On The Run: Part Two

Chapter Twenty-Two - "Jellybeans And Macarons"

I saw her jaw clench as she stared ahead, “Don’t apologize.”

I let out a breath, “But you’re angry.”

“I’m not.”

Her hand was gripping the arm of the chair so hard, it was going red, and her other hand was shaking around her glass.

I stood up and started to walk away. Suddenly, I felt like I was invading her space. And I knew anger and alcohol didn’t mix very well. I didn’t want to see what it did to Sarah; she was always so levelheaded.

“Hey,” she called, and I turned, “I’m a little angry. But it’s not at you. It’s just . . .” she dropped her head into her hands, “I can’t believe that anyone would do that!” she exclaimed.

I swallowed, and she continued, “I thought I was doing something good. I thought I was giving you the best. I thought—”

I sat back down, “You did. It just went the other way. That wasn’t your fault.”

She pushed her hair off her face, “I know, but—”

“You didn’t do this. You gave me the best part of it.”

“Chloe, is there anything else that I should know?” she asked worriedly.

I stared silently at her for a few minutes and a part of me was this close to telling her, but I found myself answering, “No. Nothing.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” she said, her face forlorn, “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes were brimming in tears, and her hands were still shaking.

I shrugged and replied, as cavalier as I could, “It’s happened, it’s over. It’s you and me now, right?” I said, with a half smile.

I saw her jaw clench as she nodded, “Yeah.”

It wasn’t over. Not even a little. If that look in her eye was any indication.

I was starting to feel like a burden, honestly. It seemed like never-ending pain, havoc and tiredness followed me and whoever I came in contact with.

“Don’t even think about it,” I heard Sarah say firmly, and I wondered whether I’d said that aloud.

“What?”

“Running away,” she answered.

I swallowed; “I wasn’t . . .” I trailed off, knowing she wasn’t too far off. It was where my thoughts were heading, anyway.

“You can’t do that to me, Chloe. You can’t. That’s not your style; it’s more mine. Besides, you run off, I’m following you, and my dad’s going to follow me, and Jerry’s going to follow him, and then the whole world will be a complete mess.”

I chuckled.

“There we go,” she murmured, with a half-smile.

The doorbell rang, breaking the moment. “I’ll get it.”

*

That would have been the end of that, and I did start think it was, but it wasn’t.

See, Sarah wouldn’t get out of bed.

Maybe she was ill or maybe she physically couldn’t, all I knew was, I didn’t see her for about two days straight.

It’s not how it sounds.

On the day after my interrogation and subsequent breakdown, I woke up really late. I was supposed to be at the campaign office for nine, and I wasn’t all dressed till nine-thirty. I assumed Sarah had left for work; breakfast was all set out for one. I hurried off, and didn’t get back till past ten, when Hal and Ryan dropped me off. I’d had lunch and dinner with Jay and Jerry, so I went straight to my room and collapsed into a long slumber.