Page 143 of Chaos

“There it is. You think you’re supposed to protect everyone, right?” He doesn’t respond so I keep going. “We all exist under the umbrella of your protection.”

His silence is answer enough.

“I’m not hiding under an umbrella anymore.” This is where my voice falters, because I’ve been a hanger-on, a dead weight, and I don’t ever want to be that again. He’s never made me feel that way, and I won’t let him start now. “Who protects you? Do you think you don’t need it? That you’re so big and powerful you don’t need protection? Because you ripped your arm out of its socket when they smashed Shane’shand, and you shot your brother, and you took a bullet finding bullets so the rest of us would be safe. You’re getting cut to shit like the rest of us. Or do you think you don’t deserve to have anyone protect you?”

I turn my face toward him where he stands, the left sleeve of his shirt rolled up, his forearm riddled with veins and taped to the IV.

“You’re literally bleeding out for Thornewood, right now, and planning to leave for us all. That’s one-sided. I survived that cellar, and I came out just fine. I made a choice in the woods outside the gym, and I stand by that choice. I’m allowed to protect you. You were a mess after Carl, and I wasn’t going to let that happen again.”

“I was worse when I thought you were dead.” He lowers his voice. “You can’t do that to me again, then flounce back and tell me to find you in a fucking Flower-verse. You’re pregnant now. It changes everything. I need you safe and alive. That’s more important than anything else. So no, you’re not leaving the only doctor in the apocalypse. No more risks. No more prioritizing anything above your physical safety. I get a say in that, in the safety of my child. What you did—”

“Iknowwhat I did. I wasn’t going to sit back and watch you slice your soul in half over me.”

“Well, you did slice it in half,” he blasts out so violently, we both jump, and his words echo and people go quiet all across the pool house. “It’s you.” His voice drops to a sharp whisper. “You’re my fucking soul. And you … look at you. You’re hurt again.”

“And you’re mine! And you’re leaving me.”

“To keep you safe.”

“Maybe safety is overrated. I was supposed to be safe at Thornewood while you went off on a dangerous mission, and look at us now. Who got hurt and who didn’t?”

“I hate to interrupt,” Alice calls. “But Sheila needs the blood, and we’re ready to clean up Frankie’s back.”

“Fine.” I send Yorke a sharp glance. “Go.” And then, just to be mean I add, “since you want to anyway.”

His face darkens and he mutters, “I’ll be back,” as he stomps through the gap in the curtain, taking his blood bags and his anger with him.

Someone enters the room.

A hand touches my arm.

I assume it’s Alice.

Alcohol swabs over the crook of my inner elbow, cold, astringent smell burning in my nose as I try not to cry.

I get the argument that maybe DC isn’t safe. But here isn’t safe, either. Even with Sheila in residence, I could have died in the greenhouse with Duane’s hands around my neck.

Maybe and I aren’t safe here. There’s no guarantee that Thornewood will be safer than DC.

In fact, I’d have been safer if I’d gone with him on the bullet factory raid.

In fact, thanks to Ben, there’s a very real chance that the General could get that pigeon, readYorke Garrett is at Thornewood Resort in Sulfur Springsor whatever it says, and decide to punch a hole in Lavinia Hope’s web by coming directly here.

A needle bites into my skin, as I stare out the window at the deep gray sky, the snow falling fast over soldiers on the hill and the smoking rubble that was the clocktower where it meets the rest of Thornewood.

A barely-there reflection shifts against the clouds.

Not Alice, white blonde and willowy.

Yellow blond.

Fluffy blond.

Mitsy.

What is she doing near my IV?

I turn over on the gurney, rising up on my elbows, facing her, and see she’s holding an IV bag, just like the blood bags Yorke had, only hers is full of a clear solution.

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