Page 91 of Run Away Home: Tempered

“Check the freezer.”

He opens the freezer. “More vegetables? How many vegetables does this guy eat?”

“Honestly, I hardly ever see him eat anything. He usually cooks for me and Danny, and then goes to work. He basically lives off of granola bars and whatever Danny and I leave behind.”

“That’s probably why he looks like a fucking twig. Nah, this isn’t working.” He closes the freezer. “A man’s gotta eat. We gotta get some food.”

He’s right. Peter is pretty skinny.

“Like what?”

“Microwavable pizzas, ramen, Jamaican beef patties.”

“We could go to the store.”

“Nah, let’s just get fast food. More bang for your buck.”

Fast food again? Can my digestive tract take any more punishment?

“Fine, but let’s eat at the restaurant.” I look at my phone. “Peter will be home soon.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“Well, I do. Okay?”

“Why?”

“Because he said he would call the police if he saw you here. You really want to get the police involved? Let’s just get dinner, eat there, and then I’ll see you tomorrow or something.”

“He’s not going to call the police. He’s full of shit. I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this crap. Being told what to do. Being told I can’t go to my own girlfriend’s apartment. It’s not working for me. I am straight up not this person. I’m gonna snap.”

I know he’s not that person. Tauruses hate being told what to do. It’s not his fault.

I grab my purse off of the table and head toward the couch. I pull my sneakers on over my feet without untying the laces. For some reason, that always feels like a big accomplishment. I wonder what my horoscope says today? I’ll check it out after lunch.

“Did you hear me?” Tristian calls from the kitchen.

“Yeah, I heard you. Instead of fast food, you wanna try something new?”

“Like what?”

“There’s this new deli down the street. They make huge sandwiches. Peter and I split one once. It was pretty good. I think I have a picture of the menu in my phone.”

“Fine. I’ll take a look.”

I sit back on the couch. I hope he doesn’t choose something with roast beef. I’m not in the mood. Maybe I should get Peter something while we’re there. When’s the last time I saw him eat anything? But then Tristian might think—

Never mind. No way. Not putting myself through that.

I look around the room. Maybe I should do a quick sweep of the apartment now, just to make sure nothing is out of place or seems suspicious.

Nothing’s out of the ordinary in the living room. I walk down the hall and look in the bathroom. Very clean. I inspect the dining room table last. I think I’m in the clear. I take a seat. Okay, what’s taking him so long?

“Tristian?” I call.

“Yeah.”

“Did you pick something?”

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