Page 60 of Running Feral

His jaw shakes, the way it would if he were too cold. I think it’s his body trying to cry but being too dehydrated and frozen to do anything about it.

I rub his arms for a second, in case he really is cold. His skin is too hot to the touch from all the exercise, but that’ll change quickly now that he’s stopped moving. It might not be the depths of winter yet and the sun is shining outside, but it’s definitely not warm out there and he’s only wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. The same ones he was wearing when Eamon took him.

Realizing I’m reacting too slowly, I whip off my hoodie and tug it over his head. It’s bulky to get it over the sweatshirt, but he closes his eyes and relaxes as soon as it’s on him. Then I wrap him up in my arms again and pull him into my chest.

“I’m okay, Tobias. Nothing happened. No one’s here. He must have lied.”

Kasia meets my eyes over Tobias’s shoulder, where she’s standing at the other side of the bar.

“I’m calling the cops,” she says, pulling out her phone.

“No!” Tobias’s voice is muffled where he’s buried in my shirt, but we can both hear him.

Kasia bites her lip, looking conflicted for a second. Then she makes a face at me, because this sucks, but we both know it has to happen, and walks away from the bar to make the call.

I lean back just enough to look him in the eye. His skin is blotchy, and dark circles almost seem to weigh his eyes down,but he’s just as beautiful as ever. The same delicate features covering the sharpest, scrappiest person I’ve ever met.

“We don’t have a choice, baby. I’ve been trying to file report you as a missing person for three days, but they wouldn’t let me. Now that you’re back, you have to tell them what he did. I hate them too, but we can’t pretend like nothing happened, or it’s easier for him to do it again. Please. Even if it’s a waste of time, can you humor me?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he buries his face right back in my shirt and clings to me more tightly than before.

“Call Sav and Micah. They can help,” he says eventually.

Kasia is already wandering back over, her phone still in her hand.

“I tried. Sav’s phone is still turned off and Micah isn’t answering. I called 911, though.”

Tobias’s shoulders heave at that, but he doesn’t make a sound.

“They’re coming,” she continues. “I’m sorry, Tobias. I know how it feels. It sucks, but sometimes it’s the best worst option.”

The gravity in her voice reminds me, and probably Tobias as well, that she really does know how he feels. When she reaches out and slowly, gently strokes the hair on the back of his head, he actually relaxes into it.

We stand together like that for a long time, letting our collective sadness fill the room until there’s no space for any more words.

Chapter Twenty-One

By the time the cops arrive, the race for which feeling wants to take over my body has ended in a photo finish, and I have equal parts hangover, utter exhaustion, and lingering terror behind the wheel.

The fact that Gunnar is still alive, and no one has shown up to hurt him yet, even hours after I left Eamon… it’s promising. But it doesn’t mean anything. Maybe Eamon fell asleep and doesn’t know I’m gone yet. Or maybe he had to spend time bailing on the motel in case I sent the cops after him, but he’ll come back to finish us both off later.

We’re never actually going to be free of him. No one can keep us safe.

At least the walk across town and halfway up Route 20—ducking into the bushes to stay out of sight of every car that passed—wore my body out so much that the fear can’t get much of a foothold. I can feel it clicking inside me like an engine trying to turn over, but it never catches. It’s just there. Waiting.

The hangover is bothering me more than the rest of it. Eamon kept me as liquored up as he was for the last three days, if not more, because that’s what he always does. He also had me snorting his mystery drug. There was no sleep, just endless abuse and listening to his paranoia. My body is brittle and dry, my stomach is churning because I can’t remember when I last ate something, and the inside of my mouth tastes like a tar pit.

At least my insides match my outsides, for once. I should really ask Gunnar for food or something, but I can’t bring myself to. I’m too comfortable. After the initial shock of everything wore off, we were just waiting for the cops. He brought me over to a booth in the far corner.

I didn’t want to sit here at first, because I’ve sat exactly here with Eamon too many times. But then Gunnar slid into the corner, propped both legs up on the long bench seat and invited me to lie between them.

That felt good. That felt like a tiny fractured piece of relief from everything else. There’s a glass of water on the table that Kasia refilled before she had to go home to her kids, which Gunnar keeps bringing to my mouth to make me take sips of. I do it to humor him, even though I’d rather not.

I just want to sleep.

Instead, I’m lying here, propped on his chest and cocooned in his arms, when the cops finally burst in. They’re loud and everything they do and say seems too sharp. Almost immediately, I close my eyes and quietly pray for them to go away.

I don’t care if it makes me weak or pathetic. Right now, I’m allowing myself to be weak. I don’t give a shit anymore. I don’t want to talk to cops, who I find about a hair’s breadth more tolerable than the Banna but significantly more disruptive, and I don’t want to make decisions about anything for myself.

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