The Runaway House

Twelve . Panic

   The ground is wet from the recent rain, which makes pulling the weeds with the roots still attached a simple task. But getting anything other than a disappointed sigh out of Samantha? That I can't seem to do this morning.

I glance at the garden. The whole thing is right behind the house, stretching well across the yard. Samantha and I only have to weed and collect the tomatoes. Thankfully, part of the tomato patch is in the shade of the house.

As the rest of the kids trail out of bed and find their way into the house, Samantha yanks the weeds out of the moist soil and throws them onto her pile.

I straighten up for a minute, giving my back a rest. "Sam. What's wrong?"

There's a struggle going on inside of her, like a demon and an angel are fighting for her words. She closes her eyes as tears spurt out.

"It's not fair, you know. I've been here for three years, working so hard for his attention. And then you just show up here one night, and he can't get enough of you!"

"He's just helping me adjust, that's all."

She looks up, a hard glare in her eyes. "So you two aren't a thing?"

I think back to his lips pressed against my temple, to his hands clutching my shirt the other night. Jubilee. Such a beautiful name.

But he knows I need time. I know I need time. So . . . what are we, exactly?

"I don't want to talk about it," I mumble, grasping a weed and pulling it out.

She sighs as Ben saunters past us, a nasty bruise lining his jaw. "You two got stuck weeding together, huh?" he comments.

"Not any longer." Samantha stands. "I quit. It's too hot for this." She stalks away, and Ben and I are alone in the yard. Everyone seems to have gone in to wait for lunch.

"Well." He kneels down next to me. "I don't see why I can't take her place."

I bite back a sarcastic remark as he reaches into the garden. Carefully, he plucks a perfectly ripe tomato off its vine.

"For you." He pushes it into my palm.

"I'll take it inside with the rest later." I yank a rather large weed out, speaking tersely. "Actually, since I'm almost done with the weeds, why don't you start collecting the ripe vegetables."

He doesn't move for a moment, staring at me. I don't know what he'd been expecting, but there is no way I'll succumb to the slightest flirtatious act from him. Ever.

He snatches up the basket and jerks the tomatoes off one of the plants.

I stand. "Ben! Be careful with them. You're going to ruin them all."

He looks up at me, and I realize my face is hard. My voice had been firm. As I'd stood, I'd practically yelled at him. His eyebrows are raised in surprise.

Instead of running away, like I had the other day, I'd stood up to him.

I cross my arms and give him a hard look. If I have anything to say about it, that definitely won't be the last stand I'll make. "If you're going to help, at least do it well. You've been here long enough. You should know how to pick tomatoes. "

Ben's eyes shift to behind me, and I realize we have an audience. It's just a few teenagers and one or two younger kids on their way inside. But I know who they are. They're the slightly more dramatic ones, along with Samantha.

They're all looking at me like I've made some sort of huge mistake. I turn back to Ben and see fury in his eyes now. I've insulted him in front of the ones who spread all the rumors. For just a second, my hard face melts into fear. But just as quickly, I raise my eyebrows.

"Well?"

Grudgingly, he stoops down and picks off the tomatoes with more care. I crouch and continue weeding, my heart fluttering in my chest. Would Ben let it go? Or was he going to get back at me?

I keep weeding, gulping down my fear, hoping Ben would view it as the trivial little comment it had been.

He's always so tough, so angry. All of the kids here are running from something—and I can't help but wonder what would send Ben running in the other direction.

I get into the house a bit before lunch. Penelope is at the sink, washing all the tomatoes Ben had brought in. "Stir the soup, would you, Lee?" she calls.

I oblige.

We work in silence as people weave in and out of the kitchen, checking to see if lunch is ready yet. They've got a rambunctious vibe today, too loud, too much. They're so happy, so carefree. Have they all forgotten their troubles? The Runaway House is a refuge for those who need to put some distance in between themselves and their problems. But can you really forget your past?

I just keep stirring, eyes on the tomato soup that reminds me too much of blood.

The thick liquid drips off the spoon, and my stomach flips. Involuntarily, my eyes close, and the spoon clatters on the stove.

"Lee, are you all right?"

My eyes slowly focus on Penelope's face, painted with concern. "Can you just give me a few minutes?" I croak.

She nods quickly, eyes wide, and I stumble into the living room. And even though it's empty, I know it won't be for long. So I climb the stairs, hands shaking uncontrollably.

You will not throw up. You will not throw up. You will not throw up.

I practically fall into the bedroom Travis had shoved me into the other day. Once the door is slammed shut, I fling myself onto the bed.

The comforter musty and old and unloved, but something about it is soothing. I sob into the pillow, holding fistfuls of the blankets. But no matter how tightly I hold on, I can't block out the images of my murderer. How many times did the man scream as he was stabbed, over and over again, blood draining down his body? What did he do to Travis's mother?

It takes at least an hour for all the tears to come out. By the end, I'm just a coughing, itchy-eyed mess. Hands still shaking, lip still trembling.

I curl up under the comforter, eyes closing from exhaustion. And, for a little while, my mind finds peace.

to the rad person reading part twelve: THANK YOUUUU!!! you mean a lot to me. <3 please do vote, and if you have any thoughts, leave them in the comments! i can't wait to post part thirteen!

xoxo,

rebekah