Page 32 of Bound By Water
Jordan leaves early the next morning to get to a class he’s auditing, but we stay behind to relax for a while. River wants to know what our next step is, but since I don’t know what to say, I classically avoid the subject with the excuse that I need to dye my hair if we’re leaving tomorrow like we promised Jordan.
Most of the girls in college dyed their hair, but I never did. I’m not sure if it’s because I was clinging to the past and the girl I used to be, or if I really cared about such mundane things.
Before the accident, I was a bubbly sixteen-year-old with a bevy of friends I’d known since kindergarten. After the accident, I didn’t know how to return to being that girl. My grief created a wall between myself and everyone else. I didn’t blame my friends. None of them had gone through something devastating. They didn’t know what to do or say, and eventually they stopped coming around.
Existing not living became my motto. Getting through school quickly so I could leave and do what I had determined was my purpose in life. Looking back, I wonder if I was in such a hurry to grow up just so I could have more control over my life. Boy, did that turn out well. Here I am, with no family, relying on strangers for food and shelter. Adrift again.
With a sigh, I follow the instructions on the box, and an hour later, I step out of the bathroom with a small smile on my face. I love it. My original blondish-brown color washed me out, but the dark brown makes my green eyes spark with life and my fair skin glow.
Clearing my throat, I stand in front of River and nervously wait for him to comment. “It’s still wet, but I think it looks good.”
He doesn’t answer, only stares at me for a solid minute, and my toes scrunch together in my socks.
“Beautiful,” he finally rasps, putting me out of my misery. “The brown makes your eyes stand out. Have you never tried this color?” He moves closer to me. Lifting his hand, he captures a wet strand and rubs it between his finger and thumb.
“I’ve never dyed my hair,” I admit with a casual shrug. “I was too busy studying to worry about my appearance.” That sounds a lot better than telling him about my parents and the accident and the permanent numbness that encompassed me for a long time.
He sweeps a hand toward the coffee table. “I made us a quick lunch. Once we eat, we can walk around the university and stretch our legs. Maybe we can also figure out where we’re going next.” His eyes dart to me as if to gauge my response.
Sitting on the sofa, I pick up a chip and eat it, trying to figure out how to tell him about Lionel’s plans. “Lionel was in the Army, and because he had powers, he knew about the two organizations the government set up.” I stop and try to explain how this whole thing started. “Up until a few days ago, I was at university, getting my degree. Someone—or maybe a couple of people, I’m not sure—started stalking me. Taking pictures and putting them in my car. Lionel was investigating to find out who did it. I was kidnapped and used my powers to… escape. When I came home and told him what happened, he instantly jumped into action, and we went on the run.”
Trusting River to help me get to Phoenix and trusting him with the whole story are two entirely separate things. Right now, I don’t know what Senator Hightower, or his organization, knows about my role in his son’s death, but if I tell River, he might decide the risk is too great and leave.
“He was in the Army with Jack Harrison. Do you know him?” I say after taking a bite, which I’m barely able to swallow.
River’s mouth compresses. “He’s the Senator supposedly trying to get us some civil rights, but nobody has seen any progress. Why?”
Ouch. “Apparently, he runs a group called Phoenix that helps people like us. They provide safety and a new identity.” My voice trails off because that’s all I really know about the group. “That’s why Lionel and I were headed to Atlanta.”
River tenses. “How do you contact them?”
I take a deep breath and look into River’s green eyes so I can see his reaction. “My bag has a tracker.”
A shutter comes down over his expression, giving me no clue as to his thoughts. “I see. So, we’re waiting for them to find us?” He casually picks up his sandwich and takes a bite, but his eyes never leave mine.
I bite the inside of my cheek. He told me not to trust him or anyone, but I sort of expected more of a reaction from him. “I guess. I’m not really sure. We were able to call for help at the gas station, but since then, I haven’t seen anyone. I don’t know what happened, and unfortunately, I can’t remember the number.”
“I see,” he replies in a calm voice. “Eat your sandwich and stop worrying. I’m not mad or upset. I told you not to trust anyone, including me, and I meant it.” He looks down for a second. “I’m just not sure you’ve put your trust in the right people. I’m not the only one who feels that way either. You can ask Jordan about them, too. If Phoenix is actively helping those like us, I’ve never heard anyone talk about it.”
A little hope crumples inside me, but I remind myself that Lionel was confident about his plan, and I completely trust… trusted… him. Pain rushes through me at having to use the past tense. It’s like my parents’ death all over again. Learning to use all the past tense ways to say they weren’t alive.
It takes a lot of effort, but I force myself to finish the sandwich. Being on the run, there’s little certainty in the next meal, and after seeing the bare shelves in Jordan’s small fridge, I refuse to waste a single bite.
I lift a hand and run it down my hair. Frizzy, but dry. I grab my large backpack and head into the bathroom to get ready. Thankfully, I packed a flat iron, so I smooth it out and pop in a couple of curls around my face, then brush my teeth and add a little make-up. When I finish, I stare at my reflection, partially wondering who the person in the mirror is because she doesn’t look like the Willa I know. Maybe she’s Greer?
Lionel’s son, Greer, had dark brown hair similar to my current color, but even at a young age, he had a strong personality and a sense of fearlessness about him. Maybe using his name will give me some of those same traits. I hope so.
Conscious of the time, I grab the smaller backpack and slip it on, then with a wry smile, add the windbreaker. Feeling like a hunchback, I turn from side-to-side in the mirror. To my relief, Lionel’s voluminous jacket hides the slight bump. A knock on the door makes me jump, and I open it to find River on the other side.
He scans me from head to toe with an appreciative glint in his eye that makes me blush. “Great, you’re ready. Let me brush my teeth, then we can go.”
I slip my purse over my body and place the larger backpack on the floor by the couch. My fingers twitch slightly at the thought of leaving anything behind, but I force my hand away from the bag.
River returns and holds out his hand. “Grab your hat and let’s go.”
My nose scrunches up at the thought of wearing the baseball cap again, but it shields my face from the cameras, so I put it on. When I look up at River, he’s smoothing down the back of his hat.
Without thinking, I reach up and finger a lock of his light brown hair. “Maybe you should go blond.” I smirk, but with his bright green eyes, it’s not a bad idea.
