At least that only happens when he’s far enough away from their own living quarters that they don’t have to listen to it, too. Not every new location offers such luxuries, and they’ve been running from something lately, or someone. He isn’t sure what,but that’s the only explanation for how often he’s been moved. Again and again, as if there’s someone hot on their heels. It gave himhopethat Kara was still searching for him.
She pauses in her reading, saying something to him over the rim of that book so sweetly that he doesn’t need to know exactly what it is to tell it’s something good. Shakes her head like she’s amused, and he’s suddenly curious what happened in that story to prompt her smile.
The more she begins to sound like Kara, the more hopeful he becomes and that’s struck immeasurable terror deep within. He wants it too badly. Couldn’t handle the letdown again. Couldn’t survive another fall when it’s all proven to be his own mind playing tricks.
Still, with a mostly clear head except for the constant hunger, it’s difficult not to watch her when he thinks she’s not looking. He catalogs all the ways she is different, trying to piece together how she could be real like a math puzzle, and he’s always hated math.
The long hair is new. Might be his own imagination substituting what he thinks she’d look like now. It trails down in a long braid while wild tendrils frame her face. She cut it off one night when they were younger, taking the scissors to her own head after a fistfight at school where one of the other children used her hair to yank her into the wall. She never let it grow after that. They were only teenagers then, he thinks sadly. He hadn’t always been strong enough to protect her. He liked it short, but this is good, too. Soft, pretty. It suits her.
The scar above her eye is new, and he wonders how that happened. Did someone hurt her while he wasn’t around to stop it? Did she hurt herself?
A few worry lines lay heavier than before, but the rest of her is exactly how he remembers, only better. Especially that delicate smile that he wants to believe is only for him. The sameone she used when putting down that glass of water he couldn’t refuse. His throat burned like sandpaper. He’s allowed to drink if it’s offered. Wouldn’t have survived this long otherwise, since deprivation can only be taken so far unless they want to kill their prisoner.
He’s not useful or entertaining dead. If he’s even useful at all anymore. He has vague, cobbled-together memories about being used as a trading pawn until they found out they grabbed the wrong guy to trade to whatever early community they were warring with. They almost let him go…almost. Until that day in the high rise when he fucked up his chances at freedom. His captors were good at finding reasons to keep him around after that.
Wade wants to use the blanket but fears the repercussions. Wants to eat what she offers but knows he can’t and is beginning to resent that she won’t stop trying to test him. Hasn’t he passed by now? What more can he do?
It’s just another moment that tries to beat him down further, offering that coveted ray of hope he hates so much instead. Until he remembers the details of how he got to this new place. Wrestled into a wagon like always. That tells him all he needs to know.
She wouldn’t let anyone hurt him again or stand there and watch even while shedding her own tears…but no one has ever cried for him before, either. He’s filed that away with the other tidbits that pile together to form a reality he can’t fully entertain yet.
This new manifestation is throwing him, but just because the drugs are gone doesn’t mean he’s any less skilled in creating his own comfort. He doesn’t need any assistance in that area. She is always with him. Drugs or not.
He closes his eyes, lashes fluttering against a soft pillowcase while he notices how quiet it is here. There are no sharp soundsor dull ones. No commotion. No extra company, at least not that he’s seen yet.
It’s only him and her in what looks like a cabin.
A cabin.
Not a cell, shed, or basement. A regular little house.
The windows have no boards blocking his exit and the door to his room is unlocked, even cracked half open. It could be a test…or an easy escape.
The question now is, what will he do with this windfall?
Wade waits until she’s brought him more food after he refused the last plate. By now, his stomach growls so loud there’s no chance she can’t hear it. The desire to snatch it off the table and inhale it all before anyone can stop him is so strong that he almost caves. Almost.
Can’t risk it yet. Not when he knows what happens if he does. He has to wait until she leaves again before he can make a move. She’s been in that chair for at least an hour. Maybe more. Feels like ten years to him when he’s practically drooling in anticipation by now.
He would be an idiot to pass up this chance after waiting years for them to grow lax enough that he’s able to break free.
Finally, she says something that he can only half make out, putting the book down and leaning forward.
“Safe…rain soon….please eat.”
If she got a little closer, he’d be able to hear everything, but he doesn’t blame her for keeping her distance. It’s a smart choice when he’s still on edge. If she even looks at him wrong, he isn’t sure what he’ll do.
Then she’s gone again, leaving the windows unblocked as if he’s perfectly trustworthy when he is not.
It’s now or never. He grabs the food in a shaky fist, stuffing bread in his mouth so quickly he might choke. It’s better than the dry ramen noodles he found on his first escape attempt.Almost threw it all up and his stomach rolls at the awful memory that only breeds more of them.
He was so sure he’d make it then. So sure of it that failure seemed impossible, but in the end, it was never that simple. His arm aches with the phantom pain of the knife scar he earned that day, branding him for his crimes.
You have to hurry,Kara tells him when she appears by his side.Take what you can and run. I bet the front door is unlocked, but we don’t know who’s out there. Could be others.
He nods, shoving another bread roll in the pocket of the pants they forced him into the other day.
Then something catches his eye, and he pauses. His fingers ghost the petals of a flower where it sits in a tiny cup, much like the one he gave her so long ago.
