Page 351 of Rage

I roll my eyes. We unwrap our bodies, and our hands find their places together. Forever entwined.

“It’s almost time for me to head back to the foster fam.” I shrug as his arms tighten.

“And I have to get back to the dorm to get some homework finished,” he pouts.

“My eighteenth is close. Then we can finally have those sleepovers we’ve been dreaming about,” I tease.

I bark out a laugh. “Well, Debbie did see us kissing in the laundry room, Rhett.” I sigh, “You know that created a huge shit storm.”

Rhett pecks my forehead. “Debbie was fucked up. She viewed us as full siblings, like, what the fuck?”

I shake my head, stuck between wanting to forget the whole ordeal and laughing my ass off at the ridiculousness of it.

Debbie and Daniel aren’t too bad, if you forget the whole overreaction of the kissing incident. I don’t think they’ll be adopting me, but with my eighteenth on the horizon, I don’t really need it. Thankfully only a few weeks after the kissing incident, Rhett turned eighteen. He packed up, moved out, and graduated within a few weeks, moving on to college.

I peek up at him as we walk. His hair is longer than he normally styles it, but the stark white streak in the front section is prevalent as ever. When I first asked him about his hair, hetold me it was a birthmark, just in his hair. I didn’t believe him at first, but when it never changed or moved, I started to. I want to run my fingertips across his scalp, pull him closer until we merge as one.

“How many classes do you have tomorrow?”

“Only a few. I’ll be done by four, I think.” Rhett tugs me closer to one side of the pavement so a mother and stroller can squeeze by.

“That’s great. Do you want to work on homework together at that one cafe?”

Rhett halts on the sidewalk. “I believe I can accommodate you, my sweet lady.” He grins as he tugs our clasped hands to his chest, spinning me.

Tires grinding on the road pull my attention from Rhett.

A small car peels down the road, tires almost hitting the curb. Rhett jerks my arm,hard. I try to peer around his arm as he forces me behind him.

The car barrels towards us.

A man, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, hangs halfway out of the back window. His elbow leans on the car door, supporting a long-barreled rifle.

My eyes widen.

Rhett retreats a step, slighting turning his jaw. “Do not say a word, Kath. I mean it.”

The man leans further out his window. “Boy, you’ve really fucked up this time, you know?” His voice doesn’t match his body. It’s higher pitched than I anticipated and doesn’t match his burly exterior.

When neither of us respond, the man continues, “You should have known better than to fuck with the Sandman!”

Rhett turns, his face full of determination. I attempt to grab his arms, but he shoves me in the chest. I lose my balance andfall to the sidewalk, the rough concrete cutting my palms and knees.

A spattering ofpopserupts.

Rhett’s body pulses once.

Twice

Three times.

He staggers as the tires grind the pavement. The car peels away, leaving the smell of burnt rubber heavy in the air.

Rhett collapses as I reach for him.

He’s barely on the ground before a large pool of blood seeps from his torso. It coats the sidewalks, following every crack perfectly. I loom over him, shoving my hands anywhere I can reach on his chest. I push down hard enough to make him sputter.

“K-kath,” he chokes.

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