There’s no goddamned way I want to trade this for the closed-in feeling of a car.
“I think they’ll be fine,” Abbott says, surprising me. He winks as I meet his gaze, and I can’t help but wonder if he may have an inkling of what this means to Winter and I.
I can feel the wonder and happiness in her mind, and allow myself a small smile. How can I make this moment last? I know better than anyone that happiness is fleeting at best. As long as Madam Clara is out in the world, there’s the possibility that she’ll come back for us.
Don’t think about it…
I’m not sure if that’s sage advice from Winter or my own inner voice. I’m the same age as her, which means our birthday is next month, and I’m not very excited about it.
That’ll have to be a problem for another day.
Squeezing Winter’s hand, I focus on the warmth of her skin, the feeling of the sun on my face, and the stretch of my muscles as I walk. As much as Winter and I dislike exercise, I would be perfectly happy walking the city.
It’s about a fifteen minute walk to Forsyth Park, and my jaw drops as we cross the street into it. The trees get denser along the sidewalk, and they seem to touch as we walk through the lush park.
“That fountain is beautiful,” Winter whispers. “It’s hard to believe this place is real.”
Ansel is carrying a picnic basket, and we almost look like a normal pack. Except, Winter and I are still on the outside, figuring our way through what it means to be scent matched.
I kind of thought we’d be like our parents, and only be together with each other forever before we were sold. Afterward, I thought we’d be lucky to die at the same time so we’d never be alone, even in death.
My dreams of the future really have gotten dark over the last year. I think my hope died when Madam Clara switched places with our rescuers. She made sure we knew we’d die as whores.
It’s nice to know the bitch was wrong.
“This is why I love to walk the city,” Cassidy admits. “We can go together and explore if you want. There’s always something new to see, no matter how many times I walk the same streets.”
Winter and I agree eagerly, and Shiloh leads us to a pretty spot on the grass where we can watch the fountain. While it’s warm out, I don’t feel like it’s too much in my shorts and t-shirt. I feel like a plant searching for the light. Maybe it’ll help pull me out of depression.
It’s been hard to pinpoint how I feel. The shadow of death feels as if it’s fucking following me. The way I cling to moments, or focus on how fleeting my mind keeps telling me they might be. Most people can simply exist in the moment, instead of counting down until it’ll end.
I can’t seem to shake it off.
Cassidy and Ansel pull out a huge blanket and set it down, before beginning to set out food.
Winter and I sit gingerly on the edge, eyes wide at the never ending stream of offerings. There’s even some desserts, it looks like. I suppose it makes sense with so many people, it’s just overwhelming.
Winter leans against me, and I slide off my shoes to pull her between my legs. Winter scrambles to do the same, and I bury my face in her neck to inhale her sweet scent. God, I love her so fucking much.
She’s wearing a sundress that hits her knees, and it’s flowy enough to keep her decent as she leans against me. Her hair is pulled to the side, and her lips curl as she peeks behind her shoulder at me as I raise my head.
“Love you too.”I know she does, she’s the only person in the world alive who feels that way now about me.
“We have mini sandwiches, a cold thermos of smoothie, chicken, salad, and some pasta salads,” Abbott says with a small smile. “I may have gone a little over the top.”
“Just a little, but I’m fucking starving so it’s fine,” Ansel grins, handing out plates. “What are you feeling like, Winter and Bellamy?”
“Us?” I ask, looking at all the food. “I’m having a hard time choosing. I think I’m good with a smoothie and maybe a mini sandwich.”
“Smoothie and whatever that chocolate thing there is, please,” Winter says softly.
Abbott gives us a winning smile, and then pours us our drinks while Ansel fills our plates.
“I don’t think I could eat if you didn’t have food on your plates,” Ansel says with a shrug.
“Really? Why?” I ask, taking a small bite of the sandwich. It’s prosciutto, some kind of creamy cheese, and green. It tastes really fucking good, and I make a small sound of pleasure as I chew. All other thoughts are lost as the flavors hit my tastebuds.
“Fuck,” Ansel mutters under his breath. “The easy answer is that I really enjoy watching you eat.”
