Page 11 of Runaways

Tate steps between us before she can do it again, forcing her backward while I crumple onto the ground. "Mia, you're acting fucking ridiculous—stop."

Silas kneels beside me, helping me to my feet as she yells, "Get out! Get out of my house! And stay away from my brother. I never want to see you again! Andyou, Tate…." She shoves him hard with both hands against his chest. "Noah? Really?"

"Nothing happened, Mia," Tate tells her. "I never fucking touched her. I would never touch her. You really think I'd be fucking around with Noah? I didn't even know she was in there until you walked in; there's nothing going on between us."

And there it is.Particularly cruel.

My heart drops into my stomach. His words hurt more than my face, more than the things Mia said last night.

But they stop Mia in her tracks. She looks at me over his shoulder, waiting for me to corroborate the story, hoping I'll tell her,Yes, Mia. It's just me, so obsessed with your brother that I crawled into his bed without his consent and slept with him all night. He didn't want it.

I shake my head. Tears roll down my face as I rush out the front door and down the hall to my apartment unit. It's dark and empty when I step inside; the blinds are drawn and most of our furniture has been thrown out as it would have clashed with Paul's more lavishly decorated home.

"You're late!" my mom shouts over her shoulder. "We need to—what the hell happened to your face? Why are you crying?"

"Mia hit me," I tell her.

She sighs. "Jesus. Well, go clean up and get some clothes on. We don't have time for this; he's waiting in the truck."

And that's it. That's all I get before she goes back to packing her makeup in her suitcase.

I go to my bedroom and grab the backpack I left out for myself with a change of clothes and a few essentials. Cautiously, I wash my bloodied face, hands, and neck in the sink before dressing.

It hurts. But my nose doesn't look broken. There's a minor cut just under my eye, and the entire side of my face is already swollen and bruising. It could be worse—it could look like my insides right now. I press on it with my fingertips, wincing in pain while I watch the skin turn from white back to deep purple.

But in a weird way, it makes me feel better; it soothes that other hurt, so I do it again, pressing harder this time.

As I examine the bruise's color shifts, the bathroom door opens. I take a step backward when I see Silas in the doorframe. "Leave me alone."

He steps toward me anyway, resting his hand on my right cheek. He places something cold on my injured left side, and I realize it's a bag of frozen peas. It takes my breath away for a second before I adjust to the feeling.

"I didn't do anything to you," he says. "Don't take it out on me."

As much as I want to shrug him off and run out of the room, I don't. Because the cold does help, and it's more than my mom did.

I sigh. "That feels nice."

"I brought you your phone," he says, setting it on the counter.

Text notifications from Tate line the lock screen. I turn it off before stuffing it in my pocket.

"Are you okay?"

I shake my head. "No. But maybe I needed this, though. I didn't want to leave, and now I won't want to come back."

"Don't say that."

"It's the truth."

"He didn't do it to hurt you."

But he did, didn't he? It doesn't really matter why. He didn't care enoughnotto do it.

"I need to get in the car. My mom is already pissed."

I lean down, grabbing my backpack, and then move around him into the empty main room, but he's at my side again when I step into the hallway.

I've thought about this moment all week—about how hard it would be to walk out of the place I've called home for the last ten years and close the door behind me. I've thought about how it would feel almost every day since I found out, and every time, I've ended up in tears.

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