Awake (Book 3)

Sixteen

The sun's morning rays created a silhouette of the curtain. How August and I managed to get into the bed last night was beyond me. My nose was stuffed, my head felt congested, and dry tear stains marred my cheeks. Fatigue stiffened my joints and caused my muscles to ache. After everything that happened last night I expected a war zone to surround the bed, but everything remained intact.

Almost everything.

I furrowed deeper into August's arms, because with him was when I felt the most human, and tried to force the events of yesterday out of my head. I should feel guilt and shame at begging such a thing of him, but there was none. Because the fact remained that if I flew off the reservation, he needed to end the threat before I could do again what I did to my hometown all those years ago.

He stirred, and I held still as his arms released me and he sat up, the blanket pooling around his waist. He looked in just as rough shape as me.

"Jessica and Blake will be here soon," he muttered, shoving the heels of his palms into his eyes. So we were going to ignore everything that happened. Ignore it and let it scab over like a wound. And we wouldn't face it again until it started itching.

"Okay."

"We should get moving."

Except he didn't move. He just sat there, staring down at the blanket with vacant eyes. I pressed my palm against his bare back, feeling his skin stretch and the muscles flex beneath my touch as he moved. "There's something I need to tell everybody, anyway. The reason I ran off."

August nodded. He pushed away the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"August."

He moved to stand, but I rolled to my knees and clutched his elbow, preventing him from moving.

"August, please."

He tensed. "I hate anything that follows those words."

And I let him go, because I couldn't tether that pain. Not when I caused it.

August, please.

You have to do it.

You have to be the one to do it.

The one to kill me.

The one to kill the other half of your soul.

And I had really asked him to do it.

August pulled on his shirt and ruffled his hair with his fingers, and thrust aside the curtain partway to peer out. I straightened my wrinkled clothes, thinking we might need to go on a little shopping trip soon, even if just to have two pairs of good jeans instead of one.

The morning was spent, predictably, shuffling mindlessly around each other. I took a shower, and then he took his, and we pulled on our grubby clothes. Definitely needed some new ones. We finished off the gas station snacks for breakfast, and after watching thirty minutes of the news-of which there was nothing of grave importance, thank goodness-someone knocked sharply on the door. Repeatedly, incessantly, all the while demanding to be let in. When August pulled it open, Jessica barged through, like a hot burst of energy from the sun, and she was ready to burn.

"I should have brought my whooping shoes because I am ready to whoop some ass right now!"

Classic Jessica.

She smacked August upside the head on her way to me, and then grabbed my shoulders and administered a hard enough shake to knock my brain loose. "You. Are. So. Unbelievable!"