Runaways: Book II

IX

I peered out the car window, fazed by the solid blueness of the sky.
Logan sat on the far right side of the backseat with the window rolled down, puffing in and out a cigar. I had only spent a short amount of time with him, but I had never seen him without one.
The Professor was driving, with Eric in the passenger seat quarreling with him. Hank, who was sitting next to me, looked over and noticed I was in a trance.
"You okay?" he asked.
I took a long breath and closed my eyes,
"There's just...a lot going on."
My eyes broke open and I added,
"What about you?"
He paused, thinking for a moment before answering,
"I don't know what I'm going to say to her. If I even say anything at all."
The car stopped at a metal gate, an entrance to the wing of the airport containing all the private aircraft. We continued down a road leading past massive planes, stopping when arriving at a glossy jet.
The five of us stepped out of the car. Magneto stared at the trunk for a split second and it popped open. The Professor glared at him and stated,
"You know there's a button in the car that does that."
Eric slyly grinned and replied,
"Oh, but it's not nearly as fun, Charles."
As they began grabbing luggage from be back of the car I noticed Peter sitting on the steps to board the jet, tapping his foot to a song that was playing in his head.
"Peter is going with you?" I said to Hank.
"No," he paused before finishing, "he's going with you."
My eyebrows narrowed,
"What?"
Hank set his bags down and explained,
"Look, you're never going to get through that experimentation compound—not without your powers. I need to know you'll be okay."
Before I could reply he grabbed his bags and walked up the steps to the jet. The other three made their way to the entrance, but Charles halted, throwing Peter the keys before saying,
"Do me a favor a return her for me okay?"
He looked at me as he added,
"She's a good one."
Peter nodded,
"Okay."
The Professor continued up the stairs but turned back and stated before completely disappearing into the aircraft,
"And, Peter? Take it slow."
Peter laughed before we entered the car, and drove off out of the airport.
The two of us were now alone, bearing the silence.
"So this is awkward." Peter stated as he drove on, unable to withstand the quiet.
I couldn't speak, I was out of things to say, too tired to talk.
He added after a few more silent minutes,
"Still like Pink Floyd?"
I nodded and he shoved a cassette into the car stereo. I looked down and saw that my hands were shaking and began to internally panic.
"Peter, can we stop for a second? Maybe grab something to eat?"
He was taken aback at first, it was the first thing I had said to him all day.
"Yeah, cool. No problem."
We stopped at a diner in the middle of nowhere, with a big flashing sign in front that blinked "The Locomotive Diner."
The interior reminded me of The Golden Spoon, and the" Music Appreciation Club" meetings Peter would call as excuses for taking me out on dates. The only difference was the train-themed decor and stickier floors.
A young girl crying as the boy sitting across from her pleaded for her to stop and claimed that "it wasn't her, but him," caught my attention. The sadness and pain began to present itself in my chest.
A portly woman with an apron around her waist questioned,
"Table for two?"
A tear uncontrollably rolled down my cheek and I said quickly,
"Peter, give me a second. I'll be in the bathroom."
I hurried away and locked the stall door. I pulled a plastic bag with a needle and the serum from my jacket. I pressed it into my vein and whispered to myself,
"Get your shit together. Get your shit together."
I exited the stall and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked tired, barely recognizable. I tried to recall the last time I had had a decent sleep.
I couldn't.
A few moments passed and I turned toward the door. I pulled it open and flinched when I saw Peter standing there in the doorway.
"It was the girl, wasn't it?" he said with his arms crossed with concern.
"Uh, yeah. It was." I said a bit embarrassed that he knew me so well.
"If you want we can find another place to—"
"It's okay. Really Peter, I'll be fine."
He flashed a bittersweet smile and led me back to our booth. The waitress was there, waiting to take our order.
"Burger and a milkshake, thanks." Peter stated.
"Just, the soup of the day is fine." I added before she scribbled on her notepad and walked away.
I kept my vision on the table, scared that if I looked into his eyes I might fall for him again. I had been here before, I knew how this scene played out. Peter would find is way in again, get me to laugh, to smile, and the laughter would be too addictive to leave. And then those eyes of his, soft, warm like the sun, would bind me to him like the moon to the earth. Something so destructive like myself didn't belong with someone so loving, it was just a fact.
He began to speak rather suddenly,
"So, you and the nerdy guy with the glasses are...dating?"
He said the last word of the sentence with a hidden bite of disgust. My pupils immediately went wide.
"Woah, Hank? No, no, no. He's just a friend...like a brother."
"Oh, okay," he replied with a devilish smile.
"What's that look for?" I questioned.
Peter shrugged his shoulders and changed the subject,
"Did you listen to the cassette I gave you yet?"
I felt my back pocket for it, forgetting that I had had it.
"No, not yet. Let me guess, more Pink Floyd?" I said with a grin escaping my lips.
"Nah, it's Jim Croce."
I raised a brow,
"Folk music? You haven't gone soft on me now have you?"
"Hey, Jim Croce is a legend."
"Sure," I replied rolling my eyes taking a sip from my cup.
"So I can mark this down as a Music Appreciation Club Meeting right?"
I choked on the coffee running down my throat and coughed out,
"Um...perhaps."
"C'mon. We're discussing music at a diner. I even ordered a milkshake."
"You ordered a milkshake. I didn't. Club rules imply two milkshakes to be involved."
He abruptly stood up and shouted to the kitchen from across the diner,
"Hey! Could we make that two milkshakes instead?"
The cook in the back gave him a death stare and the middle finger and he added,
"Great! Thank you, fine sir! You have a heart of gold!"
By this point I was uncontrollably laughing, and Peter squatted back down to his seat.
"You know he's definitely going to spit in our food now, right?" I stated.
"It was your milkshake I just ordered. Looks like it's you who's drinking spit."
"Thanks a lot, Quicksi—"
I stopped myself. Without even knowing it I had slipped back to senior year of high school. The exploding house replayed in my head again. The waitress came to the table and placed a milkshake in front of me. I cleared my throat and corrected myself,
"Thanks a lot, Peter."
The air returned to silence for a moment, until Peter pushed his milkshake forward and replied,
"Here. You can take mine. I'll take the risk of the spit milkshake."
"You don't have to—"
"Hey. You know I like spit in my milkshakes, why deprive me of that, ___?"
I smiled at the sound of his voice saying my name and added,
"Alright, I'm sorry. You should have the right to drink spit of you want to."
He slid my milkshake over to his side, took a sip through its red-stripped straw and laughed,
"That's all I'm asking."