Текст книги "Writing on the Wall"

Автор книги: Tracey Ward

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

His hair is soaked by the rain like mine and he runs his hand through it, spiking it up off his forehead. His eyes are big and excited from the adrenaline of the kill. I imagine that despite my bad attitude I probably look about the same. You never learn to like it, this life, but eventually you do learn to enjoy the highs. Being outnumbered by Risen and coming out unscathed, that’s a high. A big one.

“Yeah, I’m great.” I say, almost meaning it.

He glances around at our handiwork. “Let’s pull them into the building, stow them in an empty room.”

“Why bother?”

“Because that way no one will see them, not unless they’re already in the building. The rain will wash away most of this.” He gestures to the pooling black mess pouring out of the zombies onto the pavement.

“I’m leaving anyway.”

“But this could buy you some time. You don’t have to leave so soon.”

“I have to leave when you leave.”

He shakes his head and runs his hand over his hair again, clearly frustrated. “Let’s just do this, let’s take care of this problem and we can sort any others out later.”

“Fine, okay.” I agree, stowing my ASP and pushing my wet mass of hair out of my face. “Let’s pull them inside and get out of this rain. As much as I want a shower, I’m getting cold.”

Chapter Four

“You’re not in a gang but you’re trading with someone.” Ryan comments, munching on a carrot.

We’re working through a bag of vegetables I’ve pulled out that I got from Crazy Crenshaw in exchange for meat. He’s not a hunter, not even close. He’s a gardener. Of all kinds of things. All kinds of plants, if you get my meaning. He’s always trying to trade me certain herbs for the meat I bring him, but I stick to veggies. Ryan was surprised at how large the vegetables are. Apparently Lost Boys are poor gardeners as well and I wonder if it’s not a skill possessed solely by the older generation.

“Why do you say that?” I ask, averting his eyes.

I don’t want to talk about Crenshaw. He trades with Lost Boys but I don’t know which ones exactly. I’m not about to go talking about him to someone he might want to avoid.

He waves his carrot at me, getting my attention. “No way you grew this somewhere in here. Not unless you have a garden on the roof?”

I shake my head. “There’s nothing on this roof.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“So what are you getting at?”

He shrugs and takes a bite of the carrot. “Nothing. Just making an observation.”

“It feels more like an invasion.”

“Or a conversation.” he says with a grin.

I roll my eyes and take a sip of water from my canister, washing down the dry, cold broccoli I’ve been working on. And it is work. Unfulfilling yet nourishing work.

“Does your gang trade in the markets?” I ask, changing the subject and offering him the canister.

He takes a sip from it as well, his mouth on the cool metal almost exactly where mine was, and I blush yet again. I’m setting a record or making up for lost time. It’s embarrassing either way. I don’t like things I can’t control.

“You’ve been to the markets?” he asks, sounding surprised.

I shake my head firmly, chuckling slightly at the idea of me showing up there. “No, never. But I’ve seen them happening. They’re hard to miss.”

“Seeing all of us rounded up like that, it must be your worst nightmare.”

“Crawlers.”

“What about crawlers?”

“Crawlers are my worst nightmare.”

He nods his head, thinking about that. “That’s a legitimate fear.”

“What’s yours?”

“What’s my worst fear?”

“Yeah. You know mine. Now you owe me yours.”

He laughs and leans back on his palms, looking relaxed. “No way.”

“It’s part of the deal. Spill it.”

“I made no such deal. You really haven’t been to the markets. You would know that you don’t give up anything without knowing exactly what you’re going to get in return.” He grins at me crookedly. “And you’re gettin’ nothin’.”

I shake my head in disgust. “I hate people.”

“I hear ya.”

I study him for a moment, unsure if I want to tread on sacred ground. In the end, curiosity wins out over etiquette.

“Do you like the people in your gang?” I ask quietly.

He stares at me for a long time and I worry I shouldn’t have asked. It’s a delicate thing to talk about. I don’t want to know the name of his gang or their location, basically any identifying information whatsoever. He owes it to his crew to keep them and their location a secret and it’s important to me that he never think of me as a liability. As a mouth that needs silencing. I’m just about to tell him to forget it when he shrugs.

