In Love and Diplomacy

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Things Worth Dying For

"I don't know where you're going,
But do you got room for one more troubled soul?
I don't know where I'm going, but I don't think I'm coming home
And I said, I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead
This is the road to ruin and we're starting at the end"

- Fall Out Boy, "Alone Together"

Chapter Twenty-Nine

We were on the road again.

Shortly after hanging up with Beck, Reed had ushered me into the car and forced me to sip water. We'd stopped at a local gas station, where he'd bought bland sandwiches and tried to get me to eat. I'd only nibbled at the sandwiches. I knew it'd been too long since I'd eaten, but I couldn't get much down. A sickly pool of dread was occupying too much space in my body; what little space remained was promptly filled with bitter, foul-tasting coffee.

Drinking caffeine? When you're already anxious and upset? Brilliant move, Avery.

The car was silent. I stared sullenly out the window as Reed's grip repeatedly tightened and loosened on the wheel, his eyes showing that his mind hadn't stopped yet.

We drove well into the night before I argued with him to pull over. He couldn't keep pushing himself. He needed sleep in a decent bed, and we both needed a break. I needed space, room to think, and time away from the reminders chasing the car.

When I finally annoyed Reed into submission, he chose an almost identical low-radar motel. Like the first one, motel number two offered little comfort. It was a small and dingy building, looking one deep breath away from collapsing like a house of cards. It wasn't the lack of luxury that bothered me; I knew we were on the run and staying low-profile. It was the realization that motels and lumpy beds were suddenly my life. It was the forceful awareness that the breakdowns I kept having could be the full expanse of my emotional future.

I wasn't sure Reed was faring much better. He didn't show the effects like I did, but I could tell he was different. He was tense and occupied. He was showing the nonstop requirements of being a part of Greystone, and bearing the heavy burden that came with accompanying a target. We didn't know how many people were involved, or if Warren was the true culprit. There was still doubt.

At least for me, there was a strong hesitance to accept theories as fact when all we had was photos.

At the motel I insisted on two rooms. Reed looked cautious, nervous about leaving me alone defenseless, though he'd only be a room over.

Defenseless against who? The Cawtons or emotional breakdowns?

Despite the tentative agreement on two rooms, I had a feeling he'd be checking on me frequently. What trust could I believe still existed between us? What goodwill could I still hold onto? What freedoms could I expect from him? He'd showed that he thought the worst of me and my intentions. I wouldn't be surprised if he was suspicious of how adamant I was about escaping his presence, either.

He didn't trust me. Well, a more accurate and honest admittance would be that he didn't trust anyone. He had such a strong, overly injured reaction to the photos, one that toppled over the line of intense paranoia. At the first sign of a reason to doubt, he'd immediately shut down, ignoring any cooperation I'd shown in our past interactions. He'd thrown any judgements of character drawn from our time together out the window the second there was something to question, and he'd glued himself to it.

If he'd made any conclusions from our time together, any decisions about who I was during the puzzles or the car rides, he'd immediately abandoned them in favor of accusations. I didn't even know where to start unraveling that.