Freaks

22 • peace

❝time heals nothing unless you move along with it❞
ｒａｃｈｅｌ ｗｏｌｃｈｉｎ

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"ＪＵＳＴ go along with it."

Cass gives me a bewildered look when I grab a hold of her elbow, guiding her in the direction of our table.

'Our' as in Markus', Willow's and mine; the former who, unsurprisingly, share Cass's look of bewilderment when I snatch away her tray and place it down beside mine.

This may not be my best idea.

But right now, it's the only one I've got.

Having noticed my interception of his friend, Logan follows behind swiftly. He arrives at the table seconds after we do, staring bug-eyed at me.

"What's going on here?" Logan questions, looking slightly uneasy as he transfers a breakfast muffin from his tray into Cass's. With a finger, I gesture for him to sit down. He does so obligingly.

"Before anyone says anything else," I cut in. "You all owe me."

They all exchange questioning looks.

"I've put up with this for far too long. Three days since," I say, referring to our most recent disaster at the Dome, "and you guys have been acting like mopey depressed puppies. We aren't ignoring it anymore. You're all going to sit here and you're going to eat like civilised human beings. I don't care if you talk to each other or become best friends or not. But this needs to be sorted out. This 'feud' ends today, because I'm not risking my life over an argument."

I let out a huge sigh once I finish talking.

I flop into my seat, relieved, and start digging absentmindedly into my breakfast. I am just happy to finally get that off my chest.

For a moment, none of them move, evidently shocked by my outburst, though not as shocked as they would have been a few months ago.

Something else hangs in the air. The way I spoke... they finally realise that I know. The whole story. And that means Cass must have told me. I feel all their gazes shift to her. Cass, meanwhile, decides to take that as her opportunity to focus entirely on her meal.

Eventually, they get tired of staring and begin to tuck into their own breakfasts in complete silence.

There is a low hum of chatter from the tables around us; it blends with the clatter of cutlery on the ceramic plates and glasses scraping across teeth. A certain spell of awkwardness looms over the table, but no one tries to dispel it. I begin to fear that we would spend the rest of the morning like this when Cass and Markus suddenly jerk forward, arms stretched towards the centre of the table.

Realising they wanted the same condiment, a weird spread that I've never seen outside the Academy, they both freeze and exchange glances.

"You still like—" Markus begins.

"You still eat—" Cass says simultaneously.

"Willow says it's gross."

"Logan does too."

"But it goes well with—"