“I guess. Not all of them all of the time, but for the most part, yeah. I wouldn’t stick with them if I didn’t like them.” He sits forward again and studies the pattern on the now empty veggie bag. It has a pink Hello Kitty on it. Don’t judge, I have my reasons for keeping it. “I think I stayed with them for as long as I did because of my brother. He likes… liked this group of guys. I got offers to join larger gangs. To live bigger and better, but I always stayed because of Kev.”

I don’t want to talk about his brother. I know that sounds calloused and that’s because I am; I’m calloused. I have a hard exterior and none of the soft, nougaty center to balance it out. I’ve worked hard to sink the callouses down deep, layer after layer until I’m more Jawbreaker than anything else.

“Was it The Hive?”

He looks at me silently with guarded eyes.

“I only ask because you said ‘live bigger and better’ and from what I’ve seen, no one but the Colonies lives bigger and better than The Hive.” I explain. “I’m not… I know you’re not one of them because of your neck. I don’t want to know what gang you’re in.”

He lifts his hand to touch the clean skin of his neck. If he were a member of The Hive, the largest gang in the area shamelessly living completely unhidden in the aquarium down at the wharf, he would have a hornet tattooed there. The Hive is huge by normal standards, easily 70 people strong. Probably more. Everyone knows where they are but no one would dare attack them. Not even the Colonies, it seems. There are two in the CenturyLink and Safeco stadiums just a couple miles from the aquarium but as far as I know, they’ve never clashed with The Hive. I find that both amazing and suspicious.

“You’re not even a little curious?”

I look at him hard. “Don’t tell me.”

“I wasn’t going to.” he says, chuckling. “I was only asking if you were curious.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay.”

A silence falls between us and I struggle for something to talk about. Hunting? No. Animal pelts? No. Jerky crafting? Ugh, no. Chit chat is not my strong suit.

“How’d you end up alone like this?” he eventually asks.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He nods in understanding. “Alright. How about this? What’s your worst memory of the early days?”

I scowl at him. “You mean aside from everybody dying?”

He waves the question away. “Everybody’s messed up from that. What else have you got? What’s on your apocalypse highlight reel?”

“This is a really dark question.”

“You strike me as a really dark girl.”

I hesitate. Am I flattered by that? No, that makes no sense. Still, though....

“You tell me yours first.”

“Nope, not a chance.” he says with a shake of his head. “But we’ll make a deal. Marketplace 101. If you tell me your most messed up moment from the beginning, I’ll tell you mine.”

I think about my answer but I try not to go too deep. I don’t want to dig too far and pull out something dark. A lot of this stuff from the early days is buried and gone as far as I’m concerned and I’m not about to go grave robbing to entertain him.

“I wore boy’s clothes for the first year.”

“That’s it?” he asks me, sounding annoyed. “That’s your worst?”

“No, not by a long shot, but you asked what was on my highlight reel and that is. I had to wear boy’s clothes for the first year because the people who took me in were afraid to travel with a young girl. They hacked my hair off and made me wear baseball hats and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle shirts.”

“You should have been wearing those anyway. They were awesome.”

“I’m not arguing that. Now what’s yours?”

He chuckles. “You think you get my worst in trade for that?”

“No, but I get something off your list. Something scarring.” I point my finger at his face. “Your rules, remember?”

“Alright, alright.” he laughs, surrendering. He thinks for a bit before saying, “We made the mistake of going to the zoo a couple months after it happened. My parents wanted to look for food, bottled water, a place to hide. They figured with it being fenced in that maybe the virus hadn’t had much room to spread there, if at all.”

“Had it?”

“Nah, it was pretty empty. There were a few employees and tourist types that were taken down by it. They were wandering around looking confused and hungry by then. The other inhabitants, though, that’s why we had to leave. That’s what was messed up. Kev and I couldn’t handle that nightmare.”

“What nigh– Oh no, those poor animals!”

“Yeah. Every last one of them starved in their cage. Some had eaten others and it wasn’t always the animal you’d think that was left last.” He shivers quickly and shakes it off. “Can you imagine what the prisons were like?”

“Maybe they let the prisoners out.”

“I doubt it.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” I mutter.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it seems like most of the people out there belong in prison.”

He nods in agreement. “You’re right. But that’s just the way things are, I think. Kill or be killed kind of thing. You get so used to fighting and killing the zombies, maybe it doesn’t seem so crazy to kill other people anymore. At least to survive.”

