He’s saying something, everyone is, but I can’t listen, I can’t answer. This mess inside me just needs out.
How will I ever last in that place for more than a few hours, let alone months? And the doctor? A child?
I can’t. I just can’t.
Whatever conversation that happens behind me finishes, and I’m scooped up and brought to my room, Walker’s hand warm against the back of my neck once he has us settled on the mattress.
“Princess, I need you to focus for me. Can you do that?”
I shake my head, not able to give up my breakdown. Not yet.
“Please. It’s important.”
I blink my eyes open, the fear and grief in his voice leaving no option but to make sure he’s okay.
And he’s not. A few tears streak down his cheeks, and I wipe them away with shaky thumbs. He swallows, pressing his lips to my forehead, before clearing his throat.
“I need you to tell me what to keep and what to leave.”
My brain won’t kick on. Those words make a sentence, but they don’t make sense.
“Clara, we’re running. Now. I’ll help you pack, but we have to go. No goodbyes.”
“No goodbyes?” Emma. My dad.
“No. You don’t have much, but we can’t take all of it.”
I scramble away from him, sitting in the middle of my bed and staring at my meager possessions. “Leave?”
“Leave. No computers or phones. They’re too easy to trace. Jansen is taking off on foot from the roof to steal a car and we’ll meet him at one of our rendezvous points. No more stuff than fits in a single bag. Prioritize anything that could be pawned.”
The glittery ring on my finger fits the bill. “Where are we meeting?”
“Trips says you named one of the new houses ‘Black.’”
I nod, remembering where that was. “You should go get your stuff,” I say.
“Do you need help?”
This task is something I can do, something I asked for, even if I couldn’t put it in so many words, something that will keep me out of my head. “No. I can do this.”
He pulls me to him. “I’m not letting you go. No matter what.” He presses a kiss to my lips, and is gone, leaving me with my backpack and a purpose.
Ten minutes later, I have two changes of clothes, my running shoes, all the cash in my wallet, and the fancy shit I got for last weekend’s first, godawful visit to Trips’ house, added at the lastminute to pawn. I toss in my toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, and a hairbrush, barely making space for the notebook I’ve been using to work on my code, and a pen, just in case.
I know I can’t say goodbye.
But Emma and I planned for this. Was it only two days ago we came up with a code of our own?
With a shaky breath, I open my text chat with Emma. It takes a minute to figure out how to phrase this. What if this is the last time I message my best friend?
I type it out, reading it three times before I hit send.
Hey lady! I’ve been thinking about that jasmine tea you were talking about. I’m going to try it, but don’t tell anyone. Who knows if I’ll like it. Love ya!
It feels flippant, not like a goodbye at all. But that’s the way it has to be.
I leave my phone on the bathroom counter, the buzz of her response almost making me pick it up. I close the door behind me. No going back.
