Page 36 of Outbreak (Revolution X #1)

CHAPTER 35

Rue

“ W hat did you just say?” Ghost, Wyck whispers, the blood trickling down his throat and into his black shirt. His face pales as the truth sinks into his thick skull.

I’m shaking, vibrating with emotions I don’t know what to do with. It’s been him all along. The boy next door who made me fall in love with him just to abandon me like everyone else in my life.

I should have known—suspected, at least. How could I have been so naive and stupid?

“Rue! What the hell did you just say?” He scoots around, trying to get to his knife I dropped when he threw one of my rapists in my face. How could he have seen those pictures and thought that I would choose to do that? How could he not even ask me? The boy who knew my deepest fears and darkest history—how could he just abandon me without even speaking to me? I guess I didn’t mean as much to him as he meant to me. I was willing to suffer his disgusting father and mine to keep him safe, and he couldn’t even have a goddamn conversation with me.

I can’t breathe, drowning under the weight of the past and the hurt that almost killed me.

“Where are you going? Come back!” His voice is distant as I walk away, my feet carrying me somewhere—but I don't know where. All I know is I need air—I need to breathe in clean oxygen and not feel so suffocated. “Dammit, Rue.”

The door swings open, and the sun blinds me as I step out onto the loading dock. But I don’t make it more than a step before his strong arms band around my waist, pulling me back inside as I thrash and kick at him. He picks me up like an unruly toddler throwing a tantrum and slams the door back shut. “It’s not safe out there, and clearly you’re not thinking straight. You’ll get yourself killed.”

“Let me go!”

“No! I can’t! Don’t you fucking get that? I can’t let you go. I came back for you!”

“You fucking left me!” I scream, beating my hands back to hit him wherever I can. I don’t know what I'm doing. I just need to hit something—him. He lowers me to the ground and adjusts his arms, trapping mine beneath them and hugging me tightly.

“I know,” he whispers softly—too softly. I don’t want his sympathy or his pity. “And we’re going to talk about that, but right now, I need you to calm down before you get us both killed.”

I continue to flail in his hold, fighting against the comfort I've needed from him for four long years. My fight fades with the constant pressure of his body against mine, as it’s always done. But as soon as it leaves, the fight turns to shaking sobs as the year of pain floods out of me.

“You left me,” I cry softly. “You fucking left me—when I needed you the most.” His hand smooths my hair out of my face as he slides down the steel door. He lowers us to the ground and turns me, cradling me against his chest. I cling to him, because as much as I want to fight it, fight him. I need him. I want him. And I don’t know how to feel about that.

“Shhhhh. I’ve got you now. And I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” He rocks me against the door, and I let him. I don’t have the energy to fight him. I haven’t slept all night. I laid on that table above him after I tied him up, playing that last day in my mind over and over again. Going over every possible reason why he could have left me like that. Jimmy’s words played in my head over and over.

Worthless.

Used-up.

Filthy Whore.

Waste of space.

I need answers. He owes me that. And if I’m being honest, I owe him the truth, too.

“Sleep for a little while,” he says when I try to pull away. “Then we’ll talk.”

My eyes flutter closed, and I take a long, steady breath. He's right. I’m exhausted and need to mentally recharge before we nose dive into the childhood trauma I’ve spent years burying.

Just for a little while.

Sunlight warms my face as I stretch out on something lumpy. My eyes shoot open, and I nearly fall on my ass as I jump up when my mind catches up. Where the fuck am I? The room is dark, except for the sun streaming in from one window—onto the couch I was just lying on beneath it.

“Ghost!” My voice bounces off the concrete walls, echoing in the mostly empty space. There are windows lining the inner walls, overlooking the factory below. The door is frosted glass, with the worn etching for someone’s name, but I can’t make it out as I twist the knob and jerk on it frantically.

He left me here? What the fuck? Panic rises inside of me, crawling from the depths of my stomach, into my chest, and up my closing throat.

He fucking left me? Again!

Tears build behind my eyes as I try to control my breathing. A slip of paper on the floor by the couch catches my burning eyes. My feet drag on the floor as I shuffle over, squatting down to pick it up.

Don’t panic. I went to the truck to get some of our things. Be back soon.

– Ghost

WYCK

Tossing the note on the couch and plopping down with a heavy sigh, I try to push the rising panic back down into my chest. Don't panic? What the fuck did he think I was going to do when I woke up locked in an unfamiliar room?

The soft rumble of an engine outside has me shooting off the couch, then climbing on top of it to see out. Ghost’s truck slows to a stop down below, and my stomach churns when I see the bloody mess of bodies we left in the alley last night.

A deep, bated breath whooshes out of me when his door opens and he climbs out. No mask. His dark hair glints in the sunlight, and my heart kicks up a few notches.

