Paradise Made

Eleven: Templar Knights

 “Pen, holy shit. Are you okay?”

I was torn between relief and panic. What did this mean? Had the angels let him go? Anxiety clawed at me as I waited for the voice on the end of the phone to respond.

“I'm fine, don't worry about me.”

He sounded different somehow, lacking that intensity of his which sometimes scared me.

“Where are you?”

I didn't care what time it was. Four, the dashboard read. I would drive and get him wherever he'd ended up.

“At a gas station somewhere. A—uh—a payphone. It doesn't matter.”

So the sound I heard in the background really was rain.

“Where's it near? I'll come get you?”

“It's fine. Don't bother.”

I was getting angry now. It had been too long since I'd slept and everything was crashing in at once.

“Don't give me that cryptic shit! How the hell are you going to get back? You can't just let yourself,” I was struggling for words, “you can't just let yourself get fucking kidnapped then call me up like this without an explanation.”

“I called you so you wouldn't worry, so you'd know I was alright.”

“Are you?” I was done. I was just so done. Phone to my ear, I let my forehead rest against the steering wheel.

“Yes. I have some friends picking me up. I'm alright Xavier, I promise. Go home and get some sleep.”

He could read me like a book and we weren't even in the same room. That angel, he made me so angry. I hated him, I did, but I was too far in now to back out. That was the problem with getting answers. They were as addictive as any drug. First you just want one, and then another, then another. Soon you realize that you're only at the tip of a massive iceberg, which is when you start asking the right questions. Then you're hooked, line and sinker. I was hooked. I was hooked on angels, and watchers, and however the hell Sara was involved.

“Everything is alright, I promise.” He hung up before I could say anything more.

When I arrived at Thom's I planned to leave the keys in the mailbox and catch a bus back to the university. They started running again at four, after all. But, bless his soul, Thom caught me before I could leave. He took one look at me and insisted on driving me back. It was still raining, and I must have looked terrible.

I was too tired, at that point, to process the situation as I normally would have. I'd lost all ability to read people, or to pick up on cues, so if there was any awkwardness between Thom and I, I did not notice it. Instead I sat silently, head against the window, brain buzzing the way that only exhaustion can cause it to. I would not have been able to keep up a conversation, and Thom noticed this, and did not attempt to speak with me.