Page 49 of Runaways

My eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

"Maybe you should say sorry to me, too."

"When did you tell Mia the truth?" I counter.

"I would have," he says. "Eventually. If you would have come back and stopped acting like such a fucking brat about it."

I scoff, shaking my head. "Tate, I've known you for your entire life, too. I can tell when you're lying, too."

Silas starts the car, music blaring through the speakers as the engine comes to life. Grateful for the interruption, I fold my arms in front of my chest and lean against the car window. Once we pull onto the highway, Tate slides over until his body is against mine.

"You didn't even give me a chance to explain."

"If you really wanted to, you would have tried harder. Besides, what's there to explain? I understood just fine."

"It wasn't about you."

"I'm aware of that. It was just a game."

"That's not what I meant—I meant it wasn't personal."

"I know, and that's a problem for me. It was personal to me. Youusedme. We werefriends, Tate, and you groomed me. And you were so fucking good at it that I don't even know when you started doing it, but you did. Now, I'm just…fucked in the head. You broke my brain…at a chemical level. I don't work right anymore. You made mesick."

"You're not sick. And I never made you that way. It was always you."

Silas lowers the volume on the speakers. "You don't really think that, Noah. There's no way you could actually think we were trying to hurt you or that we used you. You know better."

I scoff and look away, blinking back tears.

"What about Silas? Huh?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Whatever you did to me, you must have done to him, too."

"You're giving me way too much power; I don't hate it, but you are. You're not broken, baby. There's nothing wrong with that pretty head of yours," he says, tapping my temple with his index finger.

"Yeah, well…coming fromyou…that doesn't really hold much weight. You're not exactly the embodiment of mental stability."

In the front seat, Silas laughs. I look out the window and realize we're passing Brielle's family's cabin. There are no policecars, no flashing blue and red lights, no crime scene tape. No one has discovered what happened in the woods yet. I wonder when they will.

"Huh, that's really funny, Noah," Tate says. "You actually reminded me—I owe you something from earlier."

"What?"

"You know what." He leans back into the seat and pats his knee.

I shake my head. "No."

"That's three now," he says. "You're only going to make it worse. I've got a knife in my pocket, and I'm happy to see you. Unbutton your shorts."

When I don't move, Tate purses his lips and shakes his head, then pulls the knife from his pocket.

He flips it open, the blade still stained in my friends' blood, and holds it to my throat. I back away until my head hits the car window, and he digs it into my skin. I feel a burn like a paper cut, and realize he's pierced the skin just as hot blood runs down my throat.

"I think you've forgotten what we're doing here, Noah. I'm trying to help you, but if you're going to be difficult, we can always end this now."

"If you're going to kill her, let me know," Silas says. "I'd like to get out of the car."

"Hey, Silas? How do you feel about necrophilia?" Tate asks.

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