I could have kisses like that for the rest of my life. Kisses that don’t know who I am. Kisses that make me feel more and less than what I am. But my finger tap tap taps on my leg and reminds me that I am not who Adam thinks I am, and it makes me want to cry. It’s not that I don’t deserve his kiss. It’s that the person I am can never really share a life, a soul, with the person he is.
He pulls back, looks down at the bed with a semicircle sweep of his lashes. “I’m sorry, I know we don’t really know each other, but I’ve wanted to do that.”
I sigh and glance at the clock; it’s time. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not. Thanks again. And don’t forget to call.”
He feels right for this. It’ll be okay. I stand and walk out of the room, jog down the hall. Back to the lobby area. I’m in luck, Sarah and Cole and, oh, even better, Sandy blond who had the gun (he has no gun today) are all in there. Sandy blond looks at me with barely disguised anger. His knee is in a brace.
Sarah smiles. “There you are. We were just talking about you.”
“I’m sure you were.” (Freestanding chair still next to the window, which is not plate glass nor does it have mesh wiring in it to prevent shattering.)
“I was wondering if you might be willing to give us a better idea of what you did for the school and why they were so invested in you. You said you were ‘hands’?”
“Hands, yes. Also stock predictor, corporate espionage specialist, fight picker, and resident scary psychotic chick.”
Sarah looks sad. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through. Would you like to talk about it?”
I stretch both shoulders, crack my neck, crack my knuckles. This is going to hurt. Nothing to be done for it. “Nope, don’t want to talk about anything. You were using past tense to describe my work with Keane. You should use present tense. I am their hands.”
“But—” Sarah looks confused. More evidence she shouldn’t be doing this. She should look scared.
Cole understands. He quickly rises from the couch, puts himself between Sarah and me. Sandy blond is slower but he, too, stands, limps closer. I smile and hold both of my hands out wide.
“I really am sorry about this. But a girl’s gotta do…” I lower my head and charge into Sandy blond, catching him around the middle and knocking him to the floor with a loud oof.
Cole picks me up and throws me off Sandy blond. I roll; my face smacks into the floor, hard. It will bruise. Good. I stand, shaking off the daze.
“I won’t let you destroy this,” Cole says. They need him. I’m so glad he’s here.
“I’m not going to breathe a word about you.” I swing at his head, making my movements obvious and wide. He ducks under my fist, slams his own into my face where I already hit it on the floor. I spin, hit the wall, use it to hold myself up.
Pain, pain, pain.
“I really am sorry.” I look at Sarah, who is watching all this in horror. “And I promise not to tell them anything. But I’ve got to go.”
I run for the window, twisting out of Cole’s reach, then throw the chair through the glass with a resounding crash. Duck down, fist over my head again, kick out, Cole goes down, I see a knife on his belt.
I hit him in the nose, it’s probably broken, then snake my hand out and slide the knife out of the sheath.
“Sofia, please.” Sarah stands, holding her hands out. “You don’t have to do this.”
“No. I really do.”
“Then walk out the door. We’ll let you.”
I laugh. She’s so sweet. “Oh, I know. I just need physical evidence for a good escape story. I was knocked unconscious, kept in a cell, and fought my way out without speaking to a soul. I have no idea who took me. Good luck. Take care of Adam.”
I climb out the window, letting the jagged edges of the glass catch on my arms, cut me. Then I run down the sidewalk.
Today is the end. Today I am done reacting. All these years I’ve been turning myself off, letting my paths choose themselves. After today I am acting. I am choosing.
I am going to do truly terrible things. Unthinkable things. But the back of my head is buzzing with right right right. I laugh, slide the knife into my pocket, and run toward the arch.
When I am close I pull out the stolen phone.
James answers immediately. “Fia? You escaped!” He must be with others if he’s lying. “Where are you? We’ll come get you.”
“I want Annie underneath the arch. No one else. If anyone is with her, if anyone approaches her, I’ll run and you’ll never see me again.”
“Come on, you know—”
“This is my only offer, James. Annie right underneath the arch. I know you’ll be watching. That’s fine. But she needs to be by herself. You know I can’t take her and run fast enough to get away. Tell them I’m confused and scared, and I need to see my sister, alone.”
“Why?”
“Annie under the arch. Now.” I put myself in the middle of a tour group, walk casually, circling closer. It’s a beautiful day, clear blue sky. Warm. A day for endings and beginnings. I glance behind me. Cole is tracking me, trying to be invisible. That’s fine. I look toward the arch and see a man—Darren from the hall—walk Annie to the center of the cement underneath. Then he looks all around and walks away. I watch him, trace him. No one can be too close. Annie looks so small. So alone.