AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’m Birdie, the survivor.
I look back at Archer. When my hands start to shake worse, I tuck them behind my back, attempting to hide my anxiety. “Is this where you shoot me?” I ask, and though I do my best to keep my voice strong, there’s a tiny wobble there I hope they don’t notice.
I hate that sign of weakness. Maybe they are right, and the years of riches have left me pampered. Maybe I’m unprepared for the real world again, the world I lived in for so long, where I would just as easily be killed as I would be greeted. Both Booker and Eric tense at my words for whatever reason. Gage doesn’t react, as if volunteering to do the shooting.
Archer stops whatever he’s doing and looks up, his face still emotionless. “We decided it’s pointless to confine you to one room. None of us want to continue babysitting you, so you’re free to move around the house. If you go outside, you won’t make it five feet before I let Gage loose,” he warns, and despite my strength, a shiver of fear rolls through me. He looks down at his tablet again. “Feed yourself. You look horrendous.”
The insult stings, but he’s right. I know how I look, and because none of them but Gage looks at me, shame eats at me. I stand there a few seconds longer, debating on what to do. If I’m going to do anything, I need my strength, and that means food, but my stomach is so sour, I don’t know if I can keep anything down.
Perhaps juice will help.
I don’t move yet. I watch the four men before I roll my shoulders and decide to at least try and earn their trust back. We haven’t addressed what happened, and no one has asked me about my intentions or what I might have said. For now, they seem content to ignore me.
As if I’m nothing but an annoying fly they want to squash.
“I…could make breakfast,” I offer, my fingers twisting together behind my back.
Booker snorts. “So you can poison us?” He doesn’t look at me, just keeps reading the same paragraph he hasn’t moved on from. “Is there any rat poison in the house?”
“I figure I should earn my keep,” I rasp out, and the wobble returns. It angers me that my voice sounds like this, but I can’t help it. There’s so much emotion clogging my throat, I can’t control it. Fight tomorrow, live another day. Right now, the only way out is to convince them I’m not going to betray them again. I hate being weak, but there are much worse things to be than afraid and vulnerable. Like dead. It’s a lesson I know well, because when it comes down to it, even the strongest of us beg and cry at the end. I’ve seen it myself. “It’s the least I can do.”
Booker’s fingers clench on his paper, crinkling it, but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t speak again, and I find myself missing his voice, missing the safety I feel with him rather than the terror Gage’s gaze elicits.
“We’ve already eaten,” Archer finally says, his tone holding a certain level of finality in it. “Worry about yourself.”
My eyes move over to Eric, who is still standing in the small kitchen area like a statue, and after hesitating for a few more seconds, I take halting steps towards the fridge. I pull open the antique box and look inside. It’s well stocked, but the sight of the food makes my stomach churn. I know I can’t stomach it right now, but I also know I need to eat something. Before long, I won’t have the strength to stand. I reach for the apple juice on the top shelf and close the fridge. There are some crackers on the counter, so I grab them, knowing they’ll help with the sour stomach. It’s not much, but it’s a start.
I’m closer to Eric now, and my eyes can’t help trailing over to where he stands. He’s blocking the cabinet with the glasses. I debate forgoing the glass and drinking straight from the bottle, but I don’t want to be a bad roommate. I almost laugh out loud at that thought. Is that what I am? Enemy. Friend. Traitor. Roommate. Prisoner… I’m also not supposed to be around Eric by Archer’s order, but clearly those orders don’t stand. He doesn’t say anything as I take a jerky step towards Eric and hesitate. I shouldn’t do this. This is a bad idea. But I need a glass.
I clear my throat, and Eric tenses. “I’m sorry,” I rasp out, and though I’m apologising for intruding on his silence, the weight of those words hang in the air. Everyone knows the apology means much, much more than that. “I need a glass.”
He moves aside, giving me access to the cabinet in front of him. I don’t waste time reaching for the glass, getting too close to him. I relish his warmth but hate that he cringes away from me.
I did that.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again, closing the cabinet and moving away.
He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at me, and that feels like a knife to the heart. Eric was always the flirty one, but now he’s cold. The memory of us dancing in this very kitchen hits me like a wrecking ball.
I did that.
I did that…
