Page 4 of My Revenant
Before I went back to bed, I double-checked that the door was sufficiently wedged shut by the desk, and my knife was still in its sheath hidden under my pillow. Satisfied, I crawled back under the too-thin blanket and stared at the stained ceiling. Like most days, I was too tired to bother changing out of my day clothes, and part of me still wanted to be ready to run out of here at a moment’s notice.
Just a few more days, then Marty would pay me for the last week at the bar, and I could be on my way to the next place, the next bar, the next shitty hotel mattress. I should probably consider changing cars sometime soon too. I’d had this one for a while. Yeah, maybe I was being too paranoid, I didn’t even know if anyone wasactually chasing me, but there was this feeling in my gut that told me to keep running, that I shouldn’t stick around to find out what would catch up to me.
There was another part of me I wanted to acknowledge even less, though. Buried deep under the logical thoughts and the paranoia was this sick, twisted curiosity, this little desire to stick around just to see if he would really show up, to see what he’d do if he caught me.
How both the self-destructive and self-preserving desires could exist within me at the same time, I had no idea. I wouldn’t do that, though. It was stupid, and I still had a lot of running left in me, even if it wasn’t the kind I’d ever anticipated. It wasn’t time to stop yet.
I woke up to the sound of a car door closing. Whipping the blankets off, I made my way over to the window as fast as possible and parted the curtains just enough to peep through. The back door of the Audi was open, but from where I was, I couldn’t see the person who’d opened it.
My pulse quickened a little in anticipation before a head of platinum-blond hair came into view. It was a face I didn’t recognize, and I allowed myself to let out the breath I’d been holding in. This had to be Pink-Sweater.
Knowing Hank, I had kind of expected this “suspicious stranger” he’d mentioned to be just some regular guy who happened to be wearing a pink sweater. I doubted it would take more than that to flag someone as gay in a place like this.
I obviously tried to stay away from stereotyping, and never assumed anything about anyone. That being said, this guy was an absolute twink.
He closed the car door, a black bag slung over his shoulder, then locked it and started heading toward me. I lost sight of him for a moment as he started up the concrete stairs, but when he reached the top, I managed to get a better look.
He was, well… kind of gorgeous. He was short, but his long,smooth,slender legs took up more of his height than seemed fair. I could tell, because even though this was neither the weather nor the place for booty shorts, that clearly hadn’t stopped him. I had to admit, they certainly did things for his thighs and ass. At least his arms were covered in a high-necked white sweater.
I stayed perfectly still as he passed by my window so he wouldn’t notice me, but he didn’t even glance in my direction. This close, I could get a good look at his face too, all full lips and high cheekbones. What really caught my attention, though, was the absolute shiner decorating his right eye. The black-and-blue bruise just made his eyes look even bluer.
He looked far too sweet andnormalto be anything close to my type, but I could still appreciate what I saw. I watched him until he walked out of view, then heard a door close a couple of rooms down from me.
Seeing him myself had certainly made me feel less uneasy about the situation, and it figured that Hank thought the guy was “suspicious” because he wore pink, and not because of the black eye.
This fucking town.
three
Jonah - Past
MOODY SKIES AND PALE THIGHS.
The air was thick. It tasted of damp salt and smelled like the ocean.
At this time of year, very few people came down this path to the secluded beach, and I was counting on it being empty now. It had only been two weeks since I’d moved back in with Dad and I was fucking suffocating in that house. He didn’t know what to do with me.
Why would he? He hadn’t needed to be a father to me since I was seven.Whatever. It was what it was. I didn’t need him to be my father. Well, no, that wasn’t true. Ididneed him to be my father, as much as I needed my mom to be a mother. I needed someone to fucking help me. A father to guide me. A mother to soothe me. Some older, wiser person to justhelp me. Someone who had their shit together and who could just hold my hand and help me find my way again… because I was so fucking lost.
After Adaline, it was like they forgot they still had another child to parent. But if they hadn’t changed in the fourteen years after her death, they just weren’t going to. It made me so fucking angry.
There was this feeling in my chest most of the time, all tight and heavy. Like a weighted vest pulling me down. My throat tightened. I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t speak. Yet all I wanted to do was scream. My eyes were itchy, and my skin was too tight and too hot. I wanted to pull it all off. Maybe if I ripped myself apart, this feeling that was far too big for me could finally escape. I could finallybe free of it.
Then again, I kind of liked holding onto it. Even as it burned me, as it shredded up my insides and turned me cruel, I clutched onto it. Because if I didn’t have it, I’d be empty. And that was worse.
The path turned from solid dirt to soft sand, and the trees parted to reveal the small, sheltered area. This beach was quite shit for swimming or surfing—too much seaweed, and shattered shells to poke and cut at bare feet—but it was fine for walking on if you wore shoes. It was a good place to escape.
My Vans sank into the softer ground as I continued. The added resistance to my steps made a dull ache flare in my injured leg, but the pain fed my anger. That tight feeling in my chest and throat flared up, provoking me to drive myself forward faster, so the ache got worse. The two things fed into each other in an infuriating and vicious circle until the sand and crushed shells shrank into small patches between large rocks. I stepped onto them and continued on my way, rock to rock, until they flattened out.
There were tall cliffs on either side of the beach, and I walked along the bottom of one. When the tide came in, this place would go under, which meant I couldn’t stay as long as I wanted to.
My shoes traced the edges of small pools of still water between rocks, some of which contained tiny fish or crabs that darted out of sight as my shadow cast over them.
I left them alone and continued on, following the curve of the cliff until I was far out of sight from the beach. If anyone came looking for me, they wouldn’t be able to see me now. Not that anyone would.
Idly I wondered… if I slipped and fell into the ocean, got carried out to sea, how long it would take Dad to notice I was missing? How long would it take them to find where I’d gone? Maybe they’d never find me at all. Maybe they’d be relieved.I think I’d be relieved. My throat got tighter.
The wind picked up. It whipped my hair around my face and into my eyes, and I pushed it back in annoyance. It was past time for a haircut, but I’d rather shave it all off than let anyone touch me. I’d also feel too exposed without it.
