I sit with Zain, Tave, and Theo at our usual table in the lunch hall. I watch Zain choke on her food and let out a wheeze of laughter, and Tave smiling with satisfaction at her laughing over one of his jokes. I watch Theo chewing on his food, his jaw working as he flips through a book until he catches my eyes. I drown in the split second of stolen glances and knowing smiles that make my heart pirouette and squeeze itself.
It is moments like this that I steal and savor for as long as I can, before it's too late and everything changes. Now, things are normal. Looking at my friends now, it's disheartening to realize they don't know what is coming in a few days.
My gaze flits to Atlas at the other end of the long table, sandwiched between Yvonne and Idris. Idris talks animatedly to Atlas, a hand over his mouth as he eats while Atlas stares vacantly at his food and nods absentmindedly. Does he, also, know what's coming in a few days?
He must sense my gaze because he glances up, and we lock eyes. I'm itching to find out what he's thinking of right now. For the first time, his stare is not arrogant or condescending. He just stares, spinning a fork on the table. Does he regret revealing a part of himself in that elevator last week?
I look away first and redirect my attention to Zain. I think she's been talking to me for a while.
"Sorry, what were you saying?" I ask.
Zain rolls her eyes. "I was asking if you were coming to the party?"
"The party?"
Next to her, Zale leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I'm throwing one for our end-of-season game."
A few months ago, going to parties was the most worrying thing I had to think of. Now, I'm so detached that it would almost be comical if I went to that party. "I think I'm busy."
Zain groans. "Sage, you missed out on all the parties so far."
"I went to one."
"Yeah but this party is different. Zale's throwing it," she exclaims.
In Whetherton, this actually means something. Zale is known for being the notorious partier, the fun jock, the guy that can make a Calculus period enjoyable. Zain's pleading eyes make me rethink my choice, as usual. This may be the last party or fun thing we do together. Maybe attending it wouldn't be too bad.
"Let's not kid ourselves. Sage has much better things to do than attend this party," Yvonne scoffs. She rolls her eyes, playing with a blond strand of hair.
Before I can brush her off, Atlas shrugs a shoulder and glances at me, speaking words I would never have imagined to be possible. "You should come."
I open my mouth to say something and close it, too stunned to form words. Yvonne snaps her head to him and narrows her eyes. Theo raises an eyebrow at me, and we share a look.
"I'll think about it," I mutter.
Atlas returns his attention back to Idris, and I look away, a million questions racing through my head. But only one thought coils me up, and that is the possibility that his hate for me has lessened. I can only hope he still hates me; it would make everything easier.
Zain leans in and whispers, "What was that about?" For all she knows, Atlas doesn't like me because of the situation between Yvonne and I. Out of everyone sitting at this table, Atlas talks to me the least.
I look at Theo, but he doesn't say anything. Judging by the look he gives me as he nibbles on his lower lip, he doesn't understand either.
"I don't know," I admit, an unsettling feeling pooling in my stomach. "I really don't."
༺༻
I lean on the metal doors and cross my arms over my chest protectively. The heavy jacket I wear does nothing to prevent the cold seeping under its sleeves, wrapping around my narrow body. Even after my countless visits here, the unpleasant scent of garbage disposals and grime is unwelcome to me.
I keep my gaze focused on anyone that spends a second too long staring at me. I may be familiar with Lucien's warehouse, but the people here don't know that. This is a sketchy place with lingering, angry homeless people, hidden gang members, and runaway teenagers, kicked out of their homes or pregnant and broke.
Finally, Lucien's figure comes into sight, rounding a corner from an alley. He walks with his head low, and his hands shoved in his pockets. "Are you that eager for another beating?" he calls out once he stands ten feet away.
"Ha! Get in and we'll find out," I reply teasingly, and jut the key I brought with me into the rusty lock. I step in and leave the door open for him to follow me inside.
