as fragile as a dandelion

adrenaline

August's POV

After three weeks in the hospital and vehement promises to do the physical therapy exercises, Two and I were ready to go home. She looked so much healthier already, the pigment was returning to her skin and the bruises were fading. But I could tell that she was still struggling mentally; she continued to have nightmares and panic attacks often. Sometimes she looked at me in fear, as if she didn't know who I was, and other times, she would scratch and claw at her own skin, as if she was trying to take out a piece of herself. It hurt to see her hurting, it hurt even more knowing I couldn't do anything for her, anything to help her. I loved her, and yet, I was essentially useless.

When she held my face in her small hands, I saw a hurricane of emotions swirling in her eyes, sadness, love, doubt, hesitation, happiness. I always tried to focus on the love. Every time she kissed me, I felt sparks of happiness and comfort. She felt safe around me, I could tell, and that made me feel so much better.

Ever since that first day in the hospital, I've only seen her cry once. That was when the doctors told her that the infection had killed the healthy cells in the upper part of her leg, which required amputation. I still couldn't forget the fear in her eyes as she asked me if I would still love her with only one leg. I couldn't believe that she would think that. And then I remember her past, all the hell that came before this.

Has Two ever really been loved?

"August! Answer my question!" Two grumbles, bringing me out of my trance.

"Huh?" I ask dumbly.

She sighs, mussing my hair with her hand. "I asked, if you had a plan for getting out of here."

"Uh... No?"

She groaned before perking up. "Wait, what day is it?"

"Saturday..."

She gasped and her whole face perked up. "Yes! Oh August! That's it!"

I still wasn't following, but then she started explaining, her voice quick and excited. "Every Saturday day night there's a street race down at the old mills. It crosses a part of the border that no one patrols. None of my dad's gang goes to the races, they're too old. That's our escape ticket August."

She grabbed my hands, and this time adrenaline and excitement were dancing in her eyes. I bit my lip. This was risky. I can't lose her again.

"Okay." I sighed. "But how do we get over the border?"

She grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."

•••

As Two swung her crutches and hobbled on the uneven pavement, she looked confident. At least 50 people shouted her name and waved, and she nodded and smiled back. The crowd of writhing, dancing, bodies seemed to part for her. I wondered why everyone knew her so well.

She doesn't own a car. She doesn't dance. Why does she come here? Is it an escape?

A few frowns and glares were passed in my direction, no doubt by kids of the gang. I pulled my hood tighter around my face, hoping it hid my features. I held a hand on the small of Two's back, trying not to worry too much. Someone handed me a strong smelling blue drink in a red Solo cup. I sipped it hesitantly, vodka and blue raspberry punch of some kind. I shrugged, downing the entire cup in a sip.

Two looked up at me, her smile faltering as she saw the cup in my hand. An unreadable expression appeared on her face for a moment and then disappeared. Was it fear? She turned back to the crowd, waving down a tall, thin girl in black heels, a silver sequin crop top, and tight black leather pants who was holding a pen and clipboard.