Survive the Night

8

Wendy's head bobbed up and down rhythmically as Bleak's chest expanded and deflated. Her hand, numbed, was lodged under his abdomen. She didn't care. She winced as she felt a sting under her wrist. When Bleak stirred and opened his eyes, he gasped before taking in his surroundings.

"Jesus, it's dark in here," he said.

"My hand," Wendy winced again.

"Oh." Bleak rolled to the side and Wendy slipped her hand out, sighing in relief and lifting the limp limb to her stomach. She gave it a few shakes.

"Sorry," Bleak said.

"No," she said. "I didn't mind."

"Why were you awake?"

"Couldn't sleep," she said.

"This whole time?"

"Huh?"

"You couldn't sleep this whole time?"

She ignored his question. "Do you want to sit on the veranda?"

"What?"

"Let's--"

"Why?" Bleak said, not hiding his confusion.

Wendy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't know. I need some fresh air. We've been inside too long."

"But it's not safe."

"The field isn't safe," she corrected him. "The veranda's fine."

None of it's safe, he thought. He didn't seem convinced but found himself already rising up from their makeshift bed on the floor. "Okay," he sighed.

They left the parlor and tip-toed their way to the front door. They walked slowly with their arms out like zombies, Bleak leading and Wendy gripping his cotton sweater. When Bleak felt the door, he found the knob and twisted it with ease. The door creaked open and they stepped outside. Bleak propped a chair against the door to make sure they couldn't be locked out.

Wendy closed her eyes and sniffed at the cool air, feeling liberated for a fleeting moment. For a moment she was a free girl again, running across the street to Eldridge High and laughing with Bleak in class. Then it was gone.

She was a prisoner at Ashmore again. To be free again, she thought in despair. What I'd give to be free again.

Bleak wrapped his arms around her from behind, and Wendy flinched.

"What are you thinking about?" Bleak asked.

"I want to leave this place." It was such an obvious answer, but she really wanted that more than anything in the world. To leave. To run off this veranda, pass the fields, and find the block that welcomed her home. Home, she thought longingly. Was it the four walls she'd known her whole life? Did that define a home? Not exactly, she decided. But home meant knowing that she was free to come and go as she pleased. Ashmore was no home, it was a prison cell.

"We will," Bleak said, his arms closing tighter around her stomach. He couldn't know that, she knew, but she relished the faith anyway. To be peacefully sitting outside the school yard, or to watch the classroom from afar (she lived across the street from Eldridge High and was close enough to see, but not hear, her teacher's lectures from her bedroom window) and see Bleak wagging his hooded head obliviously to whatever music played in his head. Probably Radiohead. Wendy smiled. Her focus was sharpened again to the hazy lawn of the house. The moon was hidden behind smudgy clouds.

"I love you," Wendy said automatically.

Bleak smiled behind her. "You've never told me that."

"Really?"