I promise you will look back on us,
and never wonder if
I loved you.
~Leo Christopher
***
Red. The red bird. I lost thought on whether or not I'm a coward or weak anymore. Because ever since we arrived back at the pack house, I've done nothing but paint. I stare at the image of the creature I had created. Somehow the paints seem too dark. The branches of the trees it rests upon are too long. Their color is not right. Something is off. That's when I realize what trees I'm painting. What branches the bird is sitting on. The trees of the forest. From that night. Without warning I shove the canvas aside, letting the work fall to the floor as paints splatter along the edges. Red. Red paint, in small specks, can be seen. The door opens. "Lexie?"
I look up in time to see Atlas's wide eye
