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“I am so sorry,” he whispered. It was the barest breath of sound.
“Kace, it’s fine. It’s just a little cut.”
“I shouldn’t…I um…I have to go.” Kace jumped to his feet. His eyes moved around, but they didn’t stick on anything. Not me. Not the blood oozing from my hand. Not the discarded pudding spoon.
“Seriously,” I tried again, frightened by his behavior. I could see where this path was heading, and I was helpless to stop it.
He was falling back into the riptide.
“It’s fine. It’s actually kind of funny.”
“I need to leave.”
“Kace!” But he had already jumped to his feet and was running. Running. Running. I knew, then, that he wasn’t running away from me.
He was running away from himself.
