Page 3 of Sweet Giant

Finally, he released my arm, and I headed upstairs to our apartment. Despite my unease over his order to sleep naked, I exhaled with relief. At least I would have the privacy to read Frankie’s note.

I grabbed some water and gulped it down until my thirst was quenched, then sat at the kitchen table, trying to calm my racing heart. I placed my trembling hands on the wooden surface and took several deep breaths.

My nausea gradually faded, along with my dizziness, and I no longer felt on the verge of throwing up or passing out.

When the hum of Mountain’s hovercar made the windows rattle, I withdrew the note from my pocket, satisfied that he was truly out of the building and on his way to Celia’s place.

He wouldn’t catch me. He would never have to know.

Yet I started shaking anew as I unfolded the paper. I couldn’t help it. He’d instilled so much fear into me that I felt like he was always watching, and I couldn’t help but worry he would somehow find out about Frankie’s offer to help me.

Escape. Dare I dream that I might actually make it out of Seattle? That I might succeed in leaving Mountain?

I’d tried to leave him before. Twice. Neither attempt had ended well. Both times, he’d caught me near the city’s fortified border, dragged me back to our apartment, and made me regret ever crossing him.

I stared at the neat writing on the paper.

1529 CONRAD STREET

COME ANYTIME

That was it? Come anytime? Could it be so easy?

I memorized the address, shoved the note into my mouth, and chewed vigorously before swallowing.

Ignoring my fatigue, I hurried into the bedroom and started shoving clothes and other items into a backpack.

Why wait? Whynotleave now?

With Celia keeping Mountain occupied, this was the perfect opportunity. The chance I’d been waiting for. A real chance. Not me blindly running for the border without a solid plan.

Conrad Street. Hm.

Mountain moved us around frequently for security reasons, which meant I knew the layout of the city pretty well. During the past year, this building—an abandoned florist shop—was the eighth place we’d called home.

The point being, I knew exactly where Conrad Street was located. Even better, I could make it there on foot in less than an hour.

Gunfire rang out in the distance, reminding me that Seattle was especially dangerous at night. Maybe I should wait until daytime. Maybe I should slip out of bed in the early morning while Mountain was still sleeping.

But when I imagined spending one more night in his bed, letting him touch me, I shuddered and felt the sickness returning.

No. I couldn’t wait. Not another day, not another hour. I had to leave. Right fucking now.

I felt a pang of guilt that I would no longer be helping the rebels, whose plight I sympathized with, but the city contained several medical centers. It wasn’t as though the rebels wouldn’t be able to seek treatment for their injuries elsewhere—it just wouldn’t be as instantaneous.

I was tired of living in fear, tired of being used for financial and political gain. Even if Mountain did become a leader of sorts in whatever pseudo-government rose from the ashes, he wouldn’t be a good one. He was evil to the core. A sociopath if ever I’d met one.

I slung the backpack over my shoulder and crept downstairs, keeping my footfalls light. Mountain employed several guards, but the bawdy laughter and clinking of glasses that echoed down the hallway revealed they were slacking on the job.

After taking a side door I found unlocked, I breathed in the smoky air as cautious exhilaration swept through me.

Keeping to the shadows, I made haste for Conrad Street.

It was just after three a.m., the precise time my grandmother used to call the witching hour. As always, thoughts of the woman who’d raised me caused grief to resound in my psyche. I slowed my steps and placed a hand upon my chest, as though I could soften the blow of heartache.

God, how I missed Nana. She was the only family I’d ever known. I would give anything to be seated next to her on our old, tattered sofa as she regaled me with stories about the spirits and demons that crossed the veil at the stroke of three.

Not for the first time, I wondered if Nana had known the truth about me. Had she realized I wasn’t fully human?

---