Until. We. Die

.10.

Waking up in a room that isn't my own doesn't process in my brain in the morning. I pass it off as normal, that I wake up in a panic because I am not at home and in immediate danger in the morning.

I know that being in danger every morning isn't normal, but right now it is easier to think my panic and stress from being safe is more normal than not. Every morning I wake up to clean walls, a clean room, and soft bed sheets that I am pretty sure have never been used before I came here, and it causes a sense of panic I can't get over.

I know that this situation isn't permanent, and as I sit up in bed gasping for air and watching my surroundings, I almost wish it could be permanent.

It's been three days since I've been living with the Rhodes, and as much as it feels right to be here, I know everything they are doing for me is so wrong.

So illegal.

And I haven't been able to wrap my head around why they are doing what they are, how they are so okay with it, how on earth everyone they know outside of town won't go and tell on them. Turn me into the local police station because I am a runaway minor.

When I've tried to get it out of Mary, her response is always "You're mother was my best friend, I would do anything for you, Tristan." And every time she says it I can see the pain of not having my mother here. It flashes over her clear as day, thinking about her.

As I wandered down the house halls, I saw pictures of my mom; Her and Mary, her and dad, her at my junior soccer games with Hunter on the side cheering for me. Me and her. Those hurt the most to see the most because they haven't been in my dad's home for years now. When she passed away, anything with me and her together left the house, I hardly remember any photo we had together outside of the ones on the Rhodes walls.

Hunter's heavy knock on the bedroom door has me jerking my head to the side, yet my breathing evens out as he cracks open the door and tells me breakfast is ready if I want it. Saturday morning breakfast with the Rhodes used to be a staple in our family. We'd go to the old dinner in town that had the greasiest bacon. Hunter and his dad Dean would have bacon eating contests every week there.

Now they eat in their home as a family on Saturday mornings instead of the old diner in town. "Tristan? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Get your head out so I can change." Tossing the blanket aside, I haul my legs over the bed and stretch them before walking to the closet where Mary had gotten weeks' worth of clothes for me. Hunter stared at my braced leg, a look of pain etching into his face before closing the door and leaving me alone again in a perfect bedroom.

Two and a half weeks left, then I would be gone. Away from this perfect home and away from this shitty town. Forever.

----------

"Why do you have to sit by me every morning?" I mumbled to Hunter as I slowly piled a spoonful of cereal into my mouth. He sat next to me again, like the previous morning, and the afternoon before too.

"It's a chair."

"There are six other chairs at this table alone." I looked at every empty seat at the table and then him, pointing to one across from me for him to move. But he didn't even blink as he dumped cereal into his bowl too.

He reached over me for the milk instead of asking for it like a normal person would, "I wanna sit here."

"Why?"

He smiled and gave me a sideways look, "Why do you question everything I do?" He stood to get a spoon, walked away and left his bowl next to me.

"Because it entertains me oh so much, Hunter." Sarcasm laced my voice, and I caught the small smile he got from it.