Safe House

Day Six

 Safe House One

            Nothing has happened. Let me say it again, so you don’t get your hopes up: Nothing. Has. Fucking. Happened. We are all safe and secure and perfectly happy with the state of mental and physical lockdown we are being forced to undergo.

            At least we’ve learned what’s happening on the outside-news reports said it was a terrorist attack. They bombed the subway down in Boston, and now everyone’s saying that the ones responsible are either in New Hampshire or Maine, going north. Well guess what-I think I just might’ve found who you’re looking for.

            I’ve finally gotten used to how freezing it is down here-I’m in a constant state of covered in goosebumps and a slight headcold. Not fun. There’s also absolutely nothing to do, and unfortunately, unlike Megan and Newt, I have lost my imagination and can’t let myself float into farway lands in the blink of an eye. The lucky bastards.

            Well-I mean-(oh god, I don’t want to say it)-James is here. And that’s good. Well, it’s better than I thought it would be. It’s like expecting to get a pair of socks for Christmas and instead getting an iPhone (true story, by the way, from when I was thirteen.) We spend most of our time talking, and although I’m not completely over his snark or his ability to sass when it’s extremely unnecessary, he’s…interesting. As in, it’s interesting to talk to him-his point of views are so focused, so definite, so much better than I’d ever be able to come up with. For example, take this conversation, had this morning after a depressing breakfast of a half a protein shake:

            “How many people do you think were killed in the attacks on the subway?” he starts, sitting down next to me. I’m slumped against the wall, thinking angsty thoughts and wishing I had my iPod.

            “Why the hell would I know?”

            He does that stupid laugh thing that makes my heart flicker a little. “Well, I have a pretty good guess.”

            “What is it, genius?”

            “Well, I’ve only heard one ad about donating to victims, which means it can’t be that many people. Then again, they have like five interviews with victim’s families a day, so it has to be a bunch, right? And considering the size of the attack, I’d say thirty people. Maximum.”

            “That’s-“ The old Emily, the pre-catastrophe Emily, would have had lots of words to fill this slot. Idiotic. Depressing. Malevolent. Bizzare. But this one comes up with just two stupid words-and then ugh, the idiot, she keeps going. “-really interesting. You know, it’s actually really cute when you go all Sherlock on me like that.” Mission abort. Mission abort. Goddamn it, you’re flirting. This was not part of the plan. I will not be the John to his Sherlock. I’m not turning my life into an adorable romance based off of 18th century crime fiction-

            He blushed, just a quick flash of color flying through his cheeks. “Really?”

            “Yeah.” Soft and delicate, my voice rushes out. And I think I mean it.

            “That’s really sweet of you to say.” One side of his lip curls up into that adorable half-smile, and I can’t help it, my hand is slowly slips towards his, and now it’s falling into his palm, and our soft skin finally slides against each other’s-

            And it’s like a beam of golden daylight, and I’m finally okay again.

Safe House Three

            I hope she died happy.

            We’re in a random little restaurant with questionable food quality, but I’m starving. But a lot has happened since one am this morning, so I should probably backtrack a little. A lot.