“Is that how you feel?”

He shrugs, looking away. “No. Maybe. I’m not gonna go out looking for people to kill, but if someone busted in here and threatened me or yo—yeah, if I feel threatened enough I’ll kill another person.”

I pause, unsure if I should ask the next question. I don’t know if he’ll answer and I don’t know if I want him to. But messed up as I am, I’m not coward.

“Have you?”

He meets my eyes now, challenging me with them. “Have I what?”

“Have you killed another person?”

“Yeah. I have.” he replies bluntly, his eyes unflinching.

“I haven’t.”

“I know.”

I scowl at him. “How do you know?”

“Because you’re looking at me like I’m dangerous. Like I’m questionable. If you’d done it too, if you knew what it was like to be backed that hard against a wall, you wouldn’t be judging me now.”

“I’m not judging you.”

“Yes you are. And it’s okay. I’m not proud of it, not like the psychopaths out there that do it for fun. But I’m not sorry either.”

There’s a long silence that I have no idea how to fill. I look anywhere but at him, unsure where we go from here. After this, what is there to talk about?

“Don’t be scared of me.” he says quietly.

My eyes shoot to his, surprised. He’s looking at me with steel in his gaze but there’s something else there too. Something almost sad.

“I’m not.”

He nods once. “Good.”

“Does it bother you that you’ve—“

“Can we go outside?” he asks, standing up suddenly. “The rain has stopped. Maybe we could hit the roof? I’m feeling closed in here.”

I look around the massive room we’re sitting in with its twelve foot ceilings and nearly total lack of walls and I wonder what the hell he’s talking about. But I don’t ask. When we head for the door I pause for a moment, debating, then hold up a finger to him.

“Wait.”

I dig around in my backpack, searching. What I need is so small it fits in my two coat pockets, making it easy to hide it from him.

“Okay. Let’s go.” I say, hurrying up through the hatch.

When we get to the roof I immediately check the rain bucket and I’m relieved to find it far fuller than it was before. Water is my worry, far bigger than my concern for food.

“You’re good?” Ryan asks, watching me smile at my bucket.

“For a bit, yeah. I still need to go get more tomorrow.”

“I won’t drink anymore.”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course you can drink some.”

“I don’t want to make you go out to the watering holes if you don’t have to. They’re dangerous lately.”

I haven’t told him I have other water sources. That I don’t go to the holes. Ever. They’re communal type areas where water pools (old fountains, swimming pools, etc.) where people go to gather rain water. They’re dangerous no matter what, but for someone like me living alone and fending for herself, they’re a nightmare. A death sentence.

“Have you seen a lot of Risen there?”

“No. We don’t go there very often. We do what you do – capture the rain – but on a much larger scale. But we’ve heard things from other gangs. Stuff about what’s been going on at the holes.”

“What’s happening?”

“Roundups. A lot of them.”

The Colonies. They perform roundups of the survivors in the wild, a lot like a dogcatcher picking up strays. It’s not voluntary. Not anymore. If they find you, especially if you’re young, they’ll take you by force back to one of the compounds and keep you there. It used to be they rumbled around town in their trucks and called out over loudspeakers for people looking for sanctuary to join them. They offered a warm, dry bed, larger meals than a lot of us could remember ever eating and safety from the infected. All you had to do was follow them like the Pied Piper out to their compound where you’d work to pay your way.

Now, though, it isn’t so merry. Now they scour the city in run down vehicles that run silently, electric most likely, and snatch people off the streets. They write messages on old billboards and on the sides of buildings trying to drum up new recruits.

Be part of a community again! Serve a purpose!

We have doctors! Nurses! Teachers! Farmers! All we need is YOU!

They promise everything under the sun to get us to join willingly. They single out young people, advertising working generators and game systems on large TVs. Hot showers. Hot meals. Milk! That right there, even on my strongest of days, could almost persuade me to go along with them. But I never do. Something just isn’t right about it. They act like they’re trying to save us, saying we are lost and they would return us to the fold where we’d be safe and sound, but I don’t know these people. Not one of them. How can I be returned to somewhere I’ve never been?

“What do you have in your pockets?”

“What?” I ask, blinking at him. I hadn’t realized I’d zoned out.

It’s getting really late, I’m getting tired and I need to sleep. But I know I won’t, I can’t. The comet is still shooting across the sky and I don’t want to miss it.

