Storm

Chapter Fifty-Three

It was nearly midnight and Noah still hadn't returned.

According to the little digital clock beneath his TV, it'd been many hours since he'd disappeared after Emma. He'd told me he'd be right back...but it really didn't seem like it.

And I wasn't really comfortable staying put.

I knew I was injured. The pain had started to come back. But I also didn't think staying with these two was a good idea.

For one, I couldn't stop thinking about Asten.

About what could be happening to him. I assumed he wasn't dead. Not because it was a good assumption, but because I simply could not think otherwise. I had to assume he wasn't dead. It would make sense, wouldn't it? Mika hadn't killed me immediately...so he wouldn't kill him.

And he had connections. I needed to stay hopeful. It felt a bit like brainwashing myself, but it was better than utterly panicking.

If Asten wasn't dead, he'd probably been taken to wherever January, Elijah, and Kyan were. Assuming they, too, weren't dead.

But if they were still alive, I doubted they would be for long. All of us had disobeyed this government. That's why we'd tried to go after them in the first place.

But now everything was a mess. They were all taken. I had no idea what had happened to Ava, Ian, and everyone else from Ava's group. I was frankly even worried about Max and if he was still all right. I'd been torturing myself with millions of possibilities for the many hours since Noah had left, and all I'd succeeded in doing was making myself severely worried.

I felt hopeless. Helpless. And like I had no options.

That's why I'd started making the assumptions. Assumptions about people being alive when they quite frankly might not be.

There was still a chance.

I had to do something.

Anything really. I just couldn't suffer lying on a couch for a moment longer knowing what could be happening to the only people I cared about.

The first step was to stand up.

Fortunately, Noah hadn't been totally thoughtless in leaving me alone for many hours. He'd left a pair of wooden crutches by the door, which he'd probably bought after ditching me the first time. Unfortunately, they were still a couple feet away. Which meant I'd have to do some hopping.

Sitting up was easy. My leg still hurt a lot, but I'd address that next. I gritted my teeth and carefully swung my good leg off the couch. Then, I dragged my bad leg behind it. I could barely feel the skin surrounding the wound, as he'd injected a numbing agent when he'd first started working on it.

That didn't stop it from hurting.

I probably should have taken things a bit slow. But I was also impatient. I pushed myself up and ended up nearly falling forward, gripping onto the living room table for my life. My injury pounded even more. Not the best start.

Actually getting to the crutches was an awkward hop where I tried my best to hold on to the couch. Eventually, I had to let go, and nearly face-planted the wall the crutches were leaning on. But I'd made it.

Figuring out how to use them was easy. I'd seen enough people on crutches to know. One of my close friends in middle school had been stuck with them for months after she broke her leg.

Next step: get painkillers.

I would not make it very far without being drugged up.

It took me a second to get used to the feeling of the crutches. All I had to do was put them in front of me and trust that I wouldn't fall right? Then, just repeat that. Just like walking.

I carefully placed the ends of the crutches about a foot ahead of me on the carpet and pushed.

This time, I fell on top of the table.

Pain lanced up my leg, and I let out a low groan. My face was pressed against the cool glass, and I'd definitely scattered every magazine everywhere. I was shocked the table itself hadn't broken. That would've created a whole host of new problems.

Screw it.

I shoved myself back up, grabbed one of the crutches, and crudely hobbled to the kitchen, ignoring the pain and my possibly now bleeding wound. I immediately started banging open every door I could find, desperate for whatever pain medication Noah had put me on. Finally, I found a small orange bottle that looked right. I didn't think twice before pouring one...two...and you know what? Why not five? Pills into my palm.

I didn't think twice before downing them with a glass of water.

It took me a lot of hobbling and nearly falling over to get back to the couch, pick up the one abandoned crutch and eventually get to the door.

I was sure I looked as terrible as I felt.

I fell out onto the street, barely holding myself up with the crutches. At least there wasn't as much clutter outside for me to trip on.

I kept going. I didn't have a destination. But maybe if I headed somewhere, I'd get answers. I needed some kind of start.

I couldn't just accept that they were all dead.

As I pushed myself down the dark empty street, my leg began hurting less and less. None of Noah's neighbors seemed to be out and about, although I could see a couple storefronts and neon signs at the end of the street. Something drew me towards them.

As I got a bit closer, bits and pieces of music rang out into the open night air to reach me. It was clearly a piece that was driven by a cheerful, jazzy piano part. There was something about it that hit me. The sound reached into my soul and seemed to pull out a bit of happiness I hadn't felt in a while. Maybe it was the drugs, too. Maybe that's I suddenly felt light as a feather. I was one of the notes, being flown through the air and up towards the cold, cloudy atmosphere.

I began to hum along with the song as I walked. Because I was walking again. I put pressure on my leg despite knowing it was a bad idea. And I moved towards that neon light. An Italian restaurant. Inside, I could see couples holding hands, smiling to each other, quietly chatting. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been inside a live restaurant. The last time I'd politely ordered from a waiter, laughed with friends, and tasted something so delicious I had to go back for more.

I couldn't remember what it felt like to go out and be carefree. To live like Noah and Emma. To get take out. To live. To be transported back in time, when life still went on, and when mine hadn't been ripped to shreds.

I never thought too much about my old life. It reminded me too much of the pain of losing my mom, of losing the rest of my family and my friends. Of knowing for a fact that every single person in that past was forever gone. It was an alternate reality for me, some staged play that I could never fully be a part of.

It was a long gone dream.

I fell to my knees, staring at that bright light. Staring at the couple by the window, listening as the beat of the music picked up, as it got faster and more exciting. The speakers blasted it as I felt myself drift off. I was so tired.

I lied down on the pavement.

I heard Noah call my name.

But I was just tired.