Page 102 of Burn Like An Angel

“Oh, killer.” Raine excitedly pumps his fist. “Please tell me the asshole is melting into a puddle right now.”

“More like a purple-faced ogre,” I respond.

“I will not be commenting on media speculation and the false accusations of unwell individuals.” Jonathan keeps his reply curt. “I’m only interested in locating Ripley and bringing her home where she belongs.”

“How can he say that?” Xander spits in disgust.

“Because he only cares about the money.”

We all turn at the sound of Ripley’s flat voice. Focused on the screen, we didn’t hear the bathroom door reopen. She stands in the doorway, chest heaving and eyes shining, her hands curled into white-knuckled fists.

“Ripley.” I start towards her.

“Uncle Jonathan would throw his own mother under a bus if it scored him a pretty penny.” She steps past me, heading for the medication.

The press conference wraps up as Jonathan stalks off. Apparently, his patience for uncomfortable questions has expired. The comparison to other escapees was the final straw for him.

Xander tosses the phone aside, turning his focus to Ripley. She’s unpacking various boxes, checking over the names and dosages. We watch her line up a handful of different pills—methodical and oddly calm.

I grab a bottle of water to hand over to her. “Got it all figured out?”

“I wasn’t always locked up in a fucked up psych ward run by corrupt maniacs,” she replies dryly. “I know how to organise my own medication.”

Ripley takes her pills, one by one. It’s the calmest I’ve seen her all week. I guess part of her understands she has to do this, the same way a type one diabetic takes Insulin every day. Mental health is no different.

Repackaging the boxes, she neatly stacks them up. It almost seems like a calming ritual. I thought we’d have to beg her. She’s been fluctuating up and down faster than a goddamn yo-yo recently.

“You want to talk about what went down in the pharmacy?”

She shudders. “I just got muddled up, that’s all.”

“On what, exactly?”

“The woman was asking me all these questions. I couldn’t think straight.”

“Did you hit her?”

Ripley frowns, glancing down at her fist. The knuckles are red, marked with a shallow abrasion. She studies the evidence, her brow crinkling.

“I just wanted to get out of that room.” She exhales slowly. “It felt like the walls were closing in on me. I couldn’t see Xander. I was scared it was a trap.”

Honestly, it’s hard to tell where the manic paranoia ends and legitimate concern for the insanity we’ve found ourselves in begins. If we weren’t running from a criminal conspiracy, I’d be concerned about her justification.

Taking her hand, I trace her swollen knuckles. “It’s time to move.”

Ripley glances between the three of us. Her freckle-dusted features are filled with apprehension. Biting down on her lip, she seems to think something over.

“What is it?” Xander prompts.

“Are you sure you want to take me with you?” Her chin drops, eyes pinned to the ground. “I’m a proven liability. The police could be on their way here this very second because I couldn’t keep my shit together.”

This fucking woman.

I’m such an idiot for ever making her doubt us.

I want to crush her to my chest and forcefully strangle it from her mind. Her demons aren’t liabilities. We started this journey together, and we’re going to finish it together.

Before I can do just that, Xander strides over to us. He snatches Ripley from her chair, trapping her chin between his thumb and forefinger. I watch her visibly gulp as his darkening gaze bores into her.

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