“I can live with that.”
“Do any of you have a lighter?” I ask.
“I have Nash’s.” Aiden dangles it in front of me. “Why?”
I stagger to my feet, snatch the lighter, and set the book Nash just left on his chair on fire. A smirk tugs at my lips as the flames eat it up. I heard he had so much trouble getting this book here with all the translation issues and limited editions and blah fucking blah.
He shouldn’t have read it with Teal. He shouldn’t have sat with her and allowed her to palm his cheeks.
I’m the only one whose fucking cheeks she’s allowed to palm.
“He’ll kill you.” Xander chuckles under his breath.
“Way to go, Astor.” Aiden squeezes my shoulder. “You’re fit to be my friend.”
Neither of them tries to stop me.
I throw the burning book and the lighter in the fireplace on my way out. “Give Captain my fucking regards.”
I don’t wait for their replies as I step outside. The cold air seeps under my uniform’s jacket and the shirt.
An arm wraps around my shoulder as soon as I’m in front of the Meet Up.
“Yo.” Xan grins at me. “You okay?”
While Aiden and Cole share sadism and sociopathic tendencies — among other things — Xander and I have always been the closest.
He’s the only one who knows about my secret. I told him a few years ago when he found me hiding at a party – when I never do that. It was so suffocating, and I felt like crashing my car to feel something other than numbness. I blurted it out, not everything, but the part that weighed on me.
Xander has kept my secret since then. We might tease each other, but he always has my back, and I have his. I lied earlier — I’m not mad he didn’t tell me his secret. Besides, I played Cupid in his tale with Kimmy. That’s how much his support means to me.
That’s why I felt kind of empty when he went to rehab. Of course, I’ll never admit that to the fucker or he’ll record it and show it to my great-grandchildren.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“No, you’re not. You barely talked in there, Ron. It’s so unlike you.”
“It’s the weed.”
“Not a certain Teal?” He waggles his brows suggestively.
“Fuck off.”
“Nah, I’m really interested to know about the girl who’s stealing your heart.”
“She’s not stealing my heart.”
“Your sanity, then?”
Probably. “She just hides so much.”
“Hides?”
“Yeah, I feel like I can’t reach her.”
“You know, Kim tried to hide from me before, and do you know how I was able to see her when no one else could?”
“How?”
His face softens. “I took that moment and really saw her. Not my prejudice of her, not my misconceptions. Just her.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to do that if she’s hiding?” Teal is so different from Kim. The latter has her heart on her sleeve in a way. Teal is a closed off gate.
“Then you’re not doing it right.”
“That’s not an answer. You’re a terrible councillor, Xan.”
“Screw you, mate.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I’m here if you need me.”
“Save the pussy moments for Kimmy.”
He flips me off with a grin, and I return the gesture as I head to my car then stop in front of the door.
I bring my phone up and stare at it. My subconscious is having this crazy thought that if I stare at it long enough or hard enough, it’ll magically light up with a reply.
The screen lights up, and I pause.
That tactic actually works?
My hope is crushed when I make out Knox’s name on the screen. I was going to pay a visit to their household anyway, maybe murder Agnus if she’s spending time with him. I’m sure Lars will be up to covering up murder if I give him his favourite tea for Christmas.
“Yo, Van Doren,” I answer.
“Have you seen Teal?”
“Funny, I was going to ask you that same question.”
“Ah, fuck, okay.”
“Ah, fuck, okay?” I repeat, bemused. “What is that supposed to mean? Where is she?”
“Probably purging somewhere.”
“Purging.”
“She does this sometimes. She disappears to purge by swimming or running and then she returns better. It’s just how she rolls.”
How she rolls? Why the fuck does he make it sound as if it’s normal?
And why do I feel like swimming and running aren’t the ways someone like Teal purges?
“Where does she usually go?” I ask.
“We don’t know. We never do.”
Well, fuck.
20
Teal
There’s nothing I hate more than running.
And it’s not only because of the physical activity of it, the shortness of breath, or the screaming of the muscles demanding I end the torture.
It’s the memories that come with running.
Knox and I ran as hard as our small feet could carry us when we decided Mum’s roof wasn’t the one we’d stay under.
We ran and ran in the dirty streets. We ran after we stole food from the market. We ran after we heard a policeman’s whistle, even if we hadn’t done anything. In our small minds, we believed the police would find us for the stolen food and take us back to Mum.
It would’ve happened. We could’ve been forced to go back.
We didn’t because we ran.
Naturally, all my memories of running are rubbish. Whenever I think about running, my brain fills up with fucked-up shit like maybe now we’ll get caught, maybe now they’ll take us back to Mum and she’ll make me do—
I shake my head as I forge on in the park. I stopped counting how many hours I’ve been running. I pause for water and to catch my breath, but the moment I can run again, I do that. I run.
I let my legs lead me somewhere out of this place. It’s transported me back to Birmingham, provoking loathsome memories and shit I don’t want to think about, but it also eradicates the present.
It erases the predicament I’m in — or rather, that’s what I like to think.
I stop, throwing my body on a bench, and a cat hisses then jumps away, glaring at me for disrupting his peace.
My breathing is jagged and choppy and out of control. I retrieve a towel from my bag and wipe my forehead.
The night has turned into morning and it’s now the afternoon. It’s been an entire day since I last had human interaction.
At least with humans I know.
I spent the night running, then I went to the forest and ran some more, and now I’m back to the park.
Dad and Agnus already know, but they probably didn’t expect me to be gone for an entire day. That’s why I chose a night they were spending working in the office.
Even if they do figure it out, they’ll understand. They know I need this.
My therapist used to call it a coping mechanism. I call it purging.
You know, human beings are like sponges. They soak up so much, and there comes a time when they have to expel those feelings so they don’t suffocate — or worse, snap.