It makes sense. I would have to be insane, right? I just walked away from the only man I can imagine myself ever loving. No, not walked. Ran. I pushed him away as hard as I could, and I prayed to the God I stopped believing in years ago that he wouldn't follow me. And even in that I lied to myself. Because, deep down inside, there was a part of me that hoped he would. That he would stop me, that he wouldn't allow me to give him up. I hoped he was stronger than me. I thought he was. Apparently, I lied to myself about that too.

Ever since then, I've been living in a daze, not really seeing anything clearly, but at the same time, understanding life better than I ever have before. I've avoided Max, Michael, Isabel, even Maria and Alex, as much as possible. I know they'll ask questions, want to know why I did what I did. I can see it in their eyes, feel it every time they look at me, even if they never voice it. And so I avoid them, because I don't think I'm strong enough to tell them the truth. Wait. There I go again. Not think. I know I'm not strong enough to tell them the truth.

I used to think I was strong enough to handle anything, that I had already suffered through the worst possible things, that anything which followed would be ridiculously easy. But that all changed September 19, 1999. The day I died. The day Max saved me. I never believed in destiny before that day, never took Maria seriously when she insisted that some things are meant to happen. Max changed all that. He changed me, and I've only just begun to realize the consequences of that. There's no going back, no regaining that innocent delusion of inner strength. Max didn't change me physically. He changed the way I looked at the world. And that, as it turns out, is the most impact you can have on someone else's life. After he saved me, I started to think that there really was a plan out there somewhere, that I was destined to be shot, to be healed by Max. I felt like I was born for him.

But what happens when two destinies collide? I can't deny it, if I was born for Max, then Tess was too, even more so. You might think it's strange. Wait, there I go again. I'm trying my hardest to stop this, to not shield myself from the truth. It's not really, "you might think it's strange," that I mean. I mean I think it's strange. Tess seems to be the only person I can stand to be around, these past few days. No, wait, there I go again. Do you see how weak I am, how ingrained this lying has become? I can't go more than a paragraph without it. Tess is the only one.

Tess doesn't look at me with those questions in her eyes. Instead, she looks at me a bit in awe. She thinks she knows why I did it, why I left the cave. And, because I'm not strong enough to have everyone know the truth, I don't correct her.

Tess thinks I've left Max for her, that I've accepted that destiny wants them together. She thinks I'm a martyr of some kind, that I'm stronger than she is. And she admires me for that.

The truth? I can tell you, right? After all, you're only me. And I've sworn to always tell myself the truth, from now on.

I've stopped believing in destiny. As much as Max changed me, I'm trying to change myself back.

The truth?

The truth is I've realized exactly how much Max changed me, and it scares me to death. How could I have let someone else have that much control over me, over my life? How could I have let go like that?

You don't understand. Control is all-important.

Control is everything, the only thing.

Control is the only thing that keeps my scars, those thin white lines that mar my hips, the ones I never let anyone see, the ones Max almost saw, from breaking open and pouring forth with blood again. Control is the only thing that keeps the razor blade safely locked away inside its shell, used only for shaving my legs.

I used to lie to myself. I used to lie every day, every minute, every second even. Telling myself that the blood, the pain, would make everything all right. Telling myself that if I couldn't control my life, couldn't stop the visits in the middle of the night, that I could at least own my pain.

My uncle, my mother's brother, is the first person who changed the way I viewed the world. He did it through touches, through pain, through embarrassment, through threats. And even though I was only seven years old, I swore that no one would ever affect me that way again.

But now…. Now, Max is coming. I can hear him climbing up to the balcony. Maybe I wasn't so wrong about him after all. Maybe he is strong enough to keep me. Maybe he'll be able to hold onto me, to keep my control when I'm not able to. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to lose myself in him. Maybe then, that aching, gnawing need would disappear. Maybe, just maybe, I would forget about the razors in the cabinet, forget how easy it is to break the blades free of their confinement. Maybe I would finally be able to forget how lovely, how rapturous the feel of the cold steel drawing across my skin is.

Maybe.