You're sitting on the couch, the television on, but neither of you really watching.

Ashley is too quiet.

You notice when her fingers begin to lightly squeeze the fabric of her own shirt.

You ask what's wrong.

She hesitates a moment.

"Sometimes I still hear things." It's not dramatization. It's honest.

She looks at you.

"But it's different when you're here." You move closer.

She rests her forehead against yours.

"I don't want to be remembered only as the kidnapped girl." Her voice falters, but doesn't break.

"I want to build something that's mine."

She slides her hand across yours.

"With you." The silence is now comfortable.

It's not fear.

It's choice.