Page 110 of Romancing in Rot

“But I’m trying to be stronger. For the group.”

A pause. My hand flexes around the cardboard box still in my grip.

“For you,” I add, softer.

The confession hangs there between the shelves, surrounded by dust and rust and all the things we’re collecting to survive tomorrow. My face burns.

“I just . . .” I force myself to keep going before fear swallows the rest. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Leon shakes his head once. Hard.

My brow furrows. “No?”

He takes the box from me and sets it with care that feels almost violent, his body shaking with obvious anger. He starts signing so fast his hands blur.

“Leon—”

He shakes his head again and keeps going, even though I have no idea what he is saying. A week’s worth of ASL lessons on the down-low with Trish is clearly not enough to decipher angry Leon at full speed.

Shocker.

He steps closer, then stops himself. Restraint locks through him. His hands flex at his sides before he forces them still. His jaw tightens like touching me would be easy and not touching me is costing him something.

Confusion must show on my face because he huffs in frustration and rips his notebook out of his pocket, writing furiously.

Shit.

Did I say something wrong?

Tears burn at the corners of my eyes.

Stupid.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Some reckless part of me wants to ask him to stop being careful.

Another part wants to run before he proves care can still hurt.

“Forget I said anything,” I whisper.

I turn around the end of the aisle, trying to outrun my humiliation⁠—

A hand clamps over my mouth.

Hard.

My back slams into a body, an arm locking across me and yanking me tight.

The smell hits first. Sweat soaked into fabric. Stale breath. Something ripe and unwashed that burns my nose.

A blade presses to my throat.

“Got you,” a voice mutters against my ear.

My pulse spikes so hard the store tilts.

My rifle is yanked away from me first, knocking against the shelf, rattling plastic containers and cardboard boxes before it hits the floor with a heavy thud. My backpack drops next, the crowbar inside clanging against the tile.