"Girl, I don't understand how you can wear that shirt when it's so hot outside," Skye teased lightheartedly. It was almost ten and we were just hanging out before turning in for the night.
I blushed. "You're the one in black jeans," I pointed out jokingly. She rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, I don't have a choice though. You have a tank top on under that." Well maybe I should have kept my shirt buttoned up so she wouldn't have questioned it, but at least I was a little cooler this way. I shrugged.
"I just prefer to wear this over it, I guess." Skye shook her head in disbelief.
It wasn't like I was going to tell her the truth. She hadn't earned the right to know. None of them had. Marcus, Aaliyah, and Luke had all gained enough of my trust to know, but that had taken time. I had serious trust issues.
I fingered my wrist, rolling up my sleeve a little bit but covering the cuts with my hand. Maybe I shouldn't be so self-conscious about them, but I was. I hated being seen as weak, even though I knew I was mentally ill.
"Peyton?" Aaliyah nodded towards our bedroom. The four of us all shared a room, even though we'd barely been able to cram all four cots into it. There was less than two feet of space between each one. "We're heading to bed." I nodded.
"Okay. I'll be in there soon," I replied. I turned back to Skye.
"You say you have memory erasing ability, but what exactly can you do?" I asked tentatively.
"Oh, we call it that, but a broader, more appropriate term would just be mind control. Also, it sounds less threatening. We didn't want you to think we were going to manipulate you in any way. And that's just what we use most often, but it's not necessarily removing something from someone's memory rather than replacing it with a fake memory. We can also manipulate emotions, which Reese and I are especially good at, we can manipulate actions which is something Colin and Micaiah are better with, and we can dig through someone's old memories."
"Creepy." At that, I decided to head back into the bedroom. "Glad I understand now though." She nodded.
"No problem. 'Night."
"'Night."
I think Skye and I were the last ones to go to bed. Micaiah and Reese had gone to bed around 9:30 and Colin had retired for the night a few minutes before Aaliyah, Luke, and Marcus did. When I walked in, I found that I had the cot on the far-right wall. Great.
I tugged off my long sleeves, rolled up my jeans to the best of my abilities, slipped off my socks, and climbed into it. There was no bedding other than the makeshift pillows and a couple of thin sheets I could cover up with if I wanted to, but it was still more than we'd had for weeks prior.
☁
Tonight, I had no idea where I was. It was less of a place and more of an abstract idea. The edges were blurred unlike the normal locations I dreamed of that were crisp and clear. I wanted to see Eli again, if it was even truly him, but chances were slim.
I looked down at my clothes, finding that I was wearing all black. The gashes on my arms looked exactly the same with a lot on my left arm and a few on my right, which was strange because I knew I hadn't had them last night when I was dreaming. Maybe I was sleeping lighter tonight.
"Peyton?" I turned around to see Eli standing behind me. He was a faint outline rather than the seemingly solid form he'd taken the night before, but it was him.
I smiled. "Good to see you." He pursed his lips thoughtfully.
"Don't do that," he gestured to my arms gently. I immediately tried to cover them up out of habit. "Don't do that because of me or Aaliyah or anyone else, not even yourself. And Peyton, it's okay if you're queer. I know I was mad at first, but I just didn't know how to react. I'm sorry about that."
I blinked in disbelief. Had he really just said that? When Aaliyah had said it, the word sounded so strange when it was in the same sentence as my name. As a word attributed to me. But when he said it, it sounded smoother. Like it fit. "It's okay," I whispered.
Then I remembered there were more important things to discuss. I tried to rack my brain without waking myself up. What questions had I asked him last night? Oh yeah. "How did your dad know to turn you in?" I asked. He just shrugged.
"He was sketchy and he was involved with a lot of the wrong people. I know my mom's brother knew, but I also know he never spoke to my dad, and when he did it was no more than polite small talk."
"And who's your uncle?"
"Matthew Clayson, but they probably told you that. I can't easily keep track of your time anymore, but I know you'll get to meet him soon. He was the one who, um—"
"He was your mom's brother," I finished. "I know." He nodded.
"Yeah. Lives in Bryceville. Blonde hair. He's in his thirties but doesn't look like it."
