The Hearts We Sold(74)

And she said the words that both freed and shattered her in the same breath.

“Bye, Mom,” said Dee. “Bye, Dad.”

She walked out the front door and didn’t look back.





She cried.

When Gremma went to the dining hall for lunch Dee retreated to the safety of her bed.

She curled up with her pillow and began to shake. It was inevitable; she felt the sorrow climb up her throat until it was impossible to hold in. It began with a small, tiny sob, and then the rest broke free. It was almost a release, this howl of grief that clawed inside of her. She had never truly given it voice before.

This was how babies were born—sobbing, gasping for air.

Perhaps a rebirth was the same.

She cried herself out until her sobs were dry and her voice hoarse. Her eyes ached; her sinuses felt overfull. By the time Gremma returned to the room, Dee was sitting on her bed, staring at nothing in particular.

Gremma watched her. “You know, you learn a lot in human-science classes,” she said. “Fear is one of the strongest human emotions. It serves an important biological function—mainly ensuring we as a species didn’t get eaten alive by saber-toothed tigers. Fear keeps us alive, tells us when to run or escape, but fear has its downsides, too.

“I don’t get scared,” said Gremma. “I mean, I can get scared, but I really don’t have to. My parents own a mansion in Seattle and after I came out, they were fine with it. I mean, I found in their browser history they’d googled ‘How to be a supportive parent to a gay kid.’” She shook her head in fond amusement. “Some kids tried to bully me in middle school, but I pushed one out of a window. That’s how I ended up at Brannigan.” This time, there was a hint of smugness to her smile. “Point is, my life is pretty good. I don’t get scared because I didn’t grow up thinking there was much to be afraid of.”

Dee gazed at her dully.

“The human body isn’t designed to withstand that much fear on a daily basis,” Gremma said. “That’s why soldiers have PTSD. You go through constant terror for too long and it screws you up chemically.”

She stepped forward, until she was by Dee’s bed.

“I’m staying at the beach house for part of the summer—my parents think I’m finally old enough to stay there longer than a week on my own. You’re coming with me.”

Dee froze.

“I already asked my parents,” continued Gremma. “They agreed. Actually, they were downright giddy—I think they think you’ll be a good influence on me or something. No idea why. I mean, you’re the one making demonic pacts. But you’ll have a place to stay—” Her voice cut off as Dee slammed into her. “Omf.”

Dee hugged her tight, let her panic-stiff fingers dig into Gremma’s shoulder blades. Gremma was still for a moment, then her arms went around Dee. They stood there, and somehow the hug was not awkward or too long. It was a conversation in physical gestures: Thank you and You’re welcome all tangled together.

Then, “You pushed a kid out a window?” Dee mumbled into Gremma’s shirt.

Gremma let out a soft sigh, her voice almost regretful. “It was on the first story.”





THIRTY-FIVE


A week passed.

And then another.

Dee felt each day slip by, each tick of the clock, and she felt herself grow tenser by the moment.

Cora would have her heart back by now. Which meant it was just Dee, Riley, and James going into that mega-void.

And then everything would be over. They would be safe.

She told herself that again and again.

She didn’t really feel safe, though. She felt restless and uncertain and—

And she wanted to live. Even if she was going to die in the next few days or weeks or whatever, she wanted to live.





She let herself into James’s apartment, taking the time to actually lock the door behind her. He was painting, of course. They were all dealing with the stress in different ways. James retreated into his work with a fevered intensity. She wondered what it would be like to have such a talent, to make something beautiful where there had been nothing before.

Fear fluttered in her chest—it almost felt like having a heartbeat again. She wasn’t sure how to do this. She was dressed in a loose sweater and skinny jeans. But he had never cared about her clothes and—

And she wanted this. The want outweighed the fear.

“Hey,” she said.

James looked up. Smiled. “Hey.”

“Riley’s not around?”

“I heard her saying something about visiting your dorm, actually,” said James. He put his brush down and rose to his feet, stretching. There was a dirty rag on his workbench and he used it to wipe his hands clean.

Dee sat down on the couch and he eased down next to her. “Ah. So that’s why Gremma was putting on extra lipstick when I left.”

James laughed. “I told you. But at least I know my couch’s virtue is still safe.” He patted the paint-stained cushions affectionately.

If that wasn’t an opening, she didn’t know what was.

Dee took a breath. “Actually. I came here—well. I mean. If you wanted to change that. The couch’s virtue. I wouldn’t be… opposed.”