The Runaways

Chapter 11

Caleb

I was screwed. Real screwed. I’d crossed too many lines, said a lot of things I shouldn’t have, and kicked myself in the ass, you get the picture. The sun hadn’t even hit the sheets yet and I’d already—

Geezus.

Stupid clock. Scared the hell outta of me. Didn’t matter how many times I’d fixed it, the piece of junk always ran late. Chimed whenever it wanted to. Worst part was, every hour or so that ratty old cuckoo wailed like a loon—screeching its sanity away.

I didn't feel too far off from the old bird. Since this morning, I had this feeling that I was going out of my mind—there were hints all over the place. Like whenever I did something real bad, I didn’t feel like it was me doing it.

Sounds like whack-job talk, but sometimes my body just up and switched into autopilot and that was that. Blackout. Those times scared me worse than anything.

In my head, I guess I saw myself as someone different—someone trying to figure out which way was up. Maybe if I stopped listening to what everybody else wanted out of me, I could flip things around, maybe even turn out semi-decent. Problem with lying to yourself is, you only ever half-believe it.

Twenty minutes back, Cillian stepped outside to find Marcus. He didn’t say much, just left me alone in the house. I didn’t mind being by myself, but sometimes I’d get to thinking about things. Things I probably shouldn’t.

I needed a distraction, so I limped over into the kitchen and stuck my head in the sink. I didn’t pick up on how dark the water was at first, but when I opened my eyes, it was bloody—too bloody to be only mine.

I jerked my head out and threw up all over my Chucks. Blood, water, and spit spattered down onto my only good pair of shoes—I loved the hell outta those shoes. Marcus caught me off guard.

        “You alright, Caleb?”

The guy could walk into a room without anyone hearing his feet hit the floor.

        “Fine, just washing up.”

I straightened out and wiped the spit off the corners of my mouth. If he’d been paying attention, he would’ve caught me in an easy lie.

        “Give us a hand then.”

I didn’t know what it was about what he’d said, but it rubbed me the wrong way. I couldn't bring myself to run across the room and help him like always. Maybe it was nerves or maybe I was sick of him slaving me around.

Either way, his God complex was gonna push me over the edge if he didn’t keep it in check.

When I stayed put, Cillian whistled me over three or four times like a goddamn dog. I’d cut his lips off if it meant never having to hear that shit again. But the longer I stayed put, the more he kept at it.

Him and Marcus were carrying something covered in burlap into the house. Must’ve been heavy ‘cause Cillian stopped whistling when he ran out of breath. My brothers weren’t making much progress, so I shuffled in their direction, trying not to choke on my pride.

Marcus caught his foot on the edge of the carpet, and Rusty’s hand slipped out from under the crosshatched cloth. His wedding ring caught the sunlight.

For the first time in my life, my pulse slowed to a near stop. Seeing somebody who means anything to you like that is enough to do you in. I wish it had. Would’ve saved me from feeling like I did.

Took me a minute to take my eyes off Rusty, but when I finally got around to it, my Adam’s apple swelled up about as big as a grapefruit. I didn’t dare cry.