Chapter 45: Running: Part 2

Hey, chica.

This isn’t much, but you need it more than I do.

My number is on the back of this. Keep it. You know where we are if you need us.

We are your pack.

I’ll miss you.

XXX

The tears mist my eyes, my throat swelling so I almost can’t breathe as ache hits me low in the gut and threatens to make me crumble.

I quickly push the note back inside, trying to combat it, and flick through the cash, mentally counting almost two hundred dollars, and it breaks the wall holding in my tears.

I slump down onto the floor like a disheveled sack and cry, holding it close to my chest and breaking down. It’s not just for this. It’s for everything.

Why did I find my pack now when I thought I had no other option? Why would the Fates give me something closer to a real home only to make it unreachable by the tiniest stretch?

I have to pull myself together and stop being weak. None of it matters, and it doesn’t change things. I have to get my crap together and stick to what I decided.

I have to stay strong and determined. I can’t break because I won’t be able to put myself back together if I do.

I pull myself to get up and walk to the closet, despite heaving with racking breaths and sniffing as I try to stop the tears. I have to find a bag to pack my shit up and focus on doing, not feeling. Luckily, whoever brought my things from the orphanage packed some of them in a large backpack that had been Vanka’s.

I drag it out of the bottom corner, holding it for a second, a fresh wave of pain twisting my insides.

I stroke across the corner where she wrote her name in a black marker pen, bold, jaggy letters that somehow represent who she was in life.

I numb it out, swallow it down, haul out essentials, and stuff them inside.

I need basics, like a couple of changes of clothes, toiletries, the money, and the snacks I have in my room.

I need something to sleep with, too, like a blanket to lay on the ground and something to carry water in, just in case I can’t find a stream or river for hours.

I don’t know what else to pack, and I end up shoving things in haphazardly: a book I never got around to reading and the iPod that was among my belongings.

Then I realize I probably won’t be able to charge it if I stay in the wilderness and put it back on the shelf.

I find a lighter, the Swiss Army knife that I kept among my treasured items from my father’s possessions, some old camping matches, and his flint stick for making fires should I run out of matches.

I push through my stuff and come to Colton’s gray T-shirt, pausing painfully, recognizing it as the one he gave me to wear when I shredded my clothes.

I thought I’d given everything of his back to Meadow for him, but this remains like a scar on my heart.

His human smell still lingers in the fabric, despite it being washed, or maybe I’m just conjuring it up for myself, his scent so ingrained in my head that I will it to come back at me.

I impulsively push it into the bag, stroking it for a second too long, and zip everything up inside. I shouldn’t take a part of him with me for my sanity, but I can’t bear to take it back out.

I keep checking my watch, even though I know I have another three hours before they assemble for dusk patrol.

I have to kill time without going back downstairs and acting weird. I need to occupy myself without obsessing and driving myself crazy until it’s time to go.

The thought hits me. A shower! That’s an idea. And a nap if I can force it—refresh myself and change into more suitable clothes than this sports pants and T-shirt duo I have sweated all over.

Tasks will pass the time and keep my brain centered.

I pull my clothes off without hesitation, throw them in my wash basket, and quickly head to the bathroom.

I yank my hair down from my ponytail and turn on the shower, testing it before I go to step in.

~“Lorey? You there?”~ Colton’s voice hits me in the center of my forehead, the last thing I was expecting.

I almost slide with surprise as I lay my foot on the wet shower floor, grabbing onto the door to stop myself from falling like a newborn fawn on unsure legs, almost crashing into mayhem.

For the love of all that is holy, why are the Fates screwing with me today?

~“Yes, what do you want?”~ I snap, a little harshly, instantly remorseful at my knee-jerk reaction to him, then not, when anger kicks me in the butt and reminds me what an ignorant asshat he is.

Sure, he’s all good to reach out now after an unexpected brush with me downstairs pushed his “need to contact me” button a lot harder.

I rub my bruised shin, which bashes the shower screen, and I jump in under the hot water instead of standing like an idiot.

