Page 65 of Severance

“Okay, don’t make any plans for Thursday, Moonchild.”

The warmth of his body blends with mine and we stand like that—motionless and cuddled together in silence—for a very long time, and I almost wish my mother and father would find us already so we wouldn’t have to hide anymore.So I wouldn’t have to hide him anymore.

19. After

My pulse is pounding against my eardrums so hard that I can barely hear the noise of the crowd. Jess is in front of me, pushing Luke’s wheelchair through the screaming chaos. She’s wearing a pair of black slacks and a black jacket. I catch an occasional “excuse us” as we barrel toward the crowd control barrier.

My mind’s a fuzzy mess, and I still don’t know what I’m doing here and why exactly I agreed to come. My therapist insisted I shouldn’t get involved in any of this when I brought it up during my last session, but I couldn’t ignore the anger that’s been gnawing in my gut anymore. It’s because of everything. The diary that doesn’t want to get filled with words, my parents who don’t understand me, Mikah leaving me behind.

This seemed like the right place to go. However, now that I’m here surrounded by hundreds of raging fanatics, I’m not so sure. Maybe I should have gone to class instead. Maybe I should be trying to get a passing grade.

My gaze darts from one person to another, inspecting their hands and bags.

What if someone has a gun? How ironic would that be?

Unfamiliar voices fill me with impending dread and fear.

“Hey!” A tap on my shoulder causes a rush of panic to wash through me.

I turn toward the sound and a blurred face gradually swims into focus. She’s my age and has a small ragged scar directly above her collarbone peeking from under the strap of her blue tee.

“Hey! I’m Ashley Clayton,” the girl says with rigor in her tone, as if I’m supposed to know that name. She grabs my forearm. “You’re Alana Novak, right? You dated Dakota Bennett?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat and nod.

“Joseph Miller killed my sister,” Ashley says with a straight face, but her eyes take on a dark, vengeful spark. Although she looks familiar, I don’t remember where I’ve seen her—on the news, inside the club the night of the attack, or maybe at the survivors’ meet-up Jess organized—that’s it! Jess briefly introduced me to her at the meet-up. What baffles me, though, is that Ashley’s talking about her sister’s death like it’s a pair of shoes she forgot in the changing room of a department store.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I mutter, pulling my arm away.

“You did the right thing!” she screams over the noise. “This has to stop! These fucking pigs hiding behind closed doors and making laws need to hear what we have to say!”

Her words pound at me like a sledgehammer. I can feel her frustration and anger, yet I can’t seem to let more of it in. I already have enough of my own.

“I have to go find my friend,” I say, taking a step back. I stumble on someone’s boots and a few jumbled apologies leave my mouth.

“How many more?!” an irate voice yells out ahead of me. People start picking up the chant and it begins to spread through the maddened crowd like wildfire. Posters fly high above the heads of the protesters.

I bounce between the screaming bodies like a ping-pong ball, fighting for air. My heart thunders and my stomach roils.

Bang! Bang!

Get down!

My feet trip and I fall forward, but someone’s hands catch me before I hit the ground.

“You okay?” the man asks, his eyes seeking mine.

“I’m fine. Thank you,” I mumble, straightening up. My head’s spinning and all I want is to get out of here and go home.

There’s no more anger left. Just frustration and terror.

I walk until the crowd begins to thin out, my heart racing, my vision impaired. The air around me is thick with fury and wrath, and the sun beaming above my head is painfully bright. After crossing the street, I lean against the trunk of the nearest tree, close my eyes, and try to breathe through the wave of panic.

My phone buzzes and I fish it out of my pocket. My first thought is that I hope it’s Mikah, even though he hasn’t texted me in over a week, but it’s Jess.

Where are you?

Squinting to stop the text from floating across the screen, I stare at the letters for a few moments. My mind struggles with the idea of going back into the raging mess. Crowds aren’t safe. Crowds attract people with guns.

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