Page 163 of Runaways

"I've been worse."

"Do you still want to be here? On Earth, I mean."

"I don't feel like doing it again—not right now, anyway, if that's what you're asking. Not that I'd tell you if I was planning to."

"Well, that's not helpful."

"It's true, though. I kind of want to see how this plays out first; I don't think it'll be good."

Silas finishes his search and sits at the edge of my bed, running his fingers up and down my back.

"It's going to be great," he says. "Better, even—I know it will be. But if our potential demise keeps you interested enough to want to hang around for a while, I'll take it." He leans in, pressing his lips to my temple. "I'm going to get you some water; let me know if you need anything else. I love you."

He leaves the room, intentionally leaving the door wide open, looking back at me while he does it to make sure I understand it needs to stay that way before he goes.

Instead of sleeping, I grab a book on the science of sustainability in remote locations. It's filled with Silas's highlights and notes in his tiny, messy, left-handed writing.

It's my favorite part. Reading them makes me feel closer to him—like I'm catching up on who he's been all this time while he was gone, and I was alone, missing him.

Missing both of them, but I'm no longer willing to admit that.

And by the time we leave for dinner, I'm halfway through the book, wondering if perhaps there's something to this and if I have something to look forward to after all.

twenty-six

'No Chips on my Shoulder' Blue

Noah

Ispent most of the next week in my room, reading and learning how to live off-grid. Silas bought me a journal when he went out for clothes and supplies, and I've been taking notes, deciding what I want to plant once the ground thaws. I could even build a small greenhouse and get some chickens if Silas would help me.

I'm still avoiding Tate when I can. It isn't easy; we live together and eat together at almost every meal, but it is necessary.

Both breakfast and dinner are served at the big house every day. I was assigned the dinner shift, which is the busiest one, but it isn't much different from working at a restaurant, and the people who live here are always kind and grateful. And if I'm being honest, it feels nice to have a place to go and a purpose.

Still, I mostly stay quiet. I don't quite trust them, and a part of me is still afraid to get comfortable. I haven't been comfortable in a really long time.

"Do you need anything else before I leave?" I ask Veronica after I finish drying and stacking the dishes.

"No, that's it, sweetheart," she says. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Sweetheart.That's what Jodie used to call me.

I nod, and then put on my coat, gloves, and scarf, and walk home in the dark alone. The first few times, it made me uncomfortable. I asked Silas to stick around after dinner to walk with me, but that meant Tate waited for me, too.

And then Wendy noticed and informed me that the punishment for violence against another member of the community was death, that all the men on the property were well aware of it, and there have been zero incidents. I don't feel afraid anymore.

I stomp the snow from my boots on the front porch and then slip them off before stepping inside and setting them beside the door. The house is dark, quiet, and warm, just like I like it. I take off the rest of my winter gear and fill the teakettle with water.

Tea before bed while I read in the lantern light has become a routine for me, and it's a better one than trying to get drunk enough to choke down a burger. That's gotten easier, too. I think there's something about cleaning the meat from the bone that bridged a gap in my mind I never would have thought I wanted filled in.

But it is true. We're all just meat.

Before I can turn the burner on, Silas walks up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.

"Hey, baby," he says, pressing his lips to my neck. "I missed you."

He licks and sucks on my throat, and I wrap my hand around the back of his head, laughing a little when his beard tickles my neck.

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