The Masked Truth(58)

Max nods, and he puts his arms under me, as if to carry me, but I manage a choked laugh, one that I swear is going to make me pass out from pain.

“Nice try, but no,” I whisper. “Just help me up.”

We rise as soon as Gray turns the corner of the building, vanishing from sight.

I took acting lessons a few years ago, knowing my mother dreamed of me on the runway, and remembering her commenting once that acting lessons helped. I will not say I was good at it—I barely landed a third-string place in the school play. But tonight, as we make our way from the ruins to that building, I call on every iota of acting ability I have.

Each step rips through me. My brain screamed for me to stop, just stop, that I’m making it worse, but I have to keep moving, as fast as I can. As fast as Max will let me. My arm is over his shoulders and his is around my waist, supporting me and trying to slow me down, but I won’t let him. Any second now, Gray will realize he’s chasing the wrong person. Any second now.

Oh God, I can’t do this. Can’t, can’t, can’t.

Will, will, will.

Fifty more steps. My shirt is soaked with blood and I feel more running down my stomach.

Twice in those fifty steps, the world fades and I almost lose consciousness. Then, as soon as we reach the first building, whatever willpower I had collapses in on itself. I stumble and then … and then nothing. I black out.

I come to with Max over me, frantically trying to wake me. Please, please, please just wake up, Riley, don’t do this, not now, we’re there, we’re finally there, just come back, come back to me.

That’s why I do it. I come back to him, for him, because I owe him, and maybe that makes no sense, but in that moment it’s what counts, that he’s in a panic and I need to be okay for him.

Except I’m not okay. I’m really, really not. But I manage to surface to consciousness and my eyelids flutter open, and I get my reward then, the biggest sigh of relief, his blue eyes flooding with it as he leans over me, his skin so pale that his freckles seem like connect-the-dots across his nose, and I focus on them, my brain loopy, like the time I had nitrous oxide, and I lie there, imagining tracing constellations from those freckles.

I reach up and brush back a piece of his hair and realize he’s lost the band I gave him, it’s fallen out or mostly out, and I tug off another and hold it for him, and he takes it and he just shoves it over his own wrist, then he hovers there, over me. He bends and his lips press against mine, not a kiss, not really, just that quick press that tastes of sweat and fear and relief and yet still fear, and my mind keeps looping around, not quite able to take hold.

Then he’s fussing, making me comfortable as he says he’ll be right back, just going for help, be right back and here’s the gun, and try not to move, there’s no sign of Gray, just wait and …

Except I can’t wait. Can’t. I wish I could, but I can’t. I keep going around and around, and each time I’m a little closer to the abyss, only it’s not the same one as before, not a temporary resting spot for my overburdened brain. I know what it is. I know what’s happening.

Dying. I’m dying.

I should fight. I want to fight. But I already did, and there’s nothing left, and Max is rising now, and then I realize what’s about to happen, that he’s going, leaving me alone, and that’s when the fear hits, the animal panic, as I think of my dad.

I grab Max’s hand. “No.”

He squeezes mine. “I won’t be gone long.”

“No. Please, no.”

He tries to tug again, but now I do hold on, with everything I have, and the tears come, and he sees them and kneels beside me and whispers, “I won’t be gone long.”

“Don’t leave me. Please. I-I-I’m not going to … I can’t …”

I don’t say it, but he knows and fresh panic sparks in his eyes. “No, you’re fine. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m not. I won’t be. Don’t leave. Please, please, please. I don’t want to be alone.”

He looks around frantically, as if a car will suddenly appear. An ambulance stocked with paramedics.

“Max? Please. Just stay with me. It’ll only be a minute.”

That ignites the panic into full-blown fire, and he turns to me, saying, “No. Don’t say that. You’re fine. You’ll be fine. We can do this. Just hold on. You’ll be all right.” He squeezes my hand and leans over me. “I swear it, Riley. You’ll be all right.”

“Right as rain,” I whisper.

And everything goes black.





MAX





Max runs headlong down the empty street.

Empty. Why is it empty? How the bloody hell can it be empty?

Because it’s almost midnight in an industrial area, and everyone is carrying on as if nothing happened, because for all anyone knows, there’s a lovely little group therapy weekend happening at the former warehouse up the road, and really, that’s none of our concern, so let’s just carry on, shall we? Nothing to see here. Just a group of barmy teens quietly enjoying some much-needed therapy. Basket weaving, perhaps.

He wants to scream. Scream as loud as he can for someone, anyone, to get off their arse and help him.

Please, please, please help me. Help her. She’s dying.