Page 146 of Run Away Home: Tempered

I go into the kitchen and stare into Peter’s coffee cup. He likes to let it cool down before he drinks it. I have to do this. I have no choice. I rub my stomach and look down at my hands. My eyes well with tears. We can’t be out on the street with nothing...we just can’t.

I take a deep breath and pick up the mug, pouring some coffee down the drain. I empty just enough solution into the mug so that it doesn’t look like anything’s missing. After a quick wipe with a napkin, it’s impossible to tell that anything was poured out.

I give the sink a quick rinse, then I open the fridge to see if I can find anything else that he might drink. There’s a big bottle of red Gatorade, missing only a few sips. It’s zero sugar, so it’s definitely not Danny’s. I take it out of the fridge and pour a bunch of it down the drain. I empty the rest of the contents of the water bottle into it and shake.

The shower turns off.

I throw the empty water bottle into the garbage and run back into the living room. I sit back down on the couch.

I did it ur sure he wont taste it?

Yup. I saw this on one of those tru crime shows

OMFG!

If you saw it on TV the person must have got caught!!!

Yea he did But im smarter.

I throw the phone down and stand. Maybe I should just pour everything down the sink. This is never going to—

Peter walks out of the bathroom. His wet hair’s in a bun, and he’s dressed for work. He looks directly at me.

“Good morning,” he says. “I hope you’ve been looking for places to stay.”

“I have something planned.”

He walks into the kitchen and comes back with his cup of coffee. “Oh? What’s that?”

“Uh...I don’t need to discuss my plans with you.”

“That’s true.” He puts the mug up to his lips and takes a sip. He pulls it away and frowns at the cup.

Fuck...Fuck...Fuck...

“W-What? What are you looking at?” I ask.

“Uh...The mug.”

“Why?”

“It looks like it must have chipped in the dishwasher.”

“Oh.”

He takes another sip. “Time to get ready for work.”

He walks back into the kitchen, and I close my eyes.True crime shows? Really? Even my mother was smarter than that, and she still got caught!

Peter pokes his head back out of the kitchen. “Did you want coffee?”

“Why? Do you suddenly care about me again? Fuck off.”

“All right. I’ll go fuck right off, then.”

A few minutes later, he leaves the kitchen while holding the Gatorade from the fridge. “I’m leaving.”

Can he tell I’m nervous?

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