“You can’t just?—”
“I can. I will. And if any of you think for one second that your feelings on the matter outweigh my responsibility of keeping you alive, you’re welcome to walk out that door and take your chances with Aleksei’s men.” His footsteps resume. “But you won’t. Because you’re not stupid. You’re just scared, and scared people say stupid things.”
Sage lets loose a sarcastic laugh. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”
“Yes,” Bastian agrees without hesitation, “I am. And that asshole is the only thing standing between you and a shallow grave. So I don’t give a damn if you like it or not—what I say goes.”
I hear thumps and the jangle of keys. “In the meantime,” he continues, “Zeke and I are going to go get supplies. We need cash, food, a new wheelchair for Sage, shit like that. You three are to stay here—let me repeat:stay fucking here—and when I get back, I’ll have instructions for how we get you out of the city. Zeke, let’s go.”
He doesn’t stick around to field any follow-up questions. He and Zeke slide the furniture away from the door, slip out, and shut it behind them.
Once Yasmin throws the lock back and repositions the elephant barricade, we all exhale. I look at Yas, who looks at Sage, who looks at me.
“Well,” Yas announces, “that was enough excitement for, oh, I dunno, the rest of my natural life. If you need me, you can find me taking a well-deserved bubble bath.” With that, she sets off down the hallway, muttering something under her breath that I’m guessing are not rave reviews of Bastian’s leadership style.
That leaves Sage and me sitting in the room, stewing in an uneasy silence that neither of us really deserve. The only sound I can really make out is a wheezy, angry pattern of breathing from Sage. He sounds like a leaky radiator. It’s like the in-out clicking of Bastian’s pen yesterday, but even though that was laced with despair and frustration, it had a little bit of hope in it, too. Amaybewith every click.
Sage’s breathing, though, sounds utterly hopeless.
I set my tea down on the coffee table and push myself up from the couch. My knees protest. They’re going to be bruised for days after that less-than-graceful fire escape landing, but I ignore them and make my way toward the armchair where Sage is sitting.
“Mind if I join you?”
He doesn’t answer, but I just take that as permission. I lower myself onto the floor at his feet. Close enough.
“You can say it, you know,” I tell him. “Whatever you’re thinking. I won’t tell Bastian.”
He keeps up the rhythm of his angry breathing and doesn’t respond.
“I’m mad at him, too, you know,” I continue. “He’s done a lot of fucked-up shit lately that hurt me in ways I’m just sort of starting to wrap my head around. So you’re not alone in being hurt. In fact, you’re in good company. We should start a club. Make t-shirts.”
I’m going for laughter, since someone once told me it’s the best medicine, but Sage doesn’t seem interested in what this doctor is ordering. He just keeps wheezing in silent fury.
It can’t be good for him to bottle it all up like that. I remember being a teenager, so enraged at my mom and the world and all the Dereks who lived in it. When you’re his age, the feelings are just sobig.They’ll explode and blow you to bits if you’re not careful, if you don’t find outlets.
I won’t let that happen to him.
Hesitantly, I reach out and touch his hand where it’s lying on the armrest. “You’re not alone, Sage,” I repeat. “I’m right here with you. So if you want to say it—say anything, really—I’m here. I won’t even tell you to mind your language. Curse up a storm.”
His breathing hitches. I’m pretty sure he’s about to tell me to go eff myself, until:
“He’s such a fuckinghypocrite.”
The sneer comes out like it’s been fermenting in his chest for months. Maybe longer.
And once it starts, it keeps coming. “He spent my whole life telling me I get to make my own choices. ‘Just because you’re in this chair doesn’t mean anyone gets to decide things for you, Sage.’”His hand balls into a fist. “And then he pulls this shit? Ships me off like I’m—like I’m fuckingluggage? After letting all this shit happen in the first place? Aftercausingit?!”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.” He laughs, bitter and scornful. “You don’t know what it’s like to have everyone treat you like you’re made of glass.”
“You don’t think so?” I spread my arms wide, as if to say,Look at me.“I’m barely allowed to handle sharp objects anymore, sweetheart. But in a really sick kind of way, I’m almost grateful that it’s my vision that went. Because at least I don’t have to actuallyseethe pity in people’s eyes when they get a glimpse of me coming with a walking stick and an awkward shuffle.”
“It’s not the same,” he mutters.
“Of course it’s not,” I agree. “No, of course it’s not. For one, you’ve had to deal with it for so much longer. But do you know something?”
He grunts, sort of a surlyGo aheadwithout actually saying the words.