“You pulled something out of your bag before coming up here.” Ryan says, gesturing to my pockets. “What was it?”

I smile with excitement and step closer to him, eager to show him. If he thought the TV was cool…

“Is that—does it work?” he asks, staring at my open hands.

“Yeah, it does. I wasn’t kidding before. I use the bike to charge it.”

“I thought you were being a smart ass.”

“Well, I was.” I admit, carefully plugging a short black cord into the top of the iPod in my hand. “I don’t have a hairdryer or a cell phone.”

“Or a fridge or oven?”

“Nope, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just turn it on.” he says excitedly. His eyes are bright with anticipation. “I haven’t heard music in… God, in forever.”

“You guys don’t have any power?”

“Not really. Just some broke down solar panels that hardly work anymore. And no one has stuff like this,” he says, pointing to the device as the screen lights up. It makes our faces glow a bluish-white in the near perfect darkness. I worry for a moment, thinking it’s like lighting the Bat Signal up here. If anyone is watching the skyline, they’ll notice. They’ll know we’re here.

“Here,” Ryan says, stepping close to me and wrapping his arms around me lightly. The iPod is pressed between us, the light of the small screen now mostly trapped. “Better?”

“Better.” I mumble, keeping my head down over the screen as I scroll through it. I can feel his heat coming up out of the neck of his jacket. His chin and cheek are brushing against my temple and his breath is in my hair, warm and ticklish.

“Do you have batteries in the speakers?” he asks, his voice rumbling right beside my ear.

I shake my head slightly and hook the speakers to the belt loop on my jeans. “No. They don’t need power. They’re not very good, but—“

“But it’s better than nothing.”

“I think so.”

I pick a song to play for him. My favorite, because why not share them all with him tonight? Why not let the things I love out to breath and exist for eyes and ears other than my own? I’m finding that it makes them fresh and new to me again. Brighter and shinier than they’ve ever been. Myself included.

I’m waking up to ash and dust

I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust

I’m breathing in the chemicals

I’m breaking in, shaping up, then checking out on the prison bus

This is it, the apocalypse

“What is this song?” Ryan whispers.

I dare to glance up at him and see his eyes are closed. I look down again quickly, feeling like an intruder on something sacred.

“It’s called Radioactive.” I whisper back. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

I smile. It’s getting easier.

All systems go, the sun hasn’t died

Deep in my bones, straight from inside

I’m waking up, I feel it in my bones

Enough to make my systems blow

Welcome to the new age, to the new age

When the song comes to an end I feel Ryan take a deep breath. I look up at him again and see he’s smiling, but his eyes are shining in the darkness.

“It’s so… full.” he whispers. “I’ve heard people play guitar or sing, but not like that. Not so many voices and instruments all at once. Not in a long, long time.” He chuckles at himself and closes his eyes again. “Can we listen to it one more time?”

When the music begins again his arms tighten around me, pulling me closer. We’re not hiding the iPod anymore. It’s flattened between us, our bodies pressed together from head to toe, only my arms folded up between us keeping us apart. He’s holding me to him and I have to fight the overpowering urge to rest my head on his shoulder. To free my arms and wrap them around him as well. I’m at the tip of the arc, at the closest point where the comet travels by the earth. I want to reach out my hand and trail my fingers through its shimmering tail of gray dust and starlight. I want a piece of it to stay with me, to cling to me and be one more thing I carry with me forever. One more load I happily bear.

But I don’t because it’s all an illusion. The star that looks so close, close enough to touch, is really millions of miles away. It’s only passing through. It’s lighting up my night and my life for one brief shining moment and then it will be gone and I’ll have to forever make due with the memory. And that’s okay. That’s what’s safe. What’s smart.

When the song ends I pull away with a wan smile. Ryan looks at me over the light of the iPod glowing like a candle between us. He leans toward me, only slightly. My heart hammers in my chest.

If you don’t have anything, you don’t have anything to lose.

The light blinks out.

I step away, making him frown.

The arc is ending. The comet starts its return to space.

Chapter Five

“Are you asleep?”

“Yes.”

“Are you lying?” he asks with a chuckle.

“No. I talk in my sleep.”

There’s silence. I think he’s given up and gone to sleep, but then there’s his voice filling the empty room again, making it feel small.

