Page 89 of Hurt

“White Sand Mesa is your home, not ours. We don’t belong there.”

“You’re my home,” Noah shouted with tears building in his eyes. He just wanted Kurt to look at him. Just once. “I belong with you.”

Kurt turned to face the wall. The pain pills Sid had given him weren’t working, and he wanted a drink, but he was afraid that the alcohol would numb the pain and he would truly feel nothing.

“No,” he said finally. “You don’t.”

They both recoiled at his words. Willow was speechless.

Noah swallowed past the tears that choked him and clenched his fists at his side. “I’m not leaving. I won’t go back there.”

And then he ran.

Noah had always been good at running. It was easy to slip through the cracks at White Sand Mesa. No one cared about what he did as long as he wasn’t in the way. Luther had sent him so far away that he wasn’t even a daily thought. Here at The Sunspot, there were so many cracks that it wouldn’t be difficult to slip away either, disappear into the desert, and be gone for good.

He had just never wanted to. Everything he had ever wanted was here. He had just never considered that it didn’t want him back. There was a physical pain in his chest he couldn’t breathe through.

Racing out of the bar, he didn’t have an idea of where to go. Like the times he had run when he was younger, there was no plan in place, just the need to put as much distance between him and whatever he was running from.

A solitary bike was parked in the parking lot. Sid’s dirt bike was his favorite mode of transportation. Relatively useless for anything besides joy riding through the desert, it wasn’t road legal, and the brakes were questionable at best.

Which was fine for Noah. He wasn’t planning on slowing down.

The keys were in the ignition, and the bike choked to life. Noah risked flooding the engine with how hard he hit the gas, but the bike lurched forward and sprayed gravel as he took off.

Noah had never driven a motorcycle before, and the bike wobbled a few times before he hit his stride. Once he got the wheels on the asphalt, it was smoother, and he could go faster. There was no destination. He just had to clear out before Luther sent his lackeys to drag him back. Just the thought of that gilded cage snapping closed on him was too much. He would be forced back behind bars, and the freedom he had just obtained would be stolen from him.

He knew his parents would be disappointed in him, but he didn’t care. They were obscure characters in his mind, more feelings rather than actual memories: His mother’s smile, the way the kitchen smelled when she cooked, her soft voice lulling him to sleep. The way his father would tiredly smile down at him when he came home, or the large briefcase he carried with him every day.

Once Noah had opened it and found a large chrome-plated gun. Shiny and gold—it was beautiful. His mother had caught him and yelled at his father for leaving it around. Later, his father had come in and ruffled his hair. Noah couldn’t remember what he said, but he wasn’t mad at him.

They would want him to be a good Elliott. To take his place behind his uncle and learn how to run the business. Be an adult and finally step up to the responsibility.

But he couldn’t. How could he? How could he run an entire gang when he couldn’t even save Kurt? He had set out to prove to him they could be the same as they were, but all he had done was watch him deteriorate. Just like when he was a kid, all he saw was the aftermath of the pain. Kurt would leave and come home beat to hell, and all Noah could do was put band-aids on him.

He was older now, and nothing had changed, except this time, band-aids wouldn’t heal his wounds.

Even Willow couldn’t reach him. Noah had thought that no matter how bad things got, Kurt would still want their little family to stay together. They were all Noah had.

If he lost them, he would be truly alone.

The wind blowing against his face kept the tears at bay. He was embarrassed to have cried.

Noah had only been to the city once. It was a long drive, and truthfully, he didn’t know if the bike would make it that far, but he didn’t let up on the gas. Sid had kept the bike in good repair. He had even custom painted it to look like chains were wrapping around the body of the bike. Noah would have to apologize for taking it.

By the time he pulled into a local convenience store, he had realized he didn’t have much cash on him. Using cards when he was trying to hide from Luther was ill-advised. The man would have his location before he stepped out of the store.

Parking the bike, he withdrew the key and dismounted. He only had enough cash for some necessities.

The hard lemonade tasted sour, but he liked it better than beer. Setting the cardboard six pack on the curb beside the bike, he downed half the first bottle and smacked his lips as he stared out at the busy road ahead of him.

Elijah glanced down at his list and sighed. He made a grocery list for a reason, and the reason was not for Jamie to cross off every vegetable and write Cosmic Brownies instead. It wasn’t his proficiency with a weapon that impressed Elijah. It was Jamie’s ability to survive himself.

Feeling guilty for not buying a single package of Cosmic Brownies, he made a stop at the convenience store adjacent to their shared apartment to buy a box.

Turning the corner, he shifted the grocery bags to his left hand so he could use his right when he kicked a glass bottle across the sidewalk. Stooping, he picked it up and looked around for a recycle bin.

Noah was straddling a motorbike with a bottle to his lips. He looked a little unfocused but not quite drunk yet. Arms crossed over the handlebars. His eyes were closed as the bottle hung precariously from two fingers.