Page 78 of Heathen

I don't feel comfortable here, and not just on a physical level because of the thickness of the air.

I feel out of place, as if I don't belong. I bet if I sat and spent a little time reflecting on all the times I've been here, I'll realize that I wasn't exactly comfortable here before I met Ellis either.

What I hate the most is knowing how I felt with him versus how I feel now. Living with knowing how things were is going to be so much worse than having existed in a world where we had never met.

The saying that it's better to have loved and lost rather than never loved at all is a massive crock of shit.

But I don't know that I'd give up my memories of him if someone had the power to ease the ache inside of me.

What I do know is that I can't stay here, and I know, as I pick up my phone and search my very limited contacts for Morgan's name, thatheremay actually be Las Vegas or even Nevada as a whole.

The thought of going back and begging him to keep me just a little while longer is making my skin crawl with an urgency that I know will lead me right back to the gate of the Cerberus property. How freaking sad and shameful is that?

I could never live down the embarrassment. That's why I'll probably have to eventually pack my shit and leave town, put a little distance between Ellis and me so it'll be a lot harder to crawl to him with pleading on my lips.

"How do you always call right when I need you the most?" Morgan asks when the call connects.

"It's a gift," I say with as much enthusiasm as I can gather, which isn't much.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I assure her, because talking about it with Morgan wouldn't lead to the outcome I need the most.

She'll try and convince me to go to him, assuring me that he feels exactly the same but men just have to be led by the nosesometimes, or she'll suggest fire-bombing his house. The tide could go either way, and there's no telling which direction she'd take.

"Well, this whole fucking thing is starting to look like a complete waste of my time," she mutters.

From the sound of it, she would definitely give me advice on which type of fabric would work best in the Molotov cocktail.

"I can help," I offer.

"That would require you being here," she reminds me. "Pack a bag. This is going to be an all-nighter."

As much as I initially wanted to escape, now that there's a legitimate offer on the table, I'm a little hesitant to leave.

What if he feels the same and comes looking for me?

What if he decides to grovel and beg me to come back to his house and I'm not here?

What if he—

"Give me half an hour," I tell her before hanging up the phone. Let's be honest.

None of that is going to happen.

He didn't falter once when I told him I was going to leave. He offered me keys to a vehicle to get my ass out of his house faster. I didn't imagine that happening.

It's still a while until the sun begins to set, and I can tell by the urgency in my muscles that I have to be elsewhere when it happens. I know that Morgan's safety was threatened because of the choices that I made, but I trust what Ellis said about us being safe.

It doesn't stop me from pausing when I hear sounds outside as I pack my clothes. There's nothing outwardly different in my neighborhood than it has been any other time I've been here, but something just seems to continue to thicken the air, making my breaths come out faster. There's this sense of urgency that is scratching at my arms and legs.

I'm psyching myself up so much that I nearly forget to grab the dry-cleaning bag that has my Halloween costume in it.

I'm standing in the middle of my room, wondering what I might be forgetting, when my phone chimes with the alert that my Uber is just a few blocks away. I know I'm going to have to do something about the no-car situation because I'll be broke in less than a week if I have to keep paying for a car service to get me from one place to another.

Thankfully, there are no other strange cars on the road when I leave my house and lock the door behind me. The ride-share driver is a woman, and that offers me just a hint of gratefulness. The gender of a driver isn't something that I would've worried about before, but that has recently changed.

I think growing up in a small town, where men were expected to be chivalrous toward women and risked getting hit over the head with a frying pan by their mothers if there were ever whispers that they acted differently, gave me this false sense of security. Troy was a complete asshole to me at times, but he always opened the door, always placed his palm on my back to guide me places.

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