Using the light from outside to guide me in the darkness, I feel for a switch and turn on the lights, watching as they flicker one by one down the gym. The door shuts behind me, indicating Lucien's entrance.
I shrug out of my jacket and strap on the boxing gloves from the cabinet. Wordlessly, Lucien and I get into our warm-up routine, me throwing punches and him skillfully dodging them. A few times, I surprise him with a new move I taught myself during his disappearance, earning a proud grunt from him.
Ten minutes into this workout, I get into the reason I called him here. "I need a gun."
Lucien loses focus and sloppily tries to dodge a punch. I end up getting him square in the stomach, my quick hand slipping through his weak guarding, and he doubles over, both from surprise and pain. He steps back and looks up at me through blond hair falling over his dark eyes.
"What?" he asks incredulously, breathing through gritted teeth and flared nostrils.
I turn away from him and give him my back, unstrapping my gloves. I pick up my water bottle and brace myself for this conversation. "I need to protect myself, and I know you can get me one."
He grips my shoulder with a rough hand, forcing me to face him. "Protect yourself from what?"
I swipe my hand against my mouth, wiping away sweat mixed with water. "You don't have to know. Can you get me one or not?"
He grinds his jaw and crosses his arms. "Fuck that. I'm not doing shit until you tell me what's going on."
"I did something," I say slowly. "It's bad."
"What the fuck did you do, Sage?"
I take a deep breath and explain to him the situation. If I want that gun, Lucien is my only shot, and I know him well enough to realize that he won't just give me a gun that easily. He may as well know everything in case . . . In case, something happens to me. Lucien should know.
When I tell him everything, he unstraps his gloves and throws them on the ground roughly, radiating heat of the beginning of an anger. Maybe I could've phrased it better.
"I believe that was the very thing I told you not to do." He runs a frustrated hand down his face.
"Did you really think I'd listen?"
"No, of course not," he snaps and starts to pace back and forth. His voice fills the room and makes anxiety prickle in my chest. It is strange for his voice to be anything but an antidote that calms me. "Sage fucking Black just loves running into trouble. You're not satisfied with staying safe, are you?"
"Lucien . . ."
"Don't fucking Lucien me!" He stops pacing and grabs my elbow firmly. I'm forced to look at his angry eyes. His hot breath washes over my face. "Do you want to end up like me? With no future, and always on the run?"
"This is different; I'm not doing drugs!" I plead for him to understand. He has to see that whatever I did is not going to waste, that I did the right thing. If I'm going down, then I'm doing it for the right reasons. "I'm stopping the bastard. I'm saving other people, I'm saving you, Lucien. Don't you get it? If he's gone, then you can be completely safe."
"I don't want you to protect me." His voice cracks with emotion. "I can do that on my own. Please don't do this."
It's too late, I think. The decision's already been made.
"What about your mom? Roan and Marli?"
My chest constricts painfully. "They are going to be safe," I say hollowly. They will have to be.
"How can you know that? That's not guaranteed, Sage. Don't put them at risk and get yourself—"
"People are dying, Lucien! People with families, with children and lives, people who did nothing wrong! And this bastard is going to get away with it," I exclaim.
He closes his eyes. "You can't save everyone."
There is a burning in my nose and the back of my eyes. I squeeze my eyes shut and force the tears to stay put. "I already did."
He sighs dejectedly, pushing back his hair with a harsh hand.
I bite the inside of my cheeks so hard I feel hot, white pain in my mouth. "Can you get me the gun or not?"
I watch him watch me, grinding his jaw. I see it in his eyes: the painful acceptance at what I've done. An aching silence stretches between us as we breathe loud and hard. When his head dips down and his eyes soften, the tears finally spill and I don't stop them.
With quick movements, he pulls me into his chest and wraps an arm around my waist. This close, I smell the sweat mixed with his earthy scent and feel him shake under my hands. "It'll be fine. You'll be okay."
"I'll be okay," I repeat after him. I don't look at him. I stare at his shirt between my fingers and say the words again. "I'll be okay."