Page 46 of Uprising

It was safer.

It would be safer when he found out because he would run. He would be better off.

So I kept chopping. I keep my back to the cabin, my muscles burning with each swing. Even if that meant cutting down the entire forest until he found out—at least until I heard a scream. But the truth sat heavy in my stomach, boiling my insides.

This would be the reason Noah walked away, and I needed to be okay with that. It was better he found this truth out than my other one. He would never find out the other reason he needed to go. That secret I would take to my grave.

I swing the axe again, hard this time, watching the wood splinter apart in a satisfying sound.

Maybe Noah would come storming out, yelling at me, cussing me out for what I’ve done. Maybe he’d scream and tell me I needed to leave. I would too. At least in this cabin he’d be safe. I’d leave a note and when Ghost got back, I would cash in on that favor. Or maybe—just maybe—Noah wouldn’t be disgusted with me. He wouldn’t hate me.

Either way, it was better if he hated me.

It would be safer.

* * *

I chopup most of the logs that needed to be done before I headed back inside. When I don’t hear Noah screaming or rushing around to hide whatever he was doing, I decide to grab some water before going to find him.

Moving through the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of water and chug it. Leaning against the counter, I bow my head, hating the weight that sits heavy in my chest.

I could feel the storm without seeing Noah. I could feel the shift in the air, thicker and suffocating. Everything in me knew I should find him, tell him whatever thoughts that were running wild in his mind, that it’s okay. I would never hurt him. Any questions he had, I would answer them. Honestly, in hopes that he wouldn’t run the moment the truth slips from my lips.

But it was all useless; Noah wouldn’t understand.

I couldn’t stand here any longer. Setting down my glass, I wipe my hands on my jeans and take a deep breath that does nothing to steady me. I couldn’t stall any longer.

Leaving the kitchen, I head towards the stairs. Keeping my footsteps light and steady, I move down until I reach the second living room. The air carries a faint scent of aged wood and rich leather, mingling with the subtle bit of whiskey. Rows of expensive liquor line the glass shelves behind it. The warm glow of recessed lighting shines over the dark-stained oak and granite countertops.

I gaze over the two doors on the left-hand side; both are closed. He wouldn’t find anything in the bathroom or the garage. It’s the shift in the air when I take in the slightly ajar entrance to the gun room.

Moving over, I peer inside; rows of firearms, each carefully mounted to the wall, floor to ceiling. Pistols, rifles, shotguns—every weapon was arranged, ready to be reached for in a moment's notice. The center island holds most of Ghost’s mask and tools to clean our guns. But that’s not what has my focus.

It’s Noah.

Paperwork was scattered across the floor in front of the island. I knew we shouldn’t have kept any of that, but Viper felt it was necessary. He moves through the papers, reading everything that we’ve done. I know what he's reading, but that doesn’t stop the fear from seeping inside of me.

Having enough of him reading about it on the paper, I push the door open enough that it creaks. Noah freezes, a sharp inhale too loud in the silence. His fingers curl around the edges of the document; the dim light from above casts long shadows across the room.

Slowly he raises his head. Noah’s glossy eyes meet mine. I stand in the doorway, reminding myself to keep my posture relaxed and controlled.

“What do you have there?” I ask. Even though my throat feels like pins and needles, it comes out smooth and even. Like, I’m half tempted to lock him up, forcing him to stay put. I watch Noah work his jaw back and forth, fighting to stay in control of his emotions.

The tension between us thickened, stretched and then coiled. His fingers crumble the paper before he lets go and carefully sets it on the floor. But the damage was done, he's seen too much. He knew the truth.

“Go ahead,” I tilt my head slightly. “Ask me. Ask me what you really want to know, Noah.”

I can see him visibly swallow. He wanted to ask; he needed to, but it was like suddenly he wasn’t ready for the answers.

Noah ungracefully climbs to his feet, his gaze everywhere but at me. A small, sick part of me likes that I’m making him nervous. But he doesn’t know that I wouldn’t—couldn’t—hurt him.

“Have you ever seen Twilight?” Noah asks.

Shaking my head, I kept my face neutral, unsure where he was going with this.

“It reminds me of this. You see, there was this girl, Bella, and she liked this guy, and well, long story short, he turned out to be a vampire. But it was small, little things that made her dig into information about him.” Noah backs up until the weapon island is between us. As if that would stop me from getting to him.

“Anyways, she found who—what—he was. And you see, she didn’t care. But that’s fiction, and I mean vampires can’t be real. But then again, I thought zombies weren’t real until, well, hello, the world has been taken over by zombies all of a sudden.”

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