MJ

I had turned to him, and he had put his hand on my shoulder. It seemed perfectly natural at the time. So did the kiss that followed it.

What happened after that had seemed equally natural. It was everything either of us had ever hoped for, I think—tender, passionate, only marred by the harried furtiveness of the encounter, afraid as we were of the guards who were just too far away at the time to catch us in the act. It was all the more bittersweet for the knowledge that it would be our first, last, and only time. Much as I'd tried to be optimistic, our deaths were, literally, just around the corner.

Now I lie on the bunk in my cabin, knees up, alone—as I always had been before, as I apparently always will be.

Damn him to hell for that offer he made to them on our way to the gallows.

And damn them for listening.