THIRTEEN
Unspoken Rule of the Fringes #48:
Every decision has consequences.
CELINE
The car smells like onions.
That must be why I’m fighting tears.
I shift my weight in the driver’s seat, hoping the stench doesn’t sink into my clothes. After walking for miles in complete silence, Riven and I found the old beater outside an abandoned gas station. With its dented fender and key-scarred, rust-flecked paint job, it’s not a car anyone puts on their wish list. It was, however, accessible, and it has—had—half a tank of gas. I glance at the gauge; we’re down to a quarter now, which means dumping this car and stealing another one soon.
Mountains surround us on both sides, and the engine whines as I navigate the hairpin curves. I’m almost grateful for the sound. The silence is eating me alive.
Riven makes a small sound in the back of his throat.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. His jaw is lockedtight, and there’s a greenish tint to his amber mask. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he mutters. “The curves . . .”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Are youcarsick?”
“If that means I’m doing everything in my power to avoid making this vehicle smell any worse, then yes, I’m carsick.”
I drop my left hand to the door, but there aren’t any buttons. “Focus on the horizon,” I tell him, huffing a sigh of relief when my fingers find what I’m searching for. “Grab that crank on your right and turn it in a circle.”
“Why?”
I roll my eyes at his suspicion. “Cool air usually helps.”
The windowpane drops in a series of jerky lurches before falling the final few inches all at once. It lands at a slant. My eye twitches, and I look away.Focus on the road, Celine. Not your car, not your problem.
I slow down and take the next turn at a crawl. The air rushing through Riven’s window is brisk—not freezing, but the change of seasons is especially evident at this altitude. It clears some of the onion smell, though, and Riven’s breathing evens out, so I call it a win.
“Better?” I ask.
He grunts, and I reach for the dial on the dash. After fiddling with the knobs for three or four minutes, I admit defeat: this car is a dud. Onions and AM radio are all it has to offer. I’m going to crawl out of my skin any minute now.
The sun rose about an hour ago.
They’ll be waking up soon. And when they discover I’m gone, our relationship will be seriously damaged. I’m not sure I’ll be able to repair it, even if this works out exactly the way I want it to.
My fingers grip the steering wheel a little too tightly.
I’m not leaving them. They’ll know that, I think, but it won’t matter because I made this decision on my own. I cut them out ofit because I knew they wouldn’t agree, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. I’m not sure there’s any apology that can make up for that.
“Did you leave a note?”
I sigh and nod, then realize Riven is probably still focusing on the horizon. “Yes, I did.”
“They’ll get over it,” he says.
I groan. “Will they, though?”
“They won’t risk losing you.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t ruin things.”
