Page 41 of Pretty Poisoned
Freedom.
Isn't that what I told Declan I wanted last night? That it was my drug of choice?
Why did I say that?
"You good?" River asks.
"Yeah, I'm good. Thanks. I'll see you later," I say, then turn and begin down the trail.
It's forty-five degrees and sunny—probably warm for a February day in this part of the country. Still, I stuff my hands into the jacket pockets, and my cheeks flush from the cold as I walk through the dense forest of mostly-dead things. It makes it a little more difficult to detect the beaten path, but I must stay on it because eventually, I can hear the waterfall in the near distance.
It's small—maybe five feet high—but the volume of water spilling over is more than I expected. Remnants of icicles drip from the river's rocks, indicating it likely was much colder days ago. There's a small clearing facing the afternoon sun, and I lie down in the brush, enjoying the feel of the sun on my face.
I don't know how long I stay like that, and that in itself is a new experience.
Eventually, I hear footsteps shuffling through the twigs and dead leaves around me.
"Are you dead?" Luca asks.
I laugh. "No, I'm not dead."
He lies beside me in the muddy clearing. "You've been gone a long time."
"Have I?" I ask. "I honestly can't tell. You look even weirder with a coat on, by the way."
"That's hurtful," he says. "I actually felt like I looked really nice in this coat."
I turn toward him and laugh again. "I'm sorry. It's a super great coat. You do look really nice."
"Nope. Too late for that. You already said it."
I look at him and feel something vaguely familiar in my lower gut, and I realize something…Idoactually like him. And not just like I wanted to sleep with him—I really like him. I like River, too—I like all of them, really, except maybe Declan. I wonder what they'd do if they found out I was here under false pretenses.
I wonder if I'd be able to produce a podcast that could potentially hurt them after knowing them.
I quickly put the thought out of my head. If they're hurting people—if they're killing them—then, of course, I'll do the right thing.
I'm not a bad person.
And if I'm wrong, then, well…maybe that won't be so bad.
I prop myself up on my elbow. "Let me ask you something."
"Okay," he says, slipping an arm around my waist.
"Why are you in timeout?"
"Timeout?" he repeats.
"That's what River called it," I tell him. "Why do people keep saying you're dangerous?"
"Mmm…I don't want to tell you that," he says.
"Mmm…I'm probably just gonna…" I slip out from under his arm and begin scooting away from him. "Move over here then."
"No, don't," he says, laughing. "Okay, wait. Wait. Maybe…if you tell me something really fucked up about you, I'll tell you."
"How do I know if my thing meets your qualifications forreally fucked up?"
