Page 157 of Runaways

"And that was your fault," I shout through tears to Jodie as she screams from behind the tape.Just. Like. Him."Too bad you had to spend so much time running your mouth."

"Noah? Baby? Are you okay?"

I look at Silas, wiping my eyes with my wrists. "We should tip her chair over. I've seen movies where the person tips the chair over, it breaks, and then they get free."

"Okay." Silas walks around me and then tips the chair onto its side. "Wash your hands, baby. We'll get you changed in the car."

I walk to the sink, stopping to stare at a Fabio-esque crucified Jesus on the wall. "Don't worry, Jodie," I say, my tone just lifeless as I feel inside. "You're the good guy here. I'm sure god will save you."

I wash my hands in the sink, and then leave through the back door with Silas's hand on the small of my back. When I walk past Tate, he's laughing.

"I knew you were a killer," he says as we walk toward the car. "I fucking knew it. You're no better than us. I bet you feel better now, don't you, Noah? I bet you feel free. Do you feel like a god?"

"Leave me alone, Tate."

"Take off your clothes, and we'll throw them in the dumpster," Silas says, opening the trunk. "Then, we'll go. I'm driving."

"I've got shotgun," I say as I sift through the bag of clothing for something warm to change into. "I'm not sitting by him."

Tate stuffs his hands into his pockets and shrugs. "That's fine, Noah. I don't need you to sit by me."

I can tell he isn't finished talking, but I ignore him and start stripping down; as I do, Silas takes my clothes from me and tosses them into the dumpster.

"I just need one thing from you," he says.

"Tate, leave her alone. Just get in the car."

"It's just one really,reallysmall thing."

"I don't care what you want."

"I just want you to say that you're just like me—that's all. I think we'll both feel a lot better."

"Tate, she's not," Silas says. "She's not like us. And she's been through too fucking much for you to be doing this shit to her right now."

I pull my sweatshirt over my head and walk around to the passenger side of the car with Tate behind me. As I open the car door, he opens his fucking mouth again.

"Okay, but Noah? Can you just—"

"What?" I shout, whipping around to face him. "Can I just what?" I shove him hard in the chest with both hands. "What the fuck do you want from me, Tate? Huh? Do you want me to admit that I'mjust like you?Fine." I throw my hands up in defeat. "Of course, I'm like you. Youmademe!"

He smiles. "Thank you."

"Fuck you!"

I scowl at him and get into the vehicle, slamming the door hard behind me. Tate gets in behind me, calm and quiet, closing his door softly.

Silas takes my hand, lacing my fingers with his own, and pulls out of the alley.

And Tate taps his fingers against the window.Tappity-fucking-tap.I don't know if it's just to piss me off or because he can't just fucking sit still and quiet, but if it's the former, it's working. I grit my teeth until Silas turns on the radio, drowning him out.

We drive like that for thirty minutes or so—Silas focusing on the road ahead, Tate with his incessant tapping and nearly constant shifting in the backseat, me with my thoughts and a splitting headache. And I'm exhausted.

I rest my head on the center console, Silas's hand still clasped in mine, and close my eyes.

I wonder if he's disappointed in me. Quiet is normal for us, but he's always put me on a pedestal. He babied me; he treated me like I was this shiny, new, innocent thing. I never asked for it, but he did it anyway.

I bring his hand to my mouth and press my lips to his skin, and then leave it there so I can smell him.

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