Page 135 of Runaways

"Eat," he says, rubbing my neck. "You'll be fine."

Why do I feel like he's always saying that to me?It's okay, Noah. You'll be fine, Noah. You're okay.But if everything is fine, why won't they tell me where they live or where they've been all this time?

I'm afraid to ask, so I push it down.

I let him feed me an entire slice like that. I only choke on the first couple of bites; my head is elsewhere, the way it is when I'm drunk, and I think that's why I'm able to eat.

They finish the rest of the pizza, and Silas tosses the box aside and moves over until he's shoulder to shoulder with Tate,resting his hand inside my thigh beneath the sheets. Tate kisses the top of my head, his fingers still entwined in my hair, and I listen to his heartbeat, calm and steady, whileScream 2starts playing on the television.

"You're my Sydney. You know that?" Tate asks.

I shake my head before turning onto my side, pulling my legs into my body as I wrap my arms around him and curl into him.

"What's wrong? These movies don't still give you nightmares, do they?"

"No," I say softly.

"Well, that's good."

"Tate?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

It's quiet for a few seconds before he sighs and removes his hand from my hair. "Damn it."

"Tate?"

"That's not what this is, Noah."

I can't breathe. It feels like someone dropped a weight in the center of my chest, and it's crushing my ribcage.

I sit up, clutching the blanket to my body, and turn to face him.

"What do you mean?"

"Fuck, Noah. Why'd you have to do this?"

"What did I do?"

"I can't love you," he says. "You're untrustworthy; you're a liar, and when we leave tomorrow, you're not coming with us."

I search his eyes for some sign that he's lying, holding my breath and waiting for him to tell me it's just another one ofhis cruel jokes. Something else he said or did just so he could kiss it and make it better.

But his posture relaxes, and he casually takes a pull from a bottle of whiskey. When he sets it down on the side table, he just looks around me—no, through me—at the television screen, completely unfazed.

Well, he got me again, didn't he?

And I'm heavy again. I drag myself out of the bed toward the bathroom where I'd discarded my clothes, each footstep requiring an undue amount of effort, as if I'm trudging through water.

Silas is speaking, but I'm not sure if it's to me or to him. I'm not sure I can take any more, anyway.

I close the door behind me, lock it, and pick up my sweatpants from the ground. I'm not going back out there for my underwear. And after I dress, I catch my reflection in the mirror, and suddenly, I'm that girl in the gas station bathroom again. Alone, with no life to go back to.

I wonder where she dug up her will to live, her survival instinct. I don't think I have it anymore.

"You win, Tate," I tell him as I head for the motel door. "I give up."

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