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"Bye."

He kisses me and then walks to the passenger side of the car. I stay there in the alley, watching them pull away before I walk home alone.

When I get inside, I slip off my shoes and crawl into bed. And I just stay there. Without work, withoutthem, I don't have a purpose. I don't know what to do with myself.

Hours later, there's a knock on my door. My heart jumps, but when I open it, there's no one there. Confused, I look around before noticing a delivery driver walking through the parking lot of the café toward his car. When I look down, there's a brown paper bag at my feet.

It's heavy; I smell Mexican food—my favorite—before I even open it, and my stomach rumbles, even though I'm not sure if I'll be able to eat much more than just the chips and rice.

The burrito looks really good, though.

I put on some music, like Tate did for me earlier, and make a plate.

sixteen

Waking Up is Hard to Do

Silas

"Are you going to tell me what your problem is?" I ask Tate after closing the car door behind me. He doesn't respond, watching Noah in the rearview mirror with his jaw tightly clenched as he pulls out onto the main road.

I reach over and place my hand on the back of his neck. "Tate?"

"Showing ourselves to her was a mistake," Tate says, shaking his head. "We should have just…done what we came here to do and fucking left. I just…"

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

Tate pulls into the motel, parking in the far back corner of the lot with the tailgate facing the forest behind the motel. "I'm talking abouther. She's under my fucking skin again; she's getting to me, and I…fuck! I want to choke the fucking life out of her. She'sevil."

"Evil?" I shrug. "Noahis evil?"

"She knows what she's doing. She's fucking with my head."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I don't even want to ask, but…

"Tate, if you've got something to say, I'm going to need you to be a hell of a lot less cryptic and just fucking say it."

"She always runs to you, doesn't she? It doesn't matter that I was the one who sat there and fed her and sang to her all morning. I'm not the one who made her chow down on her dad and gave her some kind of eating disorder, am I? But still, she runs to you every fucking time. She says shelovesyou. She needs me to know that no matter what I fucking do, I'm still the bad guy, and you're the fucking hero."

I narrow my eyes, unsure how to respond. I'm pretty sure there's at least one personal insult buried somewhere between the lines of what he just said, and it wasn't a mistake. I also know that whatever wall he's put up between himself and reality must be incredibly necessary to maintaining what's left of his sanity, because the mental fucking gymnastics he has to perform at this point for it to remain intact has got to be exhausting.

I'm genuinely worried about what would happen if he woke up. I'll do him a favor and not point out all the reasons Noah shouldn't love him, either.

"You're not wrong," I say. "Noah should hate me, and I told her that, too. You know what she was doing in the bathroom? Stealing a bunch of pills from the entire fucking pharmacy that woman has in her medicine cabinet so she can eat and sleep and get through the day without being in constant pain. And that's my fault. I already hate myself for it; I promise you, I don't need you to tell me how fucked it is—I already know."

"I didn't mean it like that."

I crinkle my nose. "Mmm…yeah, you did. And you're mad that she said she loved me. Have you ever told her you loved her?"

"Idon'tlove her. I fucking despise her." He turns off the vehicle, pulls the keys from the ignition, and unnecessarily throws them against the windshield. "And Ididtell her. Once. I practically said it, anyway."

"Practically? Then no, you didn't tell her."

"She knew what I meant."

"We're talking about Noah.I practically told herisn't good enough; you know that. You know better."

I rub the back of his neck, and Tate crosses his arms in front of him, leans back in his seat, and sighs. "I know you think she's innocent, but she's not."