Page 43 of Underground Prince

“You running again?”

The voice had both of us twisting to the sound. Noah stood there, his cobalt eyes almost as black as his hair in the afternoon sun. His book bag was slung over his shoulder, yet he gripped it as if it were a rope pulling him to safety.

“You speaking to me again?” My lips curled. Running, like I had to escape him. Like he was any better off with me staying.

“Noah! You’re early…” Verily glanced between the two of us.

“Early?” I repeated, rising from the bench. “As in, you knew I was going to blow this off so you asked him to meet you here after I left?”

“Weeell.” Verily both shrugged and cringed. I opened my mouth but she rushed on. “Though I was hoping you’d do the opposite. But his class ended at the same time and I figured it’d be best to meet up with him and we could walk over together and…and I’m sorry.”

“Nice hair.” Noah’s stare was like a crusted-over burn on the side of my face, itchy and tight.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s temporary, right?”

“What is this, a conversation?” I asked him.

“Yeah, it is,” Verily answered instead, her smile high on the possibilities.

Noah’s stare still rankled. “You really did look better as a brunette,” he said.

Unintentionally, I winced. He must’ve realized what he meant because he rubbed a hand down his face. “Ah…”

“Let’s go.” Verily also understood the meaning. “Come on, Noah.”

“I know what my being here does,” I said to him, as if Verily had never spoken.

Noah froze mid-step, one foot on the path to Verily.

“It’s why I run, as you call it,” I said.

He laughed, though it wasn’t boisterous or amused. It was hollow and cut through with broken bones. “Scarlet, you being around, you not being around, it makes no difference. I’m the same either way.”

I searched for a retort, anything to take the pain from his face that was more than likely ricocheting off mine. “Then why do you care what I do? Where I go?”

His chin jerked back. “Because I care about you.”

So much thickness welled into my throat—the betrayal, hurt, and loneliness—it was nearly impossible to form a sentence. “I haven’t heard one word from you in almost two years.”

“It goes both ways,” he said. “You haven’t said shit to me either.”

“Because I can’t!”

“Neither can I!”

“Guys!” Verily stepped between us. “This isn’t helping. Or maybe it is? Is this what catharsis looks like?”

“No,” we said at the same time.

“Oookay.” She lowered her arms.

“We’re done,” I said, though there was no need.

“Good,” he said.

“Good.” I spun away.

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