Page 54 of Not Today, Satan
Moaning, he rubs his temple and hisses through his teeth. “What happened?”
“You ate poisoned cake. I had to carry you out of Lot Eight.” I resist the urge to chastise him. He wasn’t the only one to give into temptation back there.
Though he was the only one toingestthat temptation.
At least he’s conscious again. The poison could’ve lasted for days for all I know. I’m oddly relieved at the sound of his voice, but I’d never let him know that.
Nate pulls himself into a sitting position and wraps his arm around his stomach as he moans again. “That explains my desire to hurl my guts everywhere.”
“If you’re going to puke, do it over the side of the boat.” The wind whips my hair across my face, and I tuck it behind my ear. At least I’m not teetering precariously like I was in the dinghy. If I avert my gaze from the lake, it’s like I’m not on water at all.
“I think I’m good. It’s already starting to settle.” He scratches his forehead. “How did you get a boat?”
“I stole it from the souldiers. It’s faster than the dingy. We should be out of Aquarum soon.”
Nate blinks at me, and I shrink under his gaze. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says. “You’re not at all what I expected.”
We’re slicing through the water on autopilot, lots blurring to our right, shore to the left. It should be a straight run to Nix from here.
I lower myself beside him and press my back against the wall. My muscles loosen, and I rub my aching calves. “What do you mean?”
“You were cold when I met you. That girl would never have saved my life willingly.”
I can’t bring myself to look at him, so instead I focus on my own fingers as I massage my thigh. “You saved me from Lot Eleven. I owed you one.”
“I figure it’s the other way around. I owe you for getting me out of here.” He leans his head back and closes his eyes. “And I still don’t know why you’re doing it. You insist you think I’m innocent in the same breath as saying all humans are gross. Which is it?”
I stare at the floor, trying to determine how honest I can be. At what point will he see through my act and know he’s not leaving this place for good? The moment he does, he’ll no longer help me, and all of this will have been for nothing.
“You’re not wrong,” I speak slowly, weighing each word. “I have my own reasons for wanting to go to Earth. But they’re personal.”
“Come on.” He leans his head against the wall and faces me, his eyes shadowed under the roof. “You know all about me, what with that giant file you had. I’m sure it detailed every aspect of my life.”
My cheeks heat. I’d spent multiple nights curled up on my bed with his file, trying to solve the mystery of this strange human and only becoming frustrated at the lack of answers in those pages.
“I didn’t read all of it,” I lie. “Only the parts relating to your punishment. And I still don’t understand how you ended up holding the gun that killed your dad if you didn’t kill him.”
“Foster dad. His name is—was—Gabe. And it’s a bit of a blur.” He runs his fingers through his hair and squints as though it will sharpen the memories. “I was home sick that day, getting over a major bout of the flu. I thought everyone had gone to see my foster brother’s baseball game, but I woke up to loud popping sounds.
“I ran toward them and found Gabe lying on the floor of his room, covered in blood. Then I saw the gun beside him.” He licks his dry lips and swallows. “I picked it up without thinking. I don’t know why. My mind was hazy with fever, and I hadn’t kept down food in days, so I wasn’t thinking clearly. That’s when the cops beat down the door. They told me to drop the gun. I was sure I was having a fever-induced nightmare, so I just stared at them and held up the gun. Then I heard a bang, and the next thing I knew, I was standing in a line of people as confused as I was, waiting to see you.”
I inhale at his words and study him. He seems truthful. Despite his casual tone, pain pinches the corner of his mouth. “If it wasn’t you, who killed him?”
“No idea. Gabe was a good man. I’ve had some terrible foster parents and some great ones, but Gabe was the best. He treated me like his son, like I mattered. I loved him, and I miss him so much.” A tear forms in the corner of his eye, but he brushes it away, the only proof of its existence is a line of mud smeared on his cheekbone.
I curl my fingers into my thigh to stop myself from touching him. I’m not sure why I want to comfort him. Comforting humans is the opposite of what we do down here.
“That must have been tough,” I say. “Growing up with different parents all the time. I can’t stand my father most days, but at least I know what to expect from him.”
He straightens against the wall and stares across the boat. “It was different. I’ve never really felt like I belonged anywhere, you know?”
His words pierce my chest, pinching like a sharpened claw.
I lick my bottom lip. “I understand that.”
He glances at me, surprise lining his features. “You do? I figured your life is sorted, with who your father is and all.”
