Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(30)
She doesn’t.
It’s become instinct, to leave school when it becomes unbearable. Today, though, there’s no Andrew to visit and no Revenge to pull me away from the edge. If I went home, Missy would only hover, and Saul would either scold me or try to talk about Nate Foster. Neither of which I can deal with right now. So I wipe my eyes, lift my chin, and go back to class.
Relief touches Briana the moment I walk in. Georgie just raises her brows as if to say, Wow, you’re still here? Making an effort at normality, I glare back and sit down. The clay waits expectantly. All I can think of molding it into is a flash drive. Or a gun. Somehow I don’t think Mr. Kim will be impressed by either of these.
“ … making that for, anyway? I thought everyone in your family quit,” Briana is saying, adjusting her bird’s beak so it’s not quite so sharp.
Georgie sighs. “Mom started again. I know I shouldn’t be encouraging her, but it’s kind of pathetic when she uses a Pepsi can for the ashes.”
“Must be that time of year. My mom has also been wanting to start again.” Briana sighs too.
Mom. Maybe it’s the head wound, or the time of month, or I’m just losing it, because that’s all it takes. Georgie still has her mother—to make things for, to worry about, to mock. Another Emotion shimmers into view, this one meant for me. Sorrow. He has a scent similar to what I imagine the ocean would smell like. Salt and wind and the vastness of the unknown.
Mr. Kim says something as he walks past us, but I don’t hear the words. Sorrow brushes my cheek with his pale fingers, and it takes all of my strength not to let the tears spill from my eyes. I don’t stop myself from looking at his face. He doesn’t seem surprised that I can see him. He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t either. His touch evokes a dozen images. Me and Mom at the lake. The two of us curled up with a book. Making cookies together in the kitchen. I want to tell Sorrow how much I despise him, but it sticks in my throat; he’s crying for me. As if he feels the wound Mom’s absence left behind.
Maybe he does.
Georgie pokes my arm. “Hey. Back to earth, Alex. I feel like you’re going to start drooling any second.”
I force myself to glance away from Sorrow and stare at the lump in front of me. Right now it’s nothing. Like Nate Foster’s front door, it’s just potential. Its fate is my decision. A fan hums in the corner, sending cool air over my skin. For a few minutes I’m not sure I can make a choice even as simple as this. But then Sorrow kisses my cheek—something he’s never done before—and walks away.
My mom will never kiss my cheek again.
The thought jolts me into motion. Of their own volition, my hands return to the clay, which has cooled in my absence. It becomes warm again. I work with a mindlessness that consumes. Sorrow has opened another door I can’t close—not today—and all I’m capable of is remembering. My hands move without guidance. The fly darts by again, ignored.
“Who is that, Alex?”
The question jars me. The light pouring through the window is suddenly too bright. More time must have passed than I realized. I look at Briana blankly, and she’s frowning at the clay in my hands. I follow her gaze.
He looks up at me with those eyes that see everything. See my weakness. See me. I’m no artist, and to anyone else it probably looks like no one, but I know who it’s supposed to be.
Just like last time, my friends wait for an answer. I swallow, clenching my jaw so hard it hurts. How can this be? I’d meant to sculpt something else entirely. Someone else entirely. “No one. He’s no one,” I mutter, wishing I meant it. That’s the biggest lie of all, though. My friends just stare.
I crush Forgiveness with my fist.
TWELVE
Progress in the attic is slow-going. One wall of boxes is finished, organized and labeled. I washed two old chairs and put them under the window, a small table between them. Some of the books and knickknacks from the boxes are on display along the shelves behind it. An old snow globe, the record player, a dollhouse. Things Missy didn’t think worthy of keeping but couldn’t bring herself to throw away, either.
My phone vibrates in my pocket—Andrew, no doubt. I ignore it and bend to open a new box, coughing when dust flies up. A spider skitters out of the sweater on top. An instant after I spot it, something touches my shoulder and I shriek, recoiling. Fear laughs before vanishing.
The spider is gone, too, hidden beneath the untouched boxes in front of me. I eye them warily, wondering if there’s any way I can get out of doing the rest.
“See, that’s one thing I’ve never understood about you. Guns and fights and your aunt’s cooking don’t faze you, but one little spider … ”
The sound of Revenge’s voice doesn’t startle me; I’ve been expecting him ever since I got home. “Shut up,” I grumble, turning. He sits in one of the chairs, hands folded between his knees. His hair is longer today, artfully gelled so it curls and glints. He’s wearing what looks like a designer jacket. Most creatures from the other plane don’t bother changing their appearances, but Revenge has always been a little vain.
I don’t bother with small talk. “Where have you been?”
Imitating my brusqueness, Revenge shrugs. “Helping mankind exact his vengeance.”
Which is exactly what I haven’t allowed him to do here, with me. Maybe that’s why he’s pulling away. He’s frustrated. Maybe he’s given up. Out of all the people I expected to give up on me, it was never Revenge. The idea terrifies me more than any spider or declaration of love. But instead of voicing my thoughts, I say, “That’s sexist. What am I, chopped liver?”