Page 93 of Run Away Home: Tempered

“No, I don’t love him. Because I’m not a fucking murderer, that’s why!”

“This would hardly be a murder. You’d drop something in a beverage that may or may not be his. He’d pick up that beverage and drink it. He’d do it to himself without even realizing. So, kind of like an assisted suicide.”

“Who do you think I am, my mother? I told you how I feel about all the shit she did. I can’t believe you!”

“I can’t believe you like being told what to do by some scrawny little fuck...and you don’t even have the balls to stand up for yourself. It’s self-defense.”

“Stand up for myself? Killing someone is standing up for myself?”

“We’d have the money to get our own apartment. It wouldn’t even be a bad death. You know what a bad trip feels like? That’s basically what would happen to him, he just wouldn’t wake up.”

“SHUT UP, TRISTIAN! SHUT UP!” I hold back tears. Angry tears? Sad tears? Who is he? I know he always talks about fighting, but he’s never planned a murder before—at least, I don’t think he has? Maybe Peter was right about getting a restraining order.

I sit on the couch, cradling my head in my hands.

“Are you okay, Hayley?”

“Do I look okay? I am not fucking okay with what you’re saying!”

“I’m sorry. It was just an idea. I thought I could share everything with you without any judgment.”

“MURDER, TRISTIAN? MURDERING MY FRIEND? MY EX- BOYFRIEND? I don’t love him, but I do care about him!”

“I just said it was only an idea. Are you listening to me? Nothing’s going to happen to him, okay? As long as he doesn’t do anything to hurt you, because if he does, then all bets are off.”

Does he really care about me? What does he care about?

I look up at him. He kneels on the floor and grabs my hands. I take a couple of short, deep breaths.

“I want us to have our own place, I really do,” I answer, my voice shaking, “but I won’t hurt Peter to get it. Please, never say anything like that to me again.”

“I won’t, but someone has to put you first eventually, Hayley...and sometimes that person has to be you. Survival of the fittest, you know?”

Do I really care about me? What do I care about? I lean back, covering my face with my hands again.

“Let’s go get you that barbecue sandwich.”

I’m so upset about what just happened that I forgot I was hungry in the first place. I think if I eat now, I might vomit. I open up my purse and pull out a small plastic bag of pills. I place two on my tongue and pulverize them with my teeth.

“Fine. Let’s go.” I stand.

I feel so lost, trapped...like I’ve been stranded here for my whole life. My mother...Tristian...Peter...the pills... SOS.

Danny

IMAKE MY WAY UP THEstairs with my diorama of the battle of Gettysburg. President Lincoln flies over the top of the diorama in a superhero cape.

“TA-DAH!” I place it triumphantly on the dining room table. Peter walks over and inspects it.

“I thought this was for history class?”

“It is.”

“What’s Batman doing there?”

“That’s Lincoln!”

“In a cape and face mask?”

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