6/6
Midnight came around after eternity.
We had stopped to let me change in the privacy of a moist cave, though I'd been freezing for the following hours. Drake severed my collar in two using a vibrating hand. For a second, I thought he would sever my head from my neck, and he and Oscar would leave my headless body to the cold. But he didn't. However, he didn't seem too keen on getting any nearer than he had to. I didn't blame him. I felt the same way.
It felt weird having the collar off. Oscar had pocketed the capsule in it. The one that held the mysterious substance that stifled my abilities. He claimed to want to analyze it when we got back. Wherever we were going. I had a feeling he wanted to keep it close in case I acted up.
The zip ties around my hands were cut off, and I continue to rub my wrists in order to keep the blood flowing. I can barely move my fingers, and I'm numb from the elbows down.
Even still, I am ever the relieved. I feel like I can breathe for the first time in years. Again, I can hardly believe I'm free. In a way.
We hadn't gotten to the hotel by midnight. In fact, we got there two hours past midnight. I'm still tired from the years of restless nights in prison. I can hardly stand on my two feet.
In the lobby, snow piles in the corners and by the door, while countless puddles litter the floor. A few potted plants reside in the corner, fake I'm sure. It's warm in here, humid even. My fingers have begun to numb, and my eyes are heavy. I'm too focused on sleep to see whether or not the people around here are suspicious of us. After all, they are harboring a fugitive. Though no one resides in the seating area, I'm sure many eyes have watched us trudge through the woods into the hotel.
Besides the locals' confirmed suspicion, Drake's glares keep them from asking questions. Most of the people here are pale, almost paler than death, with the amount of sun they get, which isn't a lot. I could fit in here, if I tried. I could wear plaid coats, two pairs of sweatpants, and hunting boots and I'd be good. Oh, and a dog circling my feet. Maybe a horse parked out back, or a four-wheeler. I want to elbow the man with green eyes. We might want answers from someone and he keeps scaring them off.
The receptionist goes to the back to get the key, and while she does, I manage to smack Drake's forearm. He merely glances at me, resuming his intense stares with a turn of his head. When she comes back around and hands Oscar the key, she matches Drake's look with a tense smile. Then she glances at me, and I see something click in her head.
And I know exactly what she's thinking.
"Are you two . . . together?" she asks, narrowing her eyes.
I want to spit and sneer, but an arm wraps around my shoulders and draws me close. In my mind, I am cursing like a madwoman. "Yes." Though he says it without emotion, he gives me a lopsided smile. A smile so convincing we may as well be best friends at this point. I know well enough that I have to behave in order to live, so I smile shyly and turn away, leading us to the elevator.
My face burns as the pressure releases off my shoulders. I open my mouth to say something, but the door opens, and a black family steps out, kids squealing and running around the parents' feet. Amusement swells in my chest as the mother herds her children out of our way and the father follows, close on her heels.
One of the kids, the oldest, maybe, steps towards me. She points at my face. "What happened to your hair?"
At first, I think she's referring to the mess it is, but when I take a strand and finger it, I notice that it's gray. Brown still appears at the roots, but gray takes up most of the threads. I silently gasp to myself, pulling more hair into my hands and examining them. All gray. Silver. Worn.
YOU ARE READING
The Artist
FantasyThe earth has never been the same since powers were discovered in some humans. Some think a curse is responsible, maybe a divine punishment, but all Avenue North has ever known is torture since she found out she had powers. Avenue is a freak, im...