Page 55 of Uprising

“No need to be sarcastic.”

Reed rolls his eyes and stands up. I watch him move further into the kitchen, opening cabinets and starting to pull things out. Sipping on my tea, I slide into one of the island chairs.

“Well now that you’re awake, I think I have some questions,” I announce, taking another large drink.

Reed peers over his shoulder at me, brow raised. He definitely doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to answer any questions I have.

“Look, if you plan for me to keep sucking your dick or having your fingers in my ass, I really think we need to set some ground rules.” I blurt out.

“Ground rules?” Reed questions.

“Yes, like answering the million questions I have. If you expect there to be some kind of trust between us. I mean you, well, you kind of declare some feelings for me, and while Imightalso have some for you, I think we need to establish some things.”

Reed’s frown deepens. Sometimes I wish instead of the world going to shit with dead people walking that some of us got superpowers. Like right now, I would give anything to know what he’s thinking. Is he thinking I’m completely crazy for even suggesting we establish some boundaries? Or is his mind more focused on finding food?

It’s clear he’s thinking about food because he has yet to utter a word to me. Reed just moves around the kitchen, pulling out red pasta sauce and noodles. Which doesn’t bother me, not all the way. I am hungry, but I also want answers.

“Reed!” I snap, getting his attention.

“What?”

Stretching my fingers out on the island, I take a calm breath. “Let’s start off with the easy ones. Why did you become a murderer?”

Reed coughs, choking on his own spit, I assume. His eyes widen as he glances over at me, probably to see if I was joking.

I’m not.

“What? It’s an easy question.” I shrug, taking a sip of my tea.

“I… honestly, I’m not sure.” He mumbles. I waited until he was done pouring water into the pot for my next question.

“Fine, we’ll come back to that one. How about running water? How do you have it?”

When the world is ending, most people don’t think about the little things. Like running water, electricity, or their food. Most of the time it’s,what am I going to do? How will I text my friends, or what about social media?Don’t get me wrong; I had the same thoughts.

The things I would give to be able to text Rue or Mallory in our group chat. I just want to make sure they’re alive.

“I told you, we have solar panels. It’s for everything, the power and the water.”

I nod along, a little glad we won’t be running out of water anytime soon.

“Okay, and now back to square one, how did you become a murderer?”

Reed keeps his back to me as he pours some canned pasta sauce into the pan. He reaches up and starts digging around for spices.

“My piece-of-shit father beat my mother half to death,” he finally announces. I hold my breath, not expecting that to be his answer. I thought maybe he fell into the wrong crowd. Or shit, maybe he’s just pure evil. “He made me sit there and watch when I was eight. After that we were on the run from the police most of the time. We moved around, and when the schools I went to started asking too many questions, he decided it was time to pick up and leave.”

Each word he speaks sinks into my chest like a stone. It’s heavy and painful. My once slow and steady heartbeat is now uneven, too fast and then too slow as he speaks.

“Anyways, I was seventeen when he finally hit me for the last time. After that things were rough. I was running from the law, one that didn’t understand I was just a kid who had a shitty childhood. They would see that I was a killer.”

My throat is tight, my hands restless as he talks. Who would’ve thought the man standing here today is more like a gentle giant than a killer? Sure he's messed up things, but haven’t we all?

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Reed swings around, something crossing his face that I can’t place. “I don’t need your pity.”

“I-it, Reed…” I stood up and made my way towards him. Reed eyes me the entire time, his muscles tense. Sliding my arms around his waist once more, I press my cheek against his chest. “It’s not pity I’m feeling. I just—you must miss your mom.”

---