I wanted to throw up. "He has an issue with...touching people, doesn't he?"
"Hasn't recently."
"You're wrong," I whispered. "I know him. And I already hate him."
☁
I jerked awake facing the wall. Uncomfortable was an incorrect word to describe how I was feeling. Distressed, perturbed, and terrified would suit the situation much better. I didn't want to have to face that guy again. And he seemed too young to be Eli's uncle, but there was no other person fitting that description. Eli had even said he looked much younger.
I wanted to vomit. Everything about that man had thrown me off. Even if he hadn't decided to harass me, I still would've been uneasy. The way he looked at us, it was like he already knew who we were. How would he react when he found us here tomorrow with Micaiah, Reese, Colin, and Skye? He couldn't have been expecting us.
Unless he was. My recurring dream came back to me. It was him, speaking of us hurting his nephew. Like he knew Eli would end up dying for this cause while he was with us. Like we caused it. I shuddered.
My watch said it was 3:21 a.m. I had a few hours yet before I could talk to anyone. I rolled over to face the others. They were all fast asleep. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. My dreams were insane. I had no idea why they were real. Was it some prophetic ability I'd been gifted? Unlikely. Peyton, what have you gotten yourself into?
"Peyton, wake up." Someone was shaking my shoulder. I rolled over, grunting. I didn't want to get up and have to face "Matthew Clayson" also known as "the guy who grabbed an innocent teenager in a convenient store."
"Peyton," they said again. I checked the time. Gosh, it was almost ten. I still didn't feel like getting up though. I pulled the pillow over my head.
"Go away," I muttered.
"Oh, come on, you're the morning person," Marcus teased. I finally gave in and sat up, nearly receiving an accidental punch in the face from him. He drew his arm back quickly. I glared at him and undid the bun I'd had my hair in for the past twenty-four hours. My hair fell almost to my waist.
"Are you okay? It's not like you to sleep that late," he asked. I nodded. I'd learned a long time ago when to lie about my feelings and when not to. It all depended on who was talking to you about what. It was only in very rare circumstances that I openly offered my one-hundred-percent authentic feelings, and this was not one of them. "Are you sure?"
"For goodness' sake Marcus," I snapped, harsher than I meant to. His face fell. "Sorry," I apologized quickly and tugged on the hoodie I'd brought. I was sick of the flannel button-up.
"It's okay," he said quietly. "You don't have to wear that you know." He pointed to the hoodie. "You're the only person ashamed of your cuts Peyton. I don't think anyone else will mind seeing them. Just stop doing it, you know?" I rolled my eyes.
"I thought you'd understand an addiction you can't control."
"Then you need to get help. I haven't looked at anything of the sort for two years Peyton. I thought you had stopped too." I shook my head.
"Obviously not. And if you're saying I have to talk to someone then I'll stop."
"That's the wrong reason. You're missing the point. You are the most private person I've ever met," he stated sternly. "There are other ways Peyton." I sighed.
"Have you not learned that talking to me does nothing except shut me up more?" I bit my lip. This was escalating too quickly for my liking.
"I'm not dumb Peyton. Yes, I know that. But I press you anyway because I care. God, do you know what it's like worrying every single day that you aren't going to wake up? That you've gone and poisoned yourself or something?"
I sighed, rubbing my temples. My head hurt and this was not helping. "Yes, I do actually. I dealt with that for a long time with you. Eli too, for a portion of time. Marcus, I'm just stressed. Would you leave me alone?" He grabbed my wrists and pulled me out of bed.
"No. I can't. Sorry." He was speaking in a lighter tone now, but his gaze was still steely. "God Peyton, you'll be the death of me." I shook my head.
"And vice versa."
"You don't talk to me anymore."
"I know I don't, but you don't talk to me either. Like, really talk. I haven't had a chance to tell you anything deep because we haven't had a second alone. And there are some things I actually want to tell you." I tried to offer a genuine smile.
"Like voluntarily? Man, since when do you volunteer valid information about yourself?" I laughed.
"Since you became my younger brother. Or older, depending on the day and how annoying you're being."
"Excuse me?"
"Kidding."
"Yeah, sure you are." We both got a good laugh out of that.