“Why do you live alone, Joss?”

I close my eyes and breathe deeply through my nose. I wish he’d stop saying my name. No one says my name anymore, not even Crazy Crenshaw. It’s foreign and familiar.  It’s soothing and it hurts like hell.

“I told you why.” I answer warily. “I got sick of watching people die.”

“Not everybody dies.”

I can’t help but laugh at how absurdly wrong that statement is. “Yes they do.”

“Okay, yes, eventually everyone dies. But you know what I mean. Not everyone is going to die that way.”

“And what way is that?”

“Violently.”

“Everyone I know who has died, died that way.”

I hear him sigh heavily then shift under his blankets. I can feel his eyes on me.

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Says who?” I ask sharply.

“Says logic.” he replies just as sharply. “No one should be alone like this.”

“It’s been working for the last six years. Don’t try to fix what’s not broken.”

“I’m not saying you’re broken, I’m just saying I wish you weren’t alone.”

“I wish a lot of things, Ryan.” My voice is growing hard, hot. “I wish my parents hadn’t died. I wish zombies didn’t exist. I wish I could have ice cream. But most of all, more than any of that, I wish you’d never shown up outside my building.”

Because then I wouldn’t remember what being alone really is.

“I wish that too.” he agrees quietly. “Now I have to go back and know you’re out here alone.”

“I won’t be here. Tomorrow I will be so far away from here.”

“Where are you going to go?”

I laugh again, but this time it’s brittle and angry. “I’m not telling you that. That’s the point of leaving. So you can’t ever find me again.”

“Are you being a bitch right now so I won’t want to?”

I turn my head and glare at him. He watches me passively and it pisses me off more than anything else.

“I’m being a bitch because that’s what I am. I don’t play well with others, okay? I don’t want other people in my life just so they can disappear. I’m tired of finding things just so I can lose them. Like my home and everything in it. I’m losing all of that tomorrow because of you, do you get that? You’ve cost me everything. My home, my safety. And all for what? Revenge you didn’t even get. Against an animal!”

He looks at me with his large brown eyes and I see the regret in them. The sadness. The pity.

“I’m sorry.” he says earnestly. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”

Tears sting my eyes and I can’t stand it. I leap up, grabbing my sleeping bag.

“You already said that. It didn’t change anything then and it certainly doesn’t change anything now. I’m going to the roof to get some sleep and in the morning when I come back down I expect you to be gone. Take what you want with you, I can’t carry all of it out and it will save you and your boys some trouble later when you loot the place.”

I turn to leave. I hear him hurriedly stand up behind me.

“Joss, wait.”

“Stop saying my name!” I cry, my voice cracking and I hate myself for it. For being weak, for being cruel, for being so, so, so angry. Angrier than I ever realized I was but with him here now I can feel it. I can nearly taste it. I take a deep shuddering breath, willing the tears back. I haven’t cried in years and I can’t start now. I’ll be like an addict taking a hit of heroine for the first time in a decade. I’ll never be able to stop. When I speak, I will my voice to be even and calm. “Just go, please. It’s almost dawn. You’ll be alright. Take a weapon with you. Or two or five, whatever. Take anything, but please just go.”

“I’ll go.” he answers, his voice deep and low. “I’m leaving.”

I nod, my back still to him. “Good. That’s good.”

“Just promise me something. One thing.”

“What?”

“Don’t leave. Please trust me when I tell you that I won’t ever tell anyone you’re here. I’ll never tell anyone about you at all. Just don’t go. I can’t stand the thought of you having to start over.”

I don’t respond. I don’t have words, not any which are true. So I duck my head down, feel the angry heat of a single tear on my cheek and I climb the stairs to the roof.

I don’t sleep. I also don’t hear him leave but I know he’s gone. He’s quiet as a mouse, quieter even than me, and it’s no surprise that he could slip out without being heard. My world slips back into place, back into the gray numb of pure survival that it’s been in for the last however many years. Maybe all of them. Maybe since Christmas and my Cabbage Patch Doll. Since the end of everything.

When dawn comes I creep back into the loft but it’s not my home anymore. Mentally I’ve already moved out. I’m trying to decide where I’m going to go, which part of town I should try to find shelter in or if I should cut my loses and finally take the plunge and move into the woods. That’s when I see the writing on the wall.

