Page 46 of Running Feral

I take a step back as well. Tobias has slipped into this brusque, uncaring version of himself that I recognize as a protective shell. That’s fine. I don’t have to hold him for him to know I’m still here.

“Come on, guys. We can take my car. I’ll keep you company.”

Tristan nods as he speaks, and I appreciate the gesture.

It’ll be fine. I’m probably exaggerating in my mind because we’ve been dwelling on it for so long. What can realistically go wrong in a public place, with both me and Tristan there for company?

Everything’s fine.

Chapter Fifteen

I’m generally a fan of silence, but the tension sitting over the three of us as we head to the hospital is unbearable. I’d almost prefer it if one of them was scolding me for something. I feel like that’s generally what happens when I get pulled into someone else’s car—either a scolding or a sympathetic ‘maybe we can help’ speech that’s fucking useless.

I would take it. Anything other than this silence. Because all I’m thinking about right now is how this could possibly end for us.

Eamon finally kills me. Gunnar gets sick of me, so I go back to the Banna and Eamon, or something identical. Eamon kills Gunnar and then me. Lola dies alone, because I’m too busy dealing with this clusterfuck to take care of her like I’m supposed to.

My mind spits out dozens of scenarios, but none of them have a happy ending. It’s not feasible. Wherever I go, whatever I do, Eamon will hunt me. He gets too much pleasure out of it, andthere’s no downside for him. I come back; he wins. I run; he still gets to chase me, so he wins.

He always wins in the end.

Even though there’s not a single rational part of me thatwantsto go back to him… The thought that it might be better for everyone else if we just cut to the chase is lingering on the periphery of my awareness.

Part of me thinks it’s the pessimism talking, but part of me thinks it’s realism. And if getting the messy, horrible ending over with now instead of later saves Gunnar some grief or potentially keeps him out of danger, isn’t it worth it?

I’m selfish. I want this time with him. I still barely know him, but the feeling of being around him is intense in a way I never knew was possible. I want to crack him open and examine all the parts inside, knowing the whole time that he’ll stay quiet and still and patient as I peel back his layers, one by one. Knowing that he’ll not only allow me to really look at him, he’ll want me to.

It’s exhilarating.

I want one stupid, selfish thing in my sad little life. Just for a little while. I’m aware that it probably makes me even more pathetic. I should be holding onto hope. Having faith in my inner strength or the value of my existence or the potential for a future I could have.

But I’m so fucking tired. From before I was even born, my existence was a problem for people. Filling up that void with my own positivity has been an uphill fucking battle. I’ve tried. I have. It’s just a lot. In the midst of all this chaos, I feel like I deserve to be weak for a little while and hang that feeling on someone else.

If caring about Gunnar makes it easier for me to also care about whether I live or die, then fuck it.

I’m doing my best.

This is the inner monologue that runs on a loop the whole thirty-minute drive to the hospital. Maybe I’m really trying to distract myself from thinking about Lola.

She’s been sick for a while. This isn’t news. But lately it’s felt like she’s in the hospital more often than she’s out of it, and I don’t know what else I can do. I started working for the Banna so I could get the money to pay for her insulin, and she still ended up having to ration it. Only now I’m on the fucking lam and can’t even be there to take care of her.

If I’d been there instead of lying around Gunnar’s apartment having butterflies and trading hand jobs, maybe this never would have happened.

Or maybe Eamon would have killed us both already.

I swear, I can feel my brain thrumming like a tuning fork that’s been struck, desperate to halt these chaotic, painful thoughts for a little while. As if on cue, Gunnar turns around in the passenger seat and looks at me, that hangdog expression on his face.

“If you’ve changed your mind, we don’t have to do this now. We can go home. Make a plan and then come back tomorrow. Maybe during the day when there are more people around.”

I look out the window for a minute, seeing nothing but trees that look gray under the headlights and black, black emptiness beyond it.

“It wouldn’t make a difference,” I say with a shrug. “I need to see her. The longer we wait, the more likely it is one of his contacts will tell him she’s been admitted, and he’ll start skulking around.” I shake my head from side to side, trying to put something into words that’s almost impossible to express. “I mean… He’s going to find me. If he wants to bad enough, he’ll find me in the end. He has all the power here. The only thing I can do is wait and hope he gets bored in the meantime, but the chances of that happening are pretty fucking slim.”

Well, that successfully increased the already intolerable level of tension in the car. Tristan’s driving with both hands on the wheel and his arms locked, not saying anything but obviously locked into what we’re saying. And Gunnar looks like he’s about to turn this car around, whether I want to or not.

He manages to restrain himself. I’m sure it’s not easy, but he keeps quiet for the rest of the drive. By the time we get to the hospital, it’s sooner than I expected, and a sudden rush of nerves hits me.

The parking lot is dark and quiet, only illuminated by evenly spaced streetlamps. There are a few cars sleeping peacefully, but no people standing around as far as I can see.

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