I still can’t believe it's really him, Wyck . Even more, I can’t believe I didn’t realize it was him before now. That magnetic pull—the one I can’t explain or understand—should have been my first clue. His eyes— the second. And the gummy worms and chips on my sandwich—yep. Delusion was the solution. I guess I didn’t want to risk the possibility of it being true. I’d rather believe he was a complete stranger than the boy I thought ripped my heart out and tossed me aside like trash.

Swallowing down the lump forming in my throat, I watch as he pulls our bags from the backseat and tosses them over his shoulder before he shuts the door and disappears onto the loading dock. I slide down the wall to my ass on the lumpy couch. Nervous butterflies take flight in my belly as I wait for him to come up here. The door shuts downstairs, and his boots thud in time with my heart on the metal stairs I saw leading up.

When the latch on the door clicks, I realize I’m holding my breath. I let it slowly release as it swings open, and he fills the frame with his massive body.

“Hey, you’re awake,” he says, his eyes catching mine and searing into me like a brand. It’s too much—and not enough. I break first, looking down at the note next to me, picking it up, and rolling the edges nervously.

“Uh- yeah. Thanks.” I nod to the paper and keep my eyes away from his intense gaze.

“I got your bag and some food,” he says, stepping into the room and closing the door. He drops the bags on the floor next to me and squats down. His fingers find my chin, lifting my face to meet his. “I’m not going anywhere, Rue. I promise. We’ve got a lot to talk about, but that’s something that isn’t going to change, no matter what we discuss.”

“Okay,” I whisper. I don’t tell him that it’s not just his decision anymore. I don’t need to. I think he realized it when I held his knife to his throat. Standing up, he rises too, taking a step back as I get up, grabbing the bag of food from the floor, and walking over to the desk in the corner. I dump out the contents and sort it out.

“What are you doing?” He sits down, resting his elbows on his knees and cocking his head to look at me.

“Well, I’m not about to sit on that couch and pick the scabs off my childhood trauma like you’re getting paid by the hour to listen to my shit.” I toss a bottle of water and a pop-tart at him, and sit on the top of the desk, opening the silver wrapper and taking a big bite. “You wanna talk? Talk.”

He looks at the water and food that landed on the worn cushion, then hangs his head, staring at the floor.

“Well, let’s just rip off the big one, then. I need to know… What did you mean about my dad?”

“I meant what I said, Wyck.” I unscrew the lid on the water, taking a big gulp to wash down the chocolate pastry and the swelling emotion trying to choke me.

“When?”

“Um…” I look to the ceiling, begging the tears not to fall, but they slip down my cheek anyway. “I was maybe fifteen—the first time.”

“The first—how many times?” His deep, rumbling growl is deadly.

“Uh, I don’t know. A lot?”

“I don’t understand. Why would Jimmy tell me you were… If he knew, why didn’t he?—”

A dark, humorless laugh bubbles out of me. “Jimmy!? Who the fuck do you think invited your dad to join in on his sick little games?”

In a flash, he’s up. Tears blur my vision as I watch him pace the floor. He can’t even look at me.

I startle when his fist smashes through the glass window, flinching as he pulls back his bloody fist and hits it again.

“Hey! Stop it!” I jump down from the desk and pull his arm back; he’s practically vibrating now.

Before I can speak again, my back hits the frosted glass door, his bloody hand gripping my throat. I can breathe, but the pressure makes my pulse skyrocket, beating wildly against his hold.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He growls, bringing his face down to mine, pinning me in place with his piercing green depths.

“They… threatened you?” I whisper as my tears run free, dripping onto his injured hand and mixing with his blood. “I was trying to protect you. I couldn’t lose you. But I did anyway. You left. Why did you believe him?”

“Rue. I—” He starts to explain, but I guess he doesn't have an answer. “I’m sorry. I should have?—”

“Yeah… you should have.” I push against him, and his grip loosens, slipping down my neck as I walk back to the desk. “But you didn’t. And nothing is going to change that. Besides, it doesn't matter now.”

“It fucking matters!” He yells, pushing off the door, eating up the distance between us in two long strides. Taking my face in his hands, he wipes my tears with bloody thumbs, his voice breaking when he whispers. “It matters.”

“Why? Nothing from before matters anymore. Everything we once knew—it’s fucking gone. I’ve spent the last three years trying to forget what happened—to forget you . And nothing we say or do will change what happened in the past. I saved my damn self. We’ve gotta survive today—now.”

“And did you?” His hands circle my waist, lifting me up to the desk and spreading my knees with his hips as he cages me in.

“Did I, what?” My voice is breathless as he lifts my chin and brings his darkening eyes to mine.

“Did you forget me, Death?”