Page 125 of Runaways

He kisses the back of my head, and I let my heavy lids close.

"Some of them are really bad people, though, Tate," I mumble before I fall asleep.

"I know," he says, holding me tighter. "But I'm really bad, too."

nineteen

The Girl in the Gas Station Bathroom (Again)

Noah

The sound of footsteps across the floor wakes me later that day. But barely. I'm in one of those deep sleep/half-awake hazes where my head is still swimming with exhaustion and my eyelids are heavy and refuse to open. My limbs are heavy, too.

I feel Tate's warm body at my back, his breath against my skin, and then wonder if maybe I imagined the footsteps I heard before.

But then I hear them again, coming toward me from the other side of the apartment. Silas sits at the edge of the bed and slips off his shoes before slowly crawling under the covers beside me.

"Hi," I whisper.

"Hey, baby," he whispers back. "You don't have to get up because I'm here. You can go back to sleep. I'm glad you're okay."

I blink, and I'm in the hole again, holding that muddy grey wig in my hand. The volume on that alarm increases by a few decibels. But we're even…just for now. And he feels really good wrapped around me like this.

I don't have to be mad at the unconscious version of him, do I? Especially when this is the best I've slept in months.

"Did he tell you what happened?"

Silas nods. "I'm so sorry."

He moves in closer, and I wrap my arms around him and bury my face against his chest, calming myself.

They say olfactory memory is our strongest, purest form of memory. It's less likely to be tainted by outside interference than our other senses. Maybe that's why I cling to it so tightly—because I can't trust my other senses as much; I can't trust myself. Just as jasmine will always remind me of the place I grew up and of Mia's hair, and whiskey will always make me think of Tate, the smell of bergamot and the forest after it rains will always remind me of Silas.

Of the person I ran to when the world was a little too cruel, even if when my world ended, he was too cruel, too.

"Do you hear that?" Silas whispers into my ear.

I smile. "Yeah…nothing."

"Exactly…nothing. It sounds so good, doesn't it?"

"It's always better with you."

"Mmm…stop conspiring," Tate says. He reaches over me, putting a hand over Silas's face. "Ah, don't bite me!" He tries to jerk it back, but Silas grabs it and laces their fingers together. "I'm still traumatized by what Noah did to me last night."

"Did you really stab him?"Silas asks.

I press my lips together and nod.

"Told you," Tate says. "Silas thought you were a nice girl, Noah. He knows better now."

I shrug and scoot away from him and on top of Silas. "You get what you give. You don't deserve nice."

Silas laughs and holds me against him.

"Hey—no. You said we were even. You agreed."

Tate moves over until his body is against Silas, resting his head on his shoulder and throwing his leg around both of ours. His intense gaze meets mine before I break eye contact, wrapping my arms around Silas.

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