyline; a lonely lighthouse still burning bright, beckoning her home. His expression—heartfelt, barely holding back tears—forms a half-smile. Something tugs at her heart, begging to unravel it.
Of course it's Darius.
He breathes her name like a prayer, like she's an enigma that he could spend his whole life chasing for an answer. His grasp keeps her from vanishing, a temporary anchor between a small boat and the pulling seas. How is it that he can still treat her so gently? To look at her like she's worth all of the trouble and more. Even she can't see herself as kind as he can, not after everything she’s done.
He says he won’t leave without her.
For a moment, Brooklynn considers fully turning around. To follow Darius into the unknown—to follow him anywhere like she had told him all those years ago. To let him untangle every single strand of restless nights and wandering thoughts, to unwind her apart until she is laid bare. There are so many words she wants to say.
But it's just for a moment. She has unfinished business to attend to.
Something metallic fills her mouth as she tugs herself free from his hold. Though she looks away rather quickly, she still catches the light extinguishing from his eyes, like she's crushed it all in a simple movement. As she steps away, he calls her name one last time, half-desperate and trembling.
She continues on. After all, a lighthouse is of no use to a sailor who doesn’t want to be saved.