FAKE

nine

We arrive at Adam's miniscule apartment.

Neither man had decided to wake me up, but thankfully the car door slamming shut was enough to scare me into consciousness. I scramble out of the car before Adam locks it and follow them to his door.

He goes through an assortment of keys,until he finds the one he seems to be looking for and unlocks the door. It swings open, and he ushers us both inside.

"I've only got one extra bedroom, but there's a pull out couch for whoever is okay with it." He offers and motions to the couch sitting in the corner of his living room. Down the hall I can see a few doorways, to which I assume the bedrooms are located. Ross shrugs.

"I can take the couch." He offers and glances at me. I nod and follow Adam to the guest room, then sit down on the bed and listen to the two of them as they set up the couch for Ross.

"So who's she?" Adam asks in a low voice, probably assuming I can't hear him.

"My old girlfriend."

"She's your ex?"

"Well.. we never actually broke up. But yeah, you could say that."
I scowl at their conversation. He talks so fluently and nonchalantly to Adam. Why is he so snippy towards me?

"But why is she here? Isn't that slowing you down?"  Adam continues.

"It is, believe me. But if I leave her she either won't be able to find her way back, get caught, or worse, get caught and tell them where I am."

Well I feel wanted.

"Ah. Makes sense. Does she know much?"

"No. I'd rather keep quiet than risk her telling someone."

At his betraying words, I finally give up on listening to them. I fall back onto the bed and press a pillow over my head in hopes I won't have to hear anymore and maybe suffocate while I'm at it.

***

I wake with a start for what seems to be absolutely no reason. The room is cold, but the quilts are warm and I bundle under them to shield myself from the chilly air nipping at my skin.

I pray for sleep to return, buts it's too late.

I am awake and will be for the rest of the day.

I slowly push back the blankets and stand, then quietly walk out to see if either one of the others are awake.

He is, sitting upright on the couch and fiddling with his jacket. There's a loose stitch on the inside that he silently picks at.

A few years ago, he'd just be on his phone, and I don't see how he isn't having withdrawals. I guess its been long enough that he doesn't care.

His head lifts when I put my weight on the wooden floor and it creaks faintly.

"Hey." He acknowledges and waits for my response.

"Hi." I mutter and sit on the opposite end of the couch from him, then bring my knees to my chest and hug them tightly. He is studying me with a stony expression, and its making my skin crawl.

"Where are we going next? When does it stop?" I ask softly.

He shakes his head. "It doesn't." He looks back down at his jacket and continues picking at the loose stitch. "We're headed to San Diego," he explains slowly, and I can tell by his tone he is finding it hard to trust me with his plan.

"Final destination will be anywhere I can get in Texas. It's the farthest I can get from Los Angeles with friends to help. Someone will help you when we get to Texas. I have friends there, but it will take planning, and that's hard without immediate communication."

I leave him when we get to Texas?

I don't say anything.

"Why are you running?"

I've lost count of how many times I've asked him this, and wait for some stupid excuse or heavy silence.

"Have you ever fired a gun, Courtney?" He asks after a pause. I furrow my eyebrows and stare at him. He turns so he is facing me, and crosses his legs, sitting there, and leaning forward slightly.

"There's a moment where everything slows as you take aim, and you realize how much force you have to use to pull the trigger," he says this thoughtfully, as if it's really that intriguing, "then the bullet explodes from the chamber and you go deaf for a moment. I used to think it was exhilarating."

"I don't see where you're going with this."

"There's the problem," He continues as if I didn't interject, "I'm the problem. They compared me to a gun, because I fired off and sometimes didn't hit the target and other times hurt people. I'm a loaded gun, Courtney. And they're terrified of me."

His eyes are bright and alert. It's unsettling.

"Your point is? Why are you running?"

"They're scared of me. What do people do when they're afraid of something? They dispose of the threat as quickly as possible."

"Someone's trying to kill you?" I raise my voice in alarm, and he jumps forward and presses his hand over my mouth.

"Shut up. This is an apartment. There are neighbors on the other sides of these walls."

I nod slowly, and he pulls his hand away.

"That's why I had to get out. I thought I was okay, but they've found out, so I have to leave again."

I can't believe he's telling me this all of a sudden. It's unlike him.

"Who are they?" I ask, trying to take advantage of his willingness to tell me.

Then I know he's realized, and I've pushed the limit.

I can see the enthusiasm draining from his eyes as he moves away again and goes back to the stupid stitch on the jacket.

Silence crashes over us, and it lasts for an eternity.

I finally can't take it and move over so I am sat next to him. I take the jacket from him and use my nail to pull out the stitch, then look up at him without a word.

I study his somber face, as he stares without a reaction in silence.
His eyes are dark with what I hope isn't anger.

We stay motionless with our eyes glued to each other.

The next thing I know, we are leaning towards each other and his lips are suddenly on mine.

My heart  is fluttering, my younger self is ecstatic to revive the memory of how he tastes.

I am suddenly a few years younger again, light-hearted, and free of burden. He is innocent to me again, and just as in love as we both were.

The kiss is soft and sweet. Just like they used to be.

But my heart suddenly lurches because I know it is fake.

I jump back, my eyes wide in bewilderment at our actions and my reminiscing of the good times. He doesn't say a word, but he looks just as confused and regretful.

I scramble to my feet and briskly walk back to the guest room, my cheeks are hot with embarrassment and anger at myself and I close the door harshly.

I dive back into the bed and try to force myself back to sleep to forget what just happened.