Page 118 of The Outsider
“Didn’t ask for your opinion, asshole,” John snarled. “Keep walking.”
Silence followed, and I let out a breath as I slumped against the wall, equal parts relieved and terrified. Another minute passed before the old door swung open again, the hinges squealing in protest. John stood in the doorway, his pistol back in its holster at his hip. His expression was still hard and focused, the way it always was in the wake of a crisis.
“You hurt?” John asked. “Did he touch you?”
I shook my head, feeling mute with shock. He gave me a once-over, clearly looking for signs of injury that I wasn’t reporting. Satisfied that I was in one piece, he offered me his hand.
“Come on,” he said gruffly. “Let’s go home.”
I slid my hand into his and he led me back towards the Lodge.
“How did you know I was in trouble?” I asked, staring at Zach’s footprints in the fresh, shimmering snow.
“I saw him leave and had a hunch,” he answered, cold fury in his voice. “Thought he was being slick. Stupid motherfucker.”
Back inside the Lodge, everything seemed normal: music was still playing, and people were dancing, laughing, chatting amongst themselves. Kimmy and Asha were dancing together in the centre of thefloor, looking happier than I’d seen them look together. Tonight seemed like a big night for them, and it was about to be ruined.
I pulled back on John’s hand, and he stopped, giving me a quizzical look. I leaned in close so he could hear over the music.
“Don’t tell them,” I said. “Just say I got sick or something. I don’t want to spoil things for them.”
“No,” John said firmly. “They can do what they want, but I’m not keeping this secret.”
He went to tap Kimmy on the shoulder. He spoke rapidly in her ear. She looked over in my direction with concern but nodded at whatever John said. She immediately leaned over to talk to Asha, who was still on her arm. John returned to me and took my hand again, leading me through the lounge and back outside to the truck.
“They’ll be okay getting home without us?”
“Yeah,” he said. “They’ll get a ride with Danny and Jenna.”
“Hey, Red!”
Zach was standing ten feet away under a tree, but he wasn’t alone this time. The other four Jameson brothers were with him, smoking what I could only assume were hand-rolled cigarettes. My heartbeat resumed its frantic rhythm.
“The carpet match the drapes?”
A barrage of male laughter assaulted my ears.
“Hey Madigan, anyone ever tell you that sharing is caring?” one of the other brothers called. “Pass your compound whore around and let us all get a taste.”
I flushed with humiliation and turned away. In an instant, John had stepped between me and them, partially shielding me from view.
“Ignore them,” he muttered, glaring at the men as he held the passenger door open for me. They continued to shout what I assumed were more crude comments, but at least I couldn’t make them out once the truck door was closed. John said something in reply, low and menacing, before getting in the truck.
The ride back to Summerhurst was silent, and though John appeared calm, I knew better. His hands were tight on the steering wheel, and tension emanated from him in waves.
I leaned back against the worn leather seat, staring out the window blankly. I felt as though something precious inside of me had been shattered. I’d been adapting to Valley life so well until tonight,and although I knew that full acceptance was still some way off, it seemed like I was making significant progress…enough that I’d allowed myself to feel secure. Remembering what I’d told John just a few nights ago brought tears of shame to my eyes.
I’d been so unbelievably naïve. Still, even now, more than a year after leaving the Cave, I was too stupid to understand the reality that being in the Wasteland meant I’d never be safe. Between the Order and the Jamesons, even the safest place in the Wasteland wasn’t safe forme. I’d been so foolish to ever let my guard down for even a moment.
I swallowed against the bitter taste in my mouth. In some strange way, it was probably karmic justice that I was getting a taste of my own medicine from the Wastelanders I’d once feared and scorned. I was now the outsider in a world I wasn’t built to survive in.
Once we were home, things were a blur. John told me he was going to lock up, and I nodded absently, feeling numb, before heading to our room. I felt oddly itchy, as though I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. I headed into the ensuite bathroom.
I turned on the shower and waited until the water was almost scalding. The heat was a relief. I scrubbed away the mysterious itch until my skin was red and angry-looking. I dried and changed into a heavy nightgown before getting into bed. I huddled under the covers, feeling chilled somehow despite nearly cooking myself.
John came in a few minutes later, stopping next to the bed with a glass of amber liquid in each hand.
“Here,” he said softly, holding one out to me. “Thought you could use a drink.”
