"𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞."
Lou Johnston and Eddy "Boone" Higgins, two former best friends whose paths diverged after high school. Now, years later, they find themselves inexplicably draw...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
★
Morning came quietly, but I felt it creeping up before the sun broke the horizon. The weight of everything kept me pinned under the blankets, though the cool air had me wishing I could stay there longer. Boone's arm was slung over me, heavy and warm, and I didn't want to move. It was like we were tucked away in some world where nothing outside could touch us, not the tornadoes, not the maniac, not even the looming threat of another chase.
But, eventually, reality caught up.
I rolled over slowly, careful not to wake him, and stared at the canvas of the tent above us. My mind was already racing, going over everything that had happened and everything that was still hanging in the air. Boone shifted beside me, and I could feel his breath on my neck, soft and steady. It was a small comfort, knowing he was still here. That we were still here.
But I knew this calm wasn't going to last. The maniac wouldn't let it.
Boone stirred, his arm tightening around me for a second before he blinked awake. His eyes met mine, a sleepy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Mornin'," he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.
"Mornin'," I replied, forcing a small smile back. There was a part of me that wanted to pretend everything was fine, just for a little longer, but the knot in my chest wouldn't let me. "You sleep alright?"
"Better than I thought I would," he said, stretching his arms above his head before leaning back on his elbows. "Guess exhaustion's finally catching up."
"Yeah," I muttered, sitting up. I rubbed at my eyes, trying to chase away the lingering fog of sleep. "Can't keep running forever, I guess."
Boone sat up beside me, his hand resting on my knee. It was a simple touch, but it grounded me, brought me back from the edge of my thoughts. "You're thinkin' too much again," he said, his voice gentle but firm.
I shrugged, not really knowing how to respond. "Hard not to."
"We're alive, Lou," Boone said, his tone taking on that matter-of-fact edge that he always seemed to find when I got too far in my head. "That's something."
He was right, of course. We were alive. The tornado had passed, and so had the maniac-for now. But there was still this gnawing feeling in my gut, this sense that we were far from safe. Like we'd just been given a temporary reprieve, a moment to catch our breath before everything came crashing down again.
"I know," I said quietly, my gaze fixed on the ground. "But it's not over."
Boone didn't argue. He just sat there, his hand still on my knee, giving me the space to sort through whatever it was I was feeling. He didn't need to say anything. He never did. That was the thing about Boone-he just knew when to push and when to let things be.
