The helicopter arrived. The giant burning cabin had a horrifying yet fantastic view. The fiery orange light coming from the cabin nearly blinded me and the strong smell of burning wood and smoke made me cough and have a severe headache. The heat coming from the flames warmed me in a way I would never want to be warmed. It was a place I would never go back to. And I'd give anything to forget I have ever been there. Not just the cabin. The whole mountain. The mines hidden down there. The cliff. The sanatorium. Everything related to that place. I would give anything to move on with my life as if all that stuff had never happened. It might sound selfish, but I have the right not to want to suffer with the memories.

I was in that cabin, he told me not to move a muscle, otherwise both of us would be dead. And here we are. Just the two of us. I still can't believe they were able to do that with Hannah. If I'd been there a few minutes before... none of this would've happened. All of us would be living happily ever after and would be back there again next year to have a good time, as it always have been. But now, what is having a good time? I can't help but feel sorry for their parents... Having three children gone must be so hard. Especially the way it happened. This is sickening!

We entered the helicopter. He once told me that he's afraid of heights, but how could anyone be afraid in this scenario? I felt like he wanted to hold me as we left that damn place. And that was the only thing I wanted. It's not that I was attracted to him. I was just... vulnerable. And so was him. Connected by our losses. Connected by our loneliness. Connected by the horrible things we had seen down there. Connected by fear. Connected by our remaining lives after all the others that were gone.

We shared moments we would never tell anyone. He saved me when I was tied in. I was the first to see his miserable condition. And I pathetically said that he "looked like hell". And it wasn't only once. He saw me wearing only a towel. He saw me tied in, trapped, humiliated. And yet he was respectful. And let it be said that "respect" was never his thing.

We sat side by side in the helicopter while two people tried to do brief and desperate examinations, like measuring our blood pressure, our temperature and check the injuries on our bodies. I was so annoyed that I could only say "I'm fine! I'm fine!", while he couldn't even say that. I just saw him quiet, staring off into the distance, while a person examined him like a guinea pig. I could see in his eyes a feeling of pure despair, though his body was static. Anyway, after all the hard times we went through this was the okayest thing going on.

After they were done with that insane medical screening, they sat down in front of us. They tried to ask some questions but I refused to answer. And it looked like he wasn't even listening to them. I asked for some time alone with him. They accepted my request at last, and went out through the tiny door, into the cockpit. I stared at him and he was paralyzed and stunned. It was as if his brain were getting so many flashes and memories that it crashed him like a bad computer so full of open tabs and softwares that just shuts down all of a sudden.

I slowly outstretched my hand to him and laced my fingers to his, but I didn't look at his face. I wanted our connection to be merely physical rather than emotional. I felt deeply sympathetic for him, sensing a strong connection and complicity. We went through things that only we knew and survived losses that only we understood. He, maybe even more than me. His hand was cold and mine was too warm. It was like he was out of order and I was working at full blast.

Later, and I have no idea how much time it took, we finally landed and were taken to the police station, where they wanted to interview us about what had happened. It was difficult to get him out of the helicopter, so I held him, allowing him to lean on me and I took him outside. We stood face to face. He was still nervous. My hands softly ran over his face and I said "Mike. Mikey, please, wake up". After a few seconds he shook his head and said out loud "Jess?!", but when he saw me, I realized he was slightly disappointed. Even so, his sudden reaction was to hug me tight and cry. I could feel his warm tears on my shoulder and I felt something I've never felt with that hug. A kind of connection... stronger than the one I had, or thought I had, with Josh.

Mike released me and asked if anyone else had survived, and I unfortunately had to tell him the harsh truth, followed by "it's gonna be okay". He stared at me with wide eyes and finally said, "Promise we'll never be apart. For them. Now it's just the two of us."

I hugged him back, pressing my chipped blue polish nails against his jacket. I began to cry as well. The only thing I could say at that huge helipad was, "Just the two of us...".