Page 76 of Amethyst Flame
How much longer before I was totally gone? My thoughts circled faster than the nighttime traffic as I sped away. I’d told myself Will couldn’t know if I had the same problem as him, but now that Dane had said it, I had to wonder. How would I die? Would it hurt? How could I tell Swann, Bri, Mom? In a numb, fugue state, I drove aimlessly through Arbolito. Aimlessness I could do on autopilot.
I swallowed hard, but to my surprise, my eyes were dry. Was this desert-inside feeling the first symptom of my inevitable demise?
Or maybe I had suspected something like this all along. Maybe I’d known on some level, deeper than the dungeons of my favorite video game, that getting infected with magical mechanical butterflies was too good to be true.
And what did that say about my life that for a while, my dose of purple power was the best thing that had ever happened to me?
I drove until even existential dread couldn’t surpass the annoyance of sequential three-minute stoplights. I pulled over at a convenience store, got myself a cappuccino with too many flavored creamer cups, got back in my car, and consulted my phone.
Text from Dane-Jacob:Don’t give up. We’re not.
They’d missed the point. I couldn’t trust a damn thing they said. Not one damn thing.
I didn’t even realize where I was going until I pulled into the driveway. Home. Mom.
I hesitated at the front door of the duplex, then knocked. It was late, but it wasn’tthatlate, but what if she wasn’t here? What if she was out, living her life?
Then the door opened under my clenched fist. “You don’t have to knock, Imogen. This is still your home.”
I gazed at my mom, and the desert desolation I thought had taken me over washed away in a deluge of tears. “But you kicked me out,” I said on a pathetic sob.
“Oh, honey.” She held her arms open, and I threw myself in. Yeah, I needed all the mom hugs I could get. Whispering into my hair, she asked, “Are you hurt? Are you safe?”
“No and yes,” I replied. Though I wanted to say,Not for long.
She led me back into the house, and even though I’d lived here basically my whole life, it felt strange, smaller, subtly off, like my first attempts at perspective drawing where the lines didn’t quite come together.
Even stranger, Mr. Morales was hovering awkwardly in the hallway. He was wearing track pants and a soft, worn gray t-shirt showing off impressive biceps that had obviously fueled his successful landscaping business and early retirement.
“Everything okay, Nicole?” His gaze stayed mostly on my mom—how weird to hear her given name spoken so intimately, yet another line that didn’t fit in my old life—but his eyes flicked to me too with a worried little frown.
“I’m sorry, Joe,” Mom said. “This is a bad time. Would you mind going?”
“No,” I put in hastily. “I’m glad he’s here.” Glad he’d be here for Mom when I was gone. Also, maybe it was a little cowardly of me, but I was relieved that in his presence she couldn’t bring up my purple problem. Now I had an excuse not to explain everything that was going on with me.
Because I wasn’t here to cave to her wishes. She’d kicked me out because I’d decided to go back to BantaMatrix, back into danger, and she refused to support me risking my life like that again. We’d both killed to get out alive. We’dkilledand lied about it. She couldn’t make my choices for me, but she could make her own. So she’d drawn a line, and we were on opposite sides.
I understood why she’d had to do that.
And even though I’d come home, I couldn’t agree to go back on my decision to work at BantaMatrix, especially now. And I refused to worry her by telling her about the new development.
“I’m happy you and Mom are seeing each other… You know,seeingeach other. In the middle of a Friday night…” This time, I gave them both a too-wide cheeky smile. “I’m not going to be the brat who gets in the way of that, I promise.” Especially if I wouldn’t be here much longer.
Mr. Morales gave me a respectful nod. “Imogen, I hope you know I’m not trying to take your father’s place—”
“Oh no,” I said. “Please feel free to take his place.”
He let out an awkward chuckle. “I only want to make your mom happy.”
“That makes me happy too,” I said, struggling to keep the hitch out of my voice. “She deserves it. She was the best mom. Just tell her to get her reading for book club done early because otherwise she stays up too late the night before and then she has a cocktail with the ladies and gets a headache.” I semi-fake-scowled at him. “And don’t take advantage of her when she’s had two cocktails. But make sure she keeps up with her physical therapy, even when it hurts.”
“Hey now,” Mom grumbled, but her eyes had that flinty gleam of suspicion. “I’m right here.”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “You always were.”
Her mock exasperation faded. “Honey, are you really okay?”
I knew she’d fight to the death for me. But apparently there was no fight that would save me.