~“After seeing you downstairs… I just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.”~

I can pick up on the hesitation, the agony in his tone, and I sigh heavily.

But madness is wavering because I’m a fool when it comes to him sounding like this, this boy, and against all my better judgments, I soften my tone when I should cut him off instead.

~“Why are you reaching out? We both know what you’re going to do. Can we just not do this?”~

He’s killing me, making all those emotions spiral up and mess with me all over again, and I need to be stronger than this.

I need to bring back the bite to my voice, the steel to my resolve, and end this before making myself even more confused.

~“I can’t seem to stop myself. I can only go so long, and the need to see you or hear you gets too much. I have no willpower when it comes to you.”~

Back to his hot-cold bullshit, and I know if I let myself get drawn in again, it will only go like every other time.

After a couple of days of pulling close and then, he backs off and leaves me feeling desolate again. I get it. I do.

Because the need for him is always stronger when we have some contact, but I’m not playing anymore. It’s not helping either of us, and as much as I love him, I have to do this.

~“I have a solution... every time you feel you have to talk to me... go talk to Carmen. I’m sure she’ll love that.”~

I focus on something to be pissed about, and it does the trick—moody, bitchy tone setting in. I can always count on my brokenhearted jealousy to find the fire in my soul.

I sound as bitter as he makes me feel, and I’m glad the water is pouring over my face and camouflaging the tears falling of their own accord.

I have zero control of that right now, and I’m glad he can neither see nor hear them.

~“I deserve that. I don’t know what to say to you. I’ve been a coward for days because I can’t face you.”~

~“I don’t know how to say the words to you or how to say sorry for what I’m going to do. I guess we both know what’s going to happen next week.”~

He confirms my worst fears and solidifies my decision in that one brief statement, ripping what’s left of my shredded, mutilated heart out and stomping it all over the floor until there’s nothing left but a mess.

He’s chosen to go through with marking her, and this is his goodbye. His confirmation.

~“Then don’t. I need to go. I have to do chores. Maybe just leave me alone until it’s done, and then we’ll see what happens from there,”~ I lie, trying to sound tough.

My message is mentally scathing in tone, even if my body is shaking with the buildup of the sobbing that’s coming, trembling as I try to hold it in, breathing fast and shallowly.

I’m throwing cold and snappy in there while my limbs are quaking with the effort, but I can’t let him know what I plan on doing.

He would stop me, even with his mind made up. His need to protect me would overrule everything else.

~“Right... chores... of course. I have to go assemble for patrol in a couple of hours too. Enjoy your chores. I guess I’ll see you around.”~

He lingers, saying it slowly as though looking for a reason to stay.

~“Yeah, you too. Now, I gotta go. Bye.”~

I don’t give him a chance to linger more or reply, sensing his hesitation, so I take control.

I’m the one to close the door on our connection and shut it down dead as I do, doing something I haven’t ever done to him.

He always did it to me, but now I’m metaphorically shutting it, bolting it tight, and pushing the soundproofing button on our link so he can’t come back anymore.

I don’t want him getting through. I mentally lock it and toss the key aside.

I’m not going to lie, it feels like I just stabbed myself in the chest with a dull object, and I gasp and sob when the dead silent noise consumes that part of my mind.

It’s horrendous to know I’m the one to cut him off, but I have to do this. I can’t have him popping into my brain anymore. Never again.

I stop for a moment to process the conversation, and despite trying so hard to be strong, I end up sitting on the floor under the full force of my showerhead and sobbing my heart out until I can’t breathe with the effort.

The doubts slide in, and I have to chastise myself for being so stupid.

This is why he’s stayed away. It makes both of us weak and clouds our judgment. I should have known seeing him would push him to contact me.

It’s harder when we do, especially touching, and we did when we collided. I probably played on his mind after I left because of that simple moment, and I’m just as pathetic, sitting here crying over him.

I shouldn’t have responded to him at all; he shouldn’t have reached out. It’s proof that our bond is powerful, no matter what we try to do, and neither can control how it keeps bringing us back together.