Page 95 of Flock
It distorts the natural order of things. This is a no-picket-fence life.
But somewhere deep down I knew. I knew something was off—way off and clearly dangerous. I just didn’t realize how off, how dangerous. In a delusional way, I assumed it wouldn’t affect me.
The more I fall, the more entangled I become, and if I’m not careful, if I don’t choose out, I’ll be shackled in by new secrets.
But I’m leaving. In a year, I am leaving. That’s a definite. I’m not going to skip college or throw away my chances at a higher education for anyone.
How much can really happen in a year?
Tyler’s words the day we met come into mind.
“Crazy where a day can take you, huh? That’s nothing unusual around here.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I whisper into Sean’s hair. I need to sleep on this. My decision doesn’t have to be made today. I can distance myself until I’ve made it. I’ve got the willpower.
Liar.
I run my fingers through Sean’s hair, and he groans lightly in his sleep in thanks, making me smile.
Sleep evades me, and I untangle myself from Sean and toss the covers off me when I hear the distinct sound of an engine pull up in the drive. Padding down the stairs I find Dominic at the kitchen table, wrestling a small plastic-wrapped package with a freshly uncapped beer next to it.
“Is it broken?”
He looks up from where he sits, eyes sweeping over me before getting back to his task. I approach him and take the thick gauze from his hand and gently examine his injury. Both his wrist and hand are twice their normal size.
“Ouch. Could be broken.”
“I can bend it.”
“You okay?”
“Shitty night,” he grabs his beer from the table and takes a long pull.
“Where’s Tyler?” I ask, starting on his bandage.
“He’s indisposed.”
“Did something else happen?”
“He’s good. Business as usual.”
“Just a party, right?” I can feel his eyes on me as I carefully layer the material snugly against his skin. “Tell me if it’s too tight.”
“Why are you going along with this?”
I pause and meet his silvery depths, which threaten to pull me under, and dart my eyes away. When I make my decision, I need to be far away from the two distractions that will only make it harder to step away. “I’m not sure if I am yet.”
“I didn’t think you were the type.”
“I’m not—it’s just as surprising to me, if you want the truth.”
“Always.”
One side of my mouth lifts as I carefully wrap his wrist and hand. “Says the deviant liar.”
“Some people can’t handle the truth,” he drains the rest of his beer. “It’s best to let them count sheep.”
“Always so cryptic.”