7 th /Boren

red brick

I know urs, u know mine

don’t go

 

“Oh my God.” I breathe, my hand against my mouth.

He’s given me his address. It’s his toothbrush, his underwear, the key to his diary all wrapped up into one. His crew, if they knew, would beat his ass and throw him out on the streets for this. This is a dangerous thing he’s done. I search the room, looking for a rag to wipe it clean with. I can’t leave it here. Anyone who finds it will know right where they live. I can’t believe he left this!

I see the red brick lying on the ground beside the gray cement wall. This is what he wrote it with. He used the edge like chalk. I grab the brick and prepare to scrape the words out, to draw over them until they are unrecognizable. But I freeze, my hand holding the stone hovering over his writing.

I know urs, u know mine

He gave up all he could to try and make us square. To try and make me stay.

I look around the room to do a quick inventory. It’s all here. Everything. Even the tire iron he used to fight with last night. He didn’t take anything to help him get home and that realization makes my gut clench with guilt. I’m worried he might not have made it home last night. I’m sure he left immediately after I asked him to which means he left in the dark. In an unfamiliar neighborhood. With only a knife and a huge gaping wound on his hand.

“Son of a—“

I drop the brick and grab my coat, throwing it on as I pocket my ASP and sheath my knife on my hip. I quickly whip open the door and blindly run into the hall.

I should have looked both ways.

I immediately trip and fall flat on my face.

“Owwww.” I groan, clutching my elbow.

“Are you alright?” Ryan asks, reaching out for me.

I roll away from him onto my back and clutch my arm to me, riding out the crazy weird tingles and shocks passing through it.

“I hit my funny bone and it wasn’t funny.” I moan. I kick my foot at him and catch him in the hip.

“Ah, what!?” he cries, scooting away. He grabs hold of my foot as it comes back for more.

“You tripped me! Can you even function without screwing with my life?”

“Actually, you stepped on me and fell. I’m more the victim here than you are.”

I kick vainly at him again. “Why are you lying on the floor in my hallway?”

“Because I couldn’t lock the door.”

I lift my head up and stare at him. “What?”

“Your door, it only locks from the inside. I went to leave and realized I’d be leaving you defenseless but you wanted me gone so I camped out here. I was going to go once I heard you moving around inside but I fell asleep.” He picks up a chunk of rotted out carpet and chucks it at me. “Then you stepped on me and started kicking me. So, you know, you’re welcome.”

I sit up, still cradling my angry arm. “Is that really your address? That’s where your gang lives.”

“No, I lied for the hell of it. Yes, it’s where we live.”

“Why would you do that?” I ask incredulously. “That is so dangerous to put that out there like that. And not just for you, for all of them.”

“I know. That’s why I told you. I knew you’d understand.”

“Understand what? That you can’t be trusted?”

He frowns. “Wait, what?”

“They trust you to keep that information on lock and you go writing it on walls in random rooms across town? You knowing where I live, that’s one thing. But putting it out for the world where your entire crew lives, that’s crazy. And reckless. And so stupid.”

“You’re missing the point. We’re square. Now you don’t have to move.”

“No, I still have to move. But thanks, now I know what part of town to stay away from.”

“No, you don’t move. That’s why—How are you not getting this?!”

“Oh, I get it. You make terrible decisions. That’s what I’m getting.”

He pauses then puts his hand up, silencing me. “Hold up. Where were you going in such a hurry?”

“What?”

“You. You came slamming out of the apartment without even glancing in the hall or you would have seen me lying here. Where were you going in such a hurry?”

I don’t answer but I don’t look away either. I hold his stare, keeping my face impassive.

He grins. “You were going after me, weren’t you?”

“I was coming to look for your corpse.”

His grin becomes a smile. “You were worried about me.”

“No. Kind of. You didn’t arm yourself before you left and I didn’t want that on my head so, yes, I was going to look for you to make sure you were alright.”

“That’s nice of you.”

I roll my eyes and look down the long ugly hallway. Anywhere but at him.

“I’m not a complete bitch.” I mumble.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Well, you did.”

“I know and I wish I hadn’t.”

I shake my head. “We need to stop wishing for things.”

“How ‘bout we start doing things instead.” He stands and offers me his hand. “Walk with me. I’ll show you where I live.”