Page 258 of Fragments

He’ll know to meet me in California, where we agreed we’d go.

Follow the fireworks, baby. I’ll find you.

Fucking Dash.

That’s all I keep thinking, every spare minute that I’m not hopelessly obsessing over the whereabouts of my boyfriend.

From the moment I set off on my cross-country drive, over the course of eight days, while I stole more cars, and food, and clothes, broke into more houses and slept cramped and shivering in the backseat, I’ve been scoffing at that crazy Russian brat.

He made escaping Alabaster Pen seemsodamneasy.

The kid got out, cruised to wherever the hell he is, and just settled into his new life. Found his hot, growly soulmate without even lifting a finger, and they became an instant couple, buying a house, getting a dog…

Like a goddamn storyline about gay fugitives that was cut fromLove, Actually.

Seriously…The universe justgavehim his man; handed him over on a silver platter. And Dash wasn’tevenin prison for that long!

He was locked up for what… three months? If that??

God, it’s so infuriating.

I know I’m not actually mad at Dash… I’m mad at myself, and the circumstances. I’m mad at The Ivory, and that storm, and whatever morons didn’t stock that stupid fucking boat with lifejackets.

I’m mad at the world, but right now, I’m feeling stubborn, and helpless, and inadequate… So what better way to give myself some relief than blamingDashfor making us think escaping Alabaster Isle would be a piece of fucking cake.

I was in prison too long. I barely even remember how I used to behave before I was locked up. It took me almost the entire drive to California to work up the nerve to buy a cell phone, and still, I can’t even remember how to use it.

I know I should try to call Joy, to find out if she’s okay. Maybe they’ve seen or heard from Lex. But Iphysicallydon’t remember how to Google things.

I know… It’s ridiculous. It’s as simple as typing something into a box, but I’m just staring at the screen like a flabbergasted old man.

Is this the online? How do I internet??

More troubling is that I’m finally in the Golden State, but I have no idea what to do next. I remember the name of Lex’s town, Thousand Oaks, and I know he went to Berkeley, so I end up just cruising around that area for days, having a mini panic attack every time someone with a shaved head walks by.

I got here. Iescapedfrom prison and made it all the way to the West Coast…

But it doesn’t mean jack shit, because I have no earthly idea what to do next.

I was supposed to come here with Lex. We were supposed to betogether.

Without him, outside of prison… I don’t know who I am.

It takes me a while, but eventually, I figure out my phone well enough to look up Lex’s address. According to Google, his parents, Marla and Dennis Deon, still live here in Thousand Oaks, so I’m guessing the house I’ve been parked across the street from for two days is the same one he grew up in.

I have no plan. I don’t know what I’m doing, staring at his house all day and night. But it’s the only thing I could think of doing. We had no official meet-up spot, but I’ve replayed our last conversations in my head thousands of times, and I just keep coming back to this.

When I said I wanted to see his bedroom.

My gut wrenches painfully at the memory… Holding him while he blinked those gorgeous shimmery green eyes up at me, touching me with soft caresses. It was all so perfect up until the moment the Warden showed up.

Our sated breaths, flushed, warm skin. The love in his gaze, and the honesty in his words.

“You’re my boyfriend, Warren…”

“I’m never letting go of you again…”

Smacking my forehead down on the steering wheel with a painful thud, I squeeze my eyes shut.