Page 29 of Remnants: Disruption
The hint of shadow cast by Percy’s head peaks around her, as if it had been hiding just behind her. Its face is grotesque and hardly recognizable.
“What looks good?” she asks, not looking up.
A bullet to the brain. Though I don’t even think that would kill me.
Dark thought. That was a dark thought.
“I think the scallops sound good,” I say, trying my best to block out the grinning spirit.
God, are they even spirits? Or is my fragmenting mind just using this as its medium?
“Great,” she says. “Anthony likes the red here, too.”
I almost laugh at the way she shifts back to safer topics. I don’t blame her.
Who would want to discuss the fact that I’m seeing ghosts?
And the dinner passes just like that: superficially.
To Anthony’s credit, the red is good. And the scallops are good, too. With the three sips and four bites I’ve had, at least. Percy makes no comment about my lack of appetite, for which I’m grateful.
At no point during dinner does Percy bring up my admission in the car. In fact, she holds the entire conversation on her broad shoulders.
“Are you ready?” she asks after what feels like hours of polite head nodding and smiling.
I blink a few times before nodding numbly.
“Will we need a to-go box?” the waitress asks from beside me. This time, I do startle slightly.
When did she get here?
“Would Anthony want these?” I ask Percy, hating the taste of his name on my tongue.
“No,” she says with a small smile. “He’s allergic.”
Fucking loser.
Stop it, Arya. Bad.
The waitress nods and places the dPad on the table, the bill insanely high for such a small amount of food.
I notice the half-eaten dessert plate beside Percy’s own.
When did she order desert?
We’re outside in the brisk October air before my mind can catch up with the movement.
“What’s your fucking issue?” Percy asks, her stunningly harsh tone cutting through the haze of my mind.
“Excuse me?” I ask, turning to her.
Her eyes are lit with a fire I’ve not seen since, well, this morning. Except I suspect this is actually aimed at me, rather than my alter ego.
“You’ve checked out. I’m not pissed that you’re in a bad place, don’t get me wrong. I’m pissed that you’ve suddenly decided to shut me out. It’s been almost a decade, Arya.”
“I told you,” I say, somewhat numbly. “I’m dealing with a lot.”
“Then why wouldn’t you tell me?” she asks, her voice finally softening. And goddamnit I can’t help the way I want to spill everything.
