Page 59 of Hide From Me

I force my eyes open as Raylen's presence stops beside me, completely unaware of the battle happening inside my head. She shines her flashlight up towards the walking beams and then into the corners of the spacious room.

“So, this is one of those secret places?” she asks, tilting her head in my direction.

“That makes sense since it’s so close to the base,” she adds. “What do you think they used it for?”

She sounds thrilled, as if she’s enjoying the adventure and curious about something dangerous. Maybe that’s why I brought her here—to give her a glimpse of me, the version I usually hide under laughter, masks, and sand dunes.

I shrug, keeping my eyes on the floor. Her flashlight sweeps over a stain I recognize all too well; the old blood is now more brown than red.

“Probably nothing,” I murmur.

“Oh, come on,” she groans. “Maybe it’s a hideout. Or a torture chamber. Or maybe—”

“Or maybe it’s just a forgotten runway,” I interject, amused despite myself.

Technically, it is. Jasmine’s private jet is the only thing that has landed out here in years. All other air traffic goes through the base now.

My fists twitch, so I fold them across my chest to hide the shaking. Raylen notices. She always does. But she never brings it up—not about the bruises, not about the blood. Not even now.

“You’re no fun,” she teases, stepping over to a crate. She leans forward and blows the dust off the lid, only to immediately cough and fan the air as if she’s being gassed.

“How you managed to sneak into a military base, I’ll never know. You must be the worst criminal I’ve ever met,” I cough, guiding her away from the box before she notices the word engraved on it—DEPTH.

I wrap my hands around her waist and lift her onto the splintered crate before she can argue.

“Look, not all of us were born with ninja-like skills,” she snaps, but her eyes are soft.

She watches me closely, just like Cordelia does. It feels as if she’s reading me.

Maybe bringing her here is the only way I know how to feel something about this place. Perhaps if I touch her here, where I first encountered death, something will shift.

“I wasn’t born this way,” I murmur, pressing my palms on either side of her thighs, my thumb tracing the seam of her jeans as I lean in closer.

“You're so cryptic sometimes—it’s annoying,” my little light grumbles, tugging her bandana down as if that will stop me from finding her neck. It won’t. I’ll always find some part of her to worship. The cool plastic of my mask slides along her jaw, and even though she huffs in irritation, she shivers.

“How? I’ve been nothing but honest,” I murmur, my voice low as my breath fans across her ear. “You know who I am and what I want. If anyone is hard to decipher, it’s you.”

“I’m not!” she snaps. Her palm lands flat against my chest as if she’s going to shove me back, but I catch her earlobe between my teeth and growl low enough to make her freeze.

“Then tell me why you’ve been hiding out at your friend’s place. Why I never hear you talk about your past? Or your family.” My voice dips lower, and her fingers fist my shirt, tugging me closer like she’s already unraveling. I know better though. She's still trying to keep the wall up, trying to stay composed, but I can feel it—she’s starting to crack.

“I’ve talked about my family. I told you I’m an only child,” she says, her voice thinner now, less sure. Her legs shift, parting slightly, drawing me in. “And my past? It’s not that interesting. I’m a waitress, Moe. There’s not some dark, dramatic backstory. It’s just normal.”

Liar.

Her tone sounds too rehearsed, too practiced to be genuine. Still, I let it slide, even though every instinct I have tells me to push further.

She’s so stubborn it’s almost irritating, but I don’t want to be mad at her right now. If she wants to wear a mask, what right do I have to rip it off? Every fiber of my being screams that I have every right. She’s mine, whether she wants to acknowledge it or not. I’ve already risked too much and embedded myself too deeply into this.

“Why won’t you talk to me? You said we’re friends, right?” I purr, tugging my mask off. My hair falls in front of my brows, and I’m almost positive it looks a mess, reflecting everything I feel inside and out. Raylen sets her phone down on the crate, letting the light illuminate a small portion of space between us. She pulls back just enough to tilt her head and try to catch my attention.

"Why does it matter so much? Why can't I keep things separate from this?"

My tongue runs across the back of my teeth. I'd love to point out the fact that maybe it's because I know she's starting to feel for me the way I feel for her. If she didn't, then I wouldn’t have been the one she fell into when she felt like her world was crashing down around her.

Instead of voicing that, though, I give a grin and shift to stand at my full height so I can properly look down at her.

"Maybe if you won’t talk to me, you can pretend you’re someone else, and that person can?" I ask, my tone serious. Brushing her hair back from her face, I kiss her head softly, then slip the mask over her face, tightening the straps so it fits her properly.

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