We Told Six Lies(53)

How far did she get before that front door swung open? Ten steps? Twenty?

She glanced over her shoulder and saw him racing toward her, and instantly, she switched from a physical escape to a mental one.

She stopped in place and said, “I just wanted to help it.”

She knew he wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t care.

He charged toward her, and she backed up, hands raised, stumbling over her own feet. Her back pressed into a tree, and he pressed against her. Invading her space. Invading her senses. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them against the grating bark.

She shook her head, and he reached up to take her face in his hand. For one terrifying moment, she thought he would lift his mask and kiss her. If he so much as leaned in, she would tear his eyes out. Even if he killed her, she would die inflicting as much pain on him as she could.

“I was trying—”

He released one of her arms and covered her lips with his finger.

Cautiously, Molly lifted her free hand and took his hand in her own. His head whipped toward the place where she touched him. “I wanted to help it. I didn’t think you would let me outside.”

His head tilted ever so slightly, as if trying to piece together what she was saying.

She released his hand and pointed toward the bird lying still beneath a window. “The bird. I wanted to help the bird.”

She stared at him, afraid to say anything that would strain his belief any further.

He kept a firm grip on her wrist, dragged her toward the bird, and bent down.

She bent, too, and examined the tiny creature. One beady, black eye gazed up at her, and its tiny breast heaved with fear. “It’s still alive,” she exclaimed. “Can we help it?”

She hadn’t meant what she’d said about escaping to help the bird. He must have known that. But the more she looked at that frightened thing lying in the dirt, the more she wanted to do something. She needed it to be okay.

Pensively, Molly reached out to take the bird into her hand. She touched one finger to its warm body, stroked its gray feathers, and went to pick it up. Blue grabbed her wrist and hauled her to her feet before she could.

He spun her toward him and shot a pointed look at the window over the door. Before she could say another word, Blue hauled her toward the cabin.

“No, wait,” she said. “Let me take the bird.”

He nudged her in the back to keep her moving, but the farther she got from the injured animal, the more hysterical she grew.

“I can help it,” she said as they reached the stairs.

He grabbed his voice manipulator from a nearby table and nudged her onward, making it more than evident that he didn’t believe her. That this was her punishment for leaving the confines of the cabin.

“Please bring it to me,” she pleaded. “Blue, please.”

He opened the door at the bottom of the stairs and pushed her inside. Then, with his entire body filling the doorway, he brought that black device to his lips. “It’s going to die,” he said, as if death didn’t matter at all. As if it were as simple a thing as jam on bread.

“It’s not,” she contested. “It’s not. I can keep it alive.”

He shut the door. Locked it.

“It’s not going to die,” she screamed. “It’s not going to die! It’s not going to die!”

She beat her hands against the door until they grew numb. Until her legs collapsed beneath her and she could only hug her knees to her chest. Rocking. Back and forth, back and forth. Repeating those words.

“It’s not going to die.”

“It’s not going to die.”

And then, a simple change right before she fell into an agitated sleep on the floor.

“You’re going to die.”





THEN


My world tilted the moment you walked in that front door.

I’d been waiting for you in the cafeteria, sitting two seats down with your friends because I knew that’s where you’d go. You walked in, and it felt like the floor slid to the right, like a boat hitting high tide. Like the table lurched across the room and slammed into the wall. People went with those tables, and Styrofoam trays of scrambled eggs and limp toast fell to the floor.

The room went quiet as you strode forward, your eyes on mine.

My scalp tingled with anticipation. Where did we stand after last night? I didn’t know. It made me sick not to know.

Your eyes darted toward the back of the school, and I walked after you, hoping it was a subtle signal to follow along. I imagined that with every step we took away from the dining hall, the cafeteria righted itself a little bit more. Tables returned to their proper places. Kids found their seats. And food returned to plates, tasting exactly the same as it had moments earlier.

You let the doors to the morning air close behind us, and then you kissed me.

I’d never felt such relief in my entire eighteen years on this planet.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“Me, too,” I replied.

“You have to understand. My heart…” You touched that place between your breasts. “It’s my compass. It can’t guide me if it’s distracted.” You reached up and touched my face. “Do you understand?”

I wasn’t sure I did, but I found myself nodding along.

You smiled and scratched the stubble on my jawline. “I belong to you. I am yours.”