Page 18 of Uprising

Furrowing my brows, I pretend I have no idea why he’s saying no. All while my insides are sloshing around and my stomach cramps.

“I can’t sleep; maybe getting some fresh air will help.” I attempt to reason. I know this is a ploy, and I just hope he doesn’t see through it.

“No.”

“No?”

“You’re not a fucking parrot. I said no. You’re not going outside; you’re going to crawl back into that shitty fucking bed and go to sleep.”

Even with the dim lighting and the muzzle covering the longer half of his mouth, I can see him working his jaw back and forth. He turns away from me, not giving me anything that I want. I want to fight with him; I want his angry attention on me. I don’t care about sleeping even if exhaustion is knocking against my head.

“You’re not the boss of me,” I mutter. Moving around Reed, I barely make it two feet before I’m suddenly slammed down on the bed. I hadn’t realized I closed my eyes until I reopened them. I expect to find myself staring up at the ceiling, but all I see is Reed—all I feel is him on top of me.

His bright blue eyes—warm and rich—gaze into my pale grey ones. A flicker of light amber, just beneath the surface, has the oxygen stuck in my lungs. But that’s not what has me struggling; it’s the fight he holds there. The subtle radiance of someone who's seen too much, done too much. He’s guarded, with a quiet yearning for something I’m not sure. The area underneath his eyes shows the tear of sleepless nights. But that’s not what holds my attention; it’s the almost bruised rings under them—red bags that droop like the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders. It’s the slightly sickly green skin around his temple, etching towards his eyes.

And yet it's the deep-seated desire he holds. He might try and hide it, but it’s too late; it leaks out. His gaze lingers, dropping down to my mouth when I lick my bottom lip. The slight twitch in his eye tells me a thought has crossed his mind. He’s imagining something, and I hate that he won’t pursue it. He wants to stay hidden, to mask whatever feelings he has. Reed suppresses any emotions, letting them all fade to the background. Just as it appears, he somehow extinguishes it. He extinguishes the flame before it can become anything.

“Do as you're fucking told, or go get yourself killed. I won’t be saving your ass again.” He hisses at me.

I stay rooted to the bed as Reed climbs off of me. Even with my blood boiling, wanting to lash out and to scream at him, I don’t. I can’t move. I will myself to sit up, to demand he not treat me like a child who can’t take care of himself. But I can’t.

My mind stays focused on the idea of Reed and all the secrets he holds. So while he goes back to his chair, I ease myself back to the middle of the bed. Lying on my side, I keep my eyes trained on the door, trying everything to get my breathing under control. Reed knows what he just did, and while I’m thankful he didn’t comment on it, I can’t sleep. All I can focus on is convincing myself not to throw a fit because I didn't get what I wanted. Not to mention the mess that I’ve gotten myself into.

CHAPTER12

Noah

Ijolt awake, my heart pounding against my chest and a tightness forming around my temples. I lick my lips, blinking my eyes open while sitting up. Wiping a hand down my face, I turn my neck to each side until I hear the snap of my bones and sigh. Glancing around, it takes all of two seconds for me to realize that Reed is no longer sitting in the chair in the corner. My eyes widen, the silence hitting me all at once. He left. My chest tightens, and my throat, which is already dry, somehow becomes drier. The air around me thickens.

I glance around the small room, willing Reed to appear somewhere, but the room is too quiet, so he’s clearly not here. He wouldn’t just leave me, would he?

Emptiness is loud in my ears, louder than my heartbeat, and my body slowly becomes numb. The stupid sinking sensation in my gut of desperation, fear, and vulnerability hits me. I don’t want to get out of this bed; I don’t want to move. Reed left me.

Granted, I shouldn’t be this upset; it’s stupid. He doesn’t know me, and I don’t know him. But I didn’t think he would just leave me in some town, in a motel room. I feel used. He tossed me aside because I was too much.

Just like my parents. He didn’t care enough to make sure I survived or–

I shake my head.

I don’t need Reed. I can survive out there on my own. I’ve been getting through life on my own for the last twenty years; I can do another twenty. It’s a piece of cake.

Blowing out a breath, I move my legs to the side of the bed. Slowly setting my feet on the ground, I stretch my hands above my head. I do my best to ignore my racing heart as I peer around the room. His bag is gone, which means he’s really gone.

It’ll be okay. I’m fine. Everything is…fine.

Who needs a big strong man anyways? I refuse. It was just a moment of weakness, and it’ll pass. I’m strong enough. I don’t need him—I don’t need anyone. It’s vulnerable, it’s messy, and it’s too risky. Letting someone in, it’s too much. Even if the persistent truth that beats against my skull tells me that I’m weak. That I’m unlovable.

Stay in control.

My mind pulls me in different directions, reminding me that I don’t need anyone. I haven’t all my life, and I don’t need anyone now. I need to stay in control; I can’t let myself fall into the longing of missing Reed. Even if the tightness in my chest hurts. Even if the heaviness in my stomach makes me want to throw it up. Even if I want to beg the person above to catch a simple glimpse of him again. I shouldn’t want to see the stupid muzzle or those beautiful blue eyes.

The battle between allowing myself to feel this hurt and not letting it consume me makes me want to curl back up into a ball on the bed. I could just stay here. I could stay in this small town and just bealone.

I bite my cheek to stop myself from crying. I won’t let some man whom I’ve known less than forty-eight hours dictate how I feel. I won’t.

Climbing to my unsteady feet, I curl my hands into fists and slowly make my way towards the bathroom. Against my will, my eyes searched the floor for his bag, hoping that he was somewhere around here.

I approach the door, praying that nothing is in the bathroom, and reach for the doorknob. I twist the handle and slowly push it open, only to hear a grunt from inside. My heart drops to my stomach, fear hitting me that a zombie somehow got into the room—into the bathroom.

---