Hope.
He’d been so catatonic, he’d barely recognized she was there, and when he shunned her affections, Ms. Lopez had pried her away and told Daisy she could return in the morning.
He had to get out of there before she did.
He was sure he couldn’t stand the light that would shine on her face. Sure he couldn’t stomach the sympathy that she would pour into him.
Because the only thing he could process right then other than the unbearable numbness was the hate.
Hate for himself.
Hate for Matthew.
Hate for the men who had put him in that position.
It was a hate that was as hot as if he were standing beneath a thousand-degree sun and letting it boil his flesh. The same as the flames that had licked up the skin of his back. Burns that right then he could barely feel.
The drugs they gave him to ease the agony still running through his veins.
He wondered if they’d directly injected him with poison instead.
With venom.
Some social worker had told him that his grandparents were on their way. That he’d likely be in the hospital for a week, then they would take him back to Florida where they lived.
He had to get away before then, so he’d ripped his IV free and forced himself from the fifth floor of the hospital.
Now, he fumbled through the cars in the parking lot. His hands shooting out to hold onto the metal to keep himself upright.
When the strength left him, he leaned his back against a red sedan, panting toward the sky as he struggled to maintain coherency.
To hold onto the rage that kept him moving.
He managed to make it out to the street as a bus came to a grinding halt at the stop.
He climbed on, digging into his pocket and finding a five. He shoved it into the box.
His knee bounced a million miles a minute as they traveled, and he exited from the bus one street over from his house.
He jogged the rest of the way.
Ignoring the misery.
The agony that carved into his back.
Let it fuel him as another part of his consciousness snapped.
He nearly passed out at the sight of his childhood home in the distance.
Char and ash. Taped off with a few officers milling around the yard.
His keys were still in the ignition of his truck where he left it on the side of the road, and he jerked the door open, his face contorting with the tearing of his back as he hoisted himself inside.
Breaths heaving from his empty lungs, he jerked at the gear-handle and shifted into drive. Gunned it as he made a U. He fishtailed down the road and out onto the main street.
He squinted, trying to focus.
Roughed a hand down his face like it might open a pathway for him to see.
