Page 172 of Overcast

“Hit me.”Mills tosses a card into the center of the dining table, flicking the other two with his index finger as he hums softly to himself. “And kiss it, Em, for good luck.”

She ignores him, tossing another card almost violently his way while I spoon another scoop of chocolate peanut butter ice cream. Her luck is as good as mine, and we might as well be two peas in a pod because our attitudes match too.

Mills, on the other hand, doesn’t notice or bother to acknowledge it, ignoring our moods which he’s doing a stellar job of.

“Ehhh...” He plucks his Coors Light bottle and takes a swig. “I’ll stay. Wanna place a wager on this bet?”

Em shoots him an exasperated look. “What could you possibly give me?”

I feel Mills’s eyes on me, and I glance up at him, a slow smirk lifting up his face. “Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure I can think of something.”

Our kiss.

Squinting my eyes at him to just keep his lips shut, I pop another scoop of ice cream in my mouth.

Everyone here seems to be trending down the same path as Marty feels—I’m his girl and treated with the highest respect. Almost like a queen, which makes it extremely uncomfortable when all three meals are made for me, and I’m asked if I need anything before one of them babysit me for a few hours.

Bishop is surprisingly my favorite because he keeps a distance—like in the other room to where he can still see me, but he doesn’t speak, ask or harass me.

He just hands me a sandwich and promptly leaves.

And while I don’t mind Mills’s teasing and jokes or Emmy wanting to do girl things, being in my twenties and being watched over like a rowdy child is becoming annoying again.

Add on the swelling of loss that aches inside my chest every time it’s not Marty striding in the room, and I’m having the time of my life over here.

“I’m going to go take a walk.” That has both sets of eyes in the kitchen pinned on me. “What?”

“It’s ten ‘o’clock,” Mills deadpans with a—for once—serious tone.

“Yeah?”

“Your man wanted you to stay in tonight.”

“He’s not my man,” I retort. “And I need everyone in this room to understand that.” A deafening muteness fills the room as though they didn’t hear what I had to say, or they’re not going to argue with me. “I just need some air.”

Mills begins to push back his chair. “I’ll go with—” My arm extends to stop him.

“No, I’ll be fine. I won’t leave the backyard. I just want a few minutes to myself is all.” Mills steals a peek at Emmy who, in turn, does the same thing. Something must pass between them because Mills bows his head.

“Alright, five minutes. But don’t get me into any more trouble with Emric. You already did the other day.” He brushes the skin over his lips, hiding his evident smile because we both know it was both of our faults if any.

Dismissing myself from the table, I make quick work of the few moments that I have and get outside.

It’s my favorite part of the day, every single star is out, glistening and flickering in the bluish-black sky. I couldn’t make out a constellation if I tried, not that I knew many. The coolness of the night air takes away some of the humidity from the day, and I glance at the dark woods, wondering if Marty is out there.

Who cares?

It’s on a repetitive record in my head right now, I said what I needed to say, and I wish it stuck. I wish that I had never done what I let Marty do, which is suck me in. It only caused things to become more difficult and trying, now playing with my vital organs and making them do sporadic things. I’m stronger now, I can walk away and not be scared.

Sitting at the picnic table where Marty had all his guns laid out the other day, I listen. Not only to my surroundings but the battle going on inside my head. Both sides have a point, there are pros and cons, except the rational side is winning out. The fear of the unknown and what I’d be involved in every day is too much to bear because as much as I want to, I don’t resent Marty in the slightest. My feelings are more rainbow and fluffy, ones that I want to throw gray paint on and make them more black and white.

The deep singular bark of a dog sounds off in the distance, towards the shadowed trees, and my brows knit together in confusion. I haven’t seen any other houses around here, but Reagan’s and Marty doesn’t own one to my knowledge.

Heeding for another sound, nothing but crickets and a random owl occupies the night’s voices now. I steal another look at the sky, focusing on finding one of the Dippers above when it happens again. My neck snaps back to the darkened space towards the bunker when it goes missing again.

Rising to my feet, I peer over at the door leading into the kitchen to see Mills and Emmy talking over beers through the window.

Five minutes.

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