Get Out If You Can

Matt | Bridge Over Troubled Water

I know I'm not very Torrez-ish attractive, but it definitely looks like Hunter's fallen for me.

I'm not even kidding. He's looked my way so many times I think it would actually be fit to tell him to stop. It isn't really because I'm straight or anything – I'm not romantic at all, thank you very much – it's just because even if I was gay, I wouldn't really go for mechanic boys. Don't like the vibe, sorry.

I stare at the food, then at Emilie's face. She looks like I feel – like we've had enough. I'm pretty sure everyone feels that way, but they're just too high-and-mighty to show it. Take Diego for example. He's acting like nothing here scares him and he can actually use his brains to scratch a way out of here. He's wrong. Alison acts all strong and shit, and that's honestly nice but now's just not the time. Seems gratuitous. Stop widening your eyes. I do know a few words, here and there.

I stare at the food again. I know it's not very wise to go ahead and eat, but my system isn't suited for wise activity right now. I need a Camel. I need to think.

I rake a hand through my hair, stealing a glance at Emilie's huge wristwatch. Man, her wrist is so skinny I'm surprised it actually manages to take the weight of something that chunky.

But that isn't really for me to bother about. I'm getting tired of this delay. It's about time someone did something. Maybe I should.

I glance round at the others; well, they aren't really doing anything. All just stationary there, hopeless. Diego and Alison are probably working their brains to no avail, but apart from them, no one's even pretending to hope.

I shoot straight at the table, and I hear the screams a few seconds after I've done so. Well, I don't really care. I lift a tall, crystal glass to my lips, deaf to their cries, and let the smooth red liquid stain my tongue with flavor.

My ears seem to be functioning again, now that I've had something satisfactory in my system. And wow, I'm still alive! Guess this kid didn't really want us to starve and die. Murderers – if that's what they are – aren't kind like that. They would probably want to ensure that dying isn't a choice.

"HASTINGS, ARE YOU FUCKIN'-"

"Save it, Emilie," I say, with a lopsided grin. I take another sip from the glass. "This is cherry, want to give it a try?"

"No," she says, breathier than necessary. "God, you could've been killed!"

"He probably doesn't care," Diego says monotonously, shrugging. Alison turns and glares at him. Wow, she's slowly becoming my favorite person here. She, and Emilie. Okay, I'll say this — she's brilliant, to be honest. She knows her way around things. I do like the way she does it.

I didn't really think that was possible.

"Diego, stop it," Emilie says, and I take another sip, watching the show. The wine is really good. Chateau Fontaine, probably. They're one of the rare good cherry-wine makers.

"Nobody's going to die here," Alison says, now turning to face all of us. "Look. We've probably wasted enough time admiring this place. Understandable, we were shocked. We were afraid. We were scared," she pauses, walking over to the table and picking up a wine glass. I raise my eyebrows. My eyes meet hers over the rim of the glass and she – she smiles.

Is that weird? Is that creepy? I don't know.

Is that cool? Yes, yes, it is. Absolutely.

She sips, then continues. "Is anybody still shocked? Angry? And," she pauses, looking at me, "pessimistic?"

She isn't continuing, so I've probably got to answer. I nod. No choice. Though I really wanted to point out I was being real, not pessimistic – but she wouldn't have that, I guess.