Page 11 of Beyond The Maples
"It's one thing to use materials in ways we're not supposed to, Maple, but going to those rings and gambling with those criminals is different and you know it."
His grip tightens like he's trying not to shake me, like he's barely containing himself. My temper flares. Half from exhaustion and half because I simply don't love being told what to do. It pisses me off when people treat me like a child. I've been on my own too long. I should have earned some modicum of trust by this point.
Especially when I know Deacon's mom still does his laundry.
"Dea, it's the only way to get her meds. It's just until Linden passes his final year and gets us better access."
I say this a bit breathlessly, trying to stay quiet so Willow doesn't come storming out demanding answers. Finally, he lets go. Walking away, shoulders tight and neck strained with indignation. My instincts scream to fix it, to make him feel better, but my bitterness stops me.
"Part of me thinks you like it––the Games, the manipulating. Coming out on top. I can't bail you out if something goes bad there, Mae." His eyes glaze over, like he's imagined this before.
"I never asked you to." My words are a soft plea, a plea to just support me instead of whatever this is.
I am so tired of holding everything up; I don't need one more person to manage. One more person I need to worry about disappointing. His face softens slightly, seeing the exhaustion that surely riddles my features.
"I'm going to get going. I'll check in tomorrow with whatever my sister says, and I'll see what parts I can find." He says this as he's already moving towards the door, getting his boots on.
"Ok…" I hesitate, not wanting him to leave angry, but also not wanting to make promises I can't and won't keep. I stay where I am, anxiety beginning to slither into my gut.
"Don't break any hearts while you're out and about today. Our town's too small for me to keep away all the forlorn women for you," I joke, my hands clasped and clenched, desperately trying to lighten the mood.
He lifts his head, staring at me with an intensity I can't place, hair looking more copper through the dusted light seeping through the skylight.
"That's more your thing," he whispers, so softly I might have misheard him.
My brows pinch, brain trying to cultivate a clever response. But he's already gone. The door slammed tight before I can utter a word.
Iwander down the deserted streets, past the crippled sidewalks and decaying buildings. The Games are always held on the very outskirts of our small town, closest to the main roads that are used to come and go. It's a long walk from our hovel, which is good, keeps all the questionable people who may come here away from innocents.
I'm careful to keep my hood up, and my improvised mask tight around my face. Both help to conceal my identity and keep the dust from coating my carefully planned "disguise". It isn't really a disguise, obviously. I can't afford such luxuries. But I've cultivated a look deceptively different from the one I wear at the diner. The fewer people who recognize me, the better.
There isn't a lot of loyalty left in New Providence between its residents. If someone gets caught doing something they shouldn't, often the first thing they do is try to buy their way out of it with information. The last thing I need is someone recognizing me and using it as a bargaining chip with government officials later on. Call me paranoid, but I like being prepared for the worst.
At the diner, I stay as plain as possible. I didn't even recognize what I was doing at first, but I have a day job that requires me to be approachable, unremarkable. I wonder if people think I'm simple during the day, in my oversized box skirts and patchy aprons. It used to bother me until I realized it works to my benefit.
Now I have a bit of an edge to my look, one I secretly relish. I have kohl lining my dark eyes. My thick hair, which had been in a braid all day, is curled and let loose under my hood, looking a little wild.
I've traded my loose-fitting clothes, which were all various tones of worn greys and greens, for tight, dark clothing. It had cost me more than I've ever spent onanything for myself to get the fitted pants and low-cut black top, but I'd justified it because what I make at the Games is always worth it. Especially if the men at the table are staring at my chest when they should be paying attention to their cards.
When I round the corner, I hear footsteps that make me pause. Officers, the rhythmic cadence of their choreographed steps giving them away, echoing through the empty streets.
My eyes dart around for a sufficient hiding spot, the flicker of firelight growing by the second.
My mind reels as I realize I'm in a terrible spot. The old industrial area of town leaves little to hide between unless I want to try to enter one of the buildings.
Shit sticks, I think. There's no real curfew in Strayton, but that doesn't mean I won't be questioned if caught walking around at this hour.
The street is far too long and straight to run back. The sound of their footsteps creep closer as I run out of time. My eye catches two concrete pillars close together outside an older building. I dart between them, praying to the Gods that the officers don't come close with their lanterns, surely giving me away.
My heartbeat pounds in my chest, the steady sound of their approach making my breath ragged. We rarely have officers inspecting around here anymore, even on days when the Games are in town. I will my breathing to even.Get yourself together, Maple, I silently scold myself as I look around.
With only the moon to guide me, I hope this spot will be good enough, but as they near I realize I'm far too exposed. I hold my breath as the group comes into sight, quietly talking amongst themselves. An officer veers towards me and my stomach sinks.
One of the Gods must hear my desperate pleas and take pity on me because a shadow passes over the moonlit sky. Maybe a thicker dust cloud, something that helps makes light unable to pierce the alcove I've stuffed myself into. I let out a breath, slowly, as the shadows seem to wrap around me in a protective blanket with the lack of light. The officer that had come my way seems to realize he can't see anything, and returns to his peers.
I listen as they continue past, and the moment of reprieve passes as the moon brightens the road once again. I wait an unnecessary amount of time in the silence, making sure it's safe to continue before doing so.
For a moment I stand on the road, looking both ways. I know that many would have seen that close encounter as a sign to turn around. An omen that tonight was not the night to test fate. But those people might not have a sick little sister at home who needs them. I don't have time for superstitions.
