“That’s where you’re heading, right? Packed what you could in that bag of yours and you’re going to rideoff into the sunset to find your happily ever after? There’s no light at the end of this tunnel, Noah. You’re stuck with me.”
I shrug free from his grasp. “I’ll find him.”
“He didn’t accept my offer.”
I hit him with a smirk. “I guess money doesn’t buy everything.”
“It would have bought his life.”
My smirk disappears as I take a step back from him. “I don’t believe you.”
“I’d show you the evidence if I trusted you to not tell.” He raises a finger to his lip. “But boys like you are always squealing.”
And just like that, he knows he has me right where he wants me. Right where he needs me. I’ve never been someone to walk this life along. I’ve always needed someone or something to hold on to, someone or something to anchor me.
He reaches for my hand, and a chill passes over me.
Alone in the world.
Stuck in motion.
I take his hand and take a step up to meet him at the top of the landing. We’ve danced this dance a thousand times before. We argue with our words. Fight with our fists. Find our way back into the arms of the other, and in silence, I pray for the dance to end. I curl into his body, my head draped against his bony shoulder.
The cancer will take him soon. Take him like it took Mama. A long, drawn out death is what he deserves. But what can I say? I’m impatient.
I slip from his embrace and stare into his eyes.
He watches me too.
Watches as I give him a shove.
And as he stumbles, the heels of his foot slipping off the sharp corner of the top step, I feel my own body falling backward. He stretches out his arms, a desperate attempt to reach me. And I reach out to grab him, but the exertion of him being ripped backward is too much to overcome.
The first thing I see when I awake in bed is Seven.
He stands by the window with the curtains drawn with one hand. It’s as if he’s keeping watch, waiting for someone or something.
He turns to me, an inquisitive look on his face that’s more red than when I went to sleep.. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Can’t argue with that. See that same ghost all too often when I sleep. And now there’s another ghost standing in front of me. “Wasn’t having the best dream.”
“Never would have guessed. You looked like an angel the entire time you’ve been sleeping.”
“That’s because nothing scares me anymore. What time is it, anyway?”
“It’s bad enough you don’t have a phone, but you don’t even have a watch?”
I kick my feet off the side of the bed and reach for the alarm clock on the nightstand. A quarter till eight. “Fuck. I’m usually on the road by now.”
“Do you drive every night?”
“Like clockwork.” I throw the blankets to the side and let out an obnoxious yawn. Almost eleven hours of sleep and I could use another ten.
“Why do you drive so much?”
“It’s a hobby.”
“How long have you been driving?”
