Page 2

I sigh and roll my eyes. "When I lived with my grandma, she told me there used to be a small settlement in the forest where all the parents went out looking for food one day and never came back. And so, the kids ended up raising themselves in the wild, and when they ran out of food, they'd put on masks and go to the nearest town and play pranks on the people who lived there. They'd pick a couple of people or households to target at a time, hoping to goad them into coming into the forest to get revenge on them."

"And then they'd eat them," Mia finishes.

"Pretty much. They wanted them to come to them, and they'd be waiting with weapons and traps, and they'd kill them and eat them. Winter is long, and it's hard to outsmart an animal in their own habitat. It's easier if you can get one to brazenly come to you."

"That's my personal preference as well—get my prey to come to me," Tate says. "Not exactly great for a bedtime story, but it makes sense that it was yours."

"Yep, until I was about six." That's when my mom got out of jail and moved in with us. A couple of years later, my grandmother passed, and we ended up here. "It was a local legend in her town—they even had these fucked up plays and reenactments. They acted like this community of runaways still existed, and I believed it, so…I guess it worked. It kept me out of the woods."

"Shit, that is fucked up," Tate says, laughing.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, tell me about it."

"I'm going inside," Mia says, pushing off from the log. "The fox stinks."

"Good night," Tate says over his shoulder.

Mia pauses. "Noah, aren't you coming with me?"

"Um…yeah." Reluctantly, I stand, brushing off the back of my shorts before following her .

"Bye, Noah," Tate says in a mocking, singsong tone. "See you soon."

"Are you okay?" I ask as we ascend the staircase, even though I already know the answer.

"No, I'm not fucking okay," she says. "Why would you ask me something so stupid?"

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be stupid. I just want to help you, but I don't know how."

"You could stop thirsting after my brother. That would help."

"I'm no—" I start, but I'm cut off when my mom steps out of our unit.

"Oh, hi, Noah," she says. "Paul ordered Chinese food. Are you hungry?"

It's clear she's been crying; her face is flushed and her eyes swollen.

"We ate already. And I'm going to stay at Mia's since everything in my room is packed, okay?"

"Okay," she says. "Paul wants to leave by nine tomorrow, though. So, please set an alarm and don't be late. He's really busy."

But she doesn't say please like she means to be polite—she says it like she's afraid of what will happen if I don't wake up on time.

"Uh, yeah. I'll set an alarm. Good night."

"Hey," she says, calling my attention back as I continue down the corridor. "This is going to be great for us—you'll see. We deserve this; we can finally be happy."

I shrug. "I was happy, Mom."

She tries. I think she tries; we both do. But the truth is she missed the early years of my life when I really needed an adult to take care of me, and because of that, there's something missing between us—something neither of us would know how to fix even if we tried.

"Ow—shit!" Paul calls out from inside. "God damn it! I can't wait to never have to come back to this shithole. Kathy!"

"Coming!" she shouts back.

She forces a smile in my direction before disappearing back inside our apartment. With Mia no longer at my side, I walk to the larger unit at the end of the hall, letting myself in. It's dark, the lights off as I pass through the living area toward the dining room that Mia's parents converted into a small bedroom so there would be space for the four of them.

When I push the curtain aside, I find Mia in bed and under the blankets, facing the back wall. I don't ask before getting into her dresser and picking out some dry clothes for myself to sleep in; we've shared everything for the better part of our lives. We wear the same size, but she's a little shorter and bustier than I am. I pull on a pair of tiny cotton shorts and a cropped t-shirt before crawling under the covers beside her and hooking my arm around her waist.

It occurs to me, not for the first time, that I'll never have a friendship like this one again. I wonder how that will feel.

"Portland is only forty minutes away," I tell her. "And Paul said I could drive one of his cars. I could come and see you every weekend. Or you could come there and hide with me, and you won't have to deal with any of them. You won't be alone. "

I am, though—I'm going to be alone. I almost want to scream it, but I haven't been allowed to be sad about it because Mia is hurting right now. And Mia has a history of not handling sad very well.

"I miss him," she says, sobbing softly. "You don't know what this is like; you've never been in love."

Her words cut like a knife. "You're right. I don't."

"Tate doesn't like you," she says. "And I don't even understand how you could look at him like that. I mean, I look at Silas like a brother. Don't you think of them like bro—well, but I guess you don't have siblings, either. Pro-tip from someone who does: You shouldn't want to fuck them."

"Mia, I don't think I'm looking at him like anything."

"Good, because he's only flirting with you because you're leaving, and he's wondering if he can fuck you before you go. He doesn't like you."

"You said that already, and—"

"And you're not pretty enough for him. I'm sorry, but you're not."

I pull my arm away and roll onto my back. "I already know I'm ugly, Mia."

"Well, that's step one," she says.

She isn't normally mean like this—it isn't her. She's hurting, and I know that.

But it doesn't make it fair. It doesn't mean she's wrong, either.

"If you fuck him, you're dead to me; you know that, right? You'll ruin everything. You'll ruin all of us."

"I got it."

I lie there, staring at her ceiling, feeling smaller and even more ridiculous as memories from the past couple of months flash through my mind like a movie.

A really fucked up movie about a really, really stupid girl.

I manage not to cry until after I hear Mia snoring softly beside me, and then I run to the bathroom, closing the door behind me just as the first sob escapes my throat.

Gripping the sides of the sink in my hands, I sob for minutes—for everything.

The way I feel, the things Mia said, my mom, the move. All of it hurts.

After a few minutes, I make the mistake of looking up and meeting my reflection under the florescent lights. My face is already flushed, my blonde hair that hits just at my shoulders and refuses to grow any longer is frizzy and matted to my face from the weather and my tears. Mascara stains the skin around my eyes, and it occurs to me that I've looked like this all night—in front of them. And then there are the freckles I try to hide under makeup and the small gap between my front teeth, which makes me reluctant to show my smile.

Mia is right—I am too ugly. It's not the first time I've heard it; she's always been the pretty one—with her long, thick, dark hair, a complexion that tans instead of freckles and burns in the summer like mine, full lips and hazel eyes that match her twin brother's.

But it is the first time I've heard it from her.

I splash water on my face and dry it with a towel, but it smells like him. And that makes it worse .

"Fuck," I cry, throwing the towel into the sink. I slide down the wall onto the ground, sobbing with my head in my hands.

"Noah?" Tate calls from the other side of the door. "Are you crying?"

I take a deep breath, attempting to gather myself before answering. "No. I'm fine."

"You need to come out."

"Just a minute."

"I'm going to pick the lock. Be right back."

Shit.

The doors inside all our units can be unlocked from the outside with a penny, and we've all been doing it for years, so it isn't an empty threat. As soon as I hear him step away from the bathroom door, I unlock it and dart into the hallway, hoping to make it back to Mia's room before he sees me.

It doesn't work.

Tate grabs me by my arm from behind, stopping me. "Hey," he says in a low tone. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Look at me," he says.

I shake my head, and he steps in front of me. He places his hands on my cheeks and tilts my head upward until our eyes meet in the darkened hallway. "Tell me why you're crying. Is it the move?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me," he says, resting his forehead against mine. "You know that, right?"

I shake my head and choke on a sob. "No. Not really. "

I try to step around him, but instead, crash into his chest. He holds me tight against him, and this time, I let myself cry into his shoulder.

"Mia called me ugly."

"Mia's just hurting—she doesn't mean it. She's in a lot of pain, and she needs a safe place for it to go. Unfortunately, that place is you because she knows you love her, and you'll always forgive her. And that's a good thing."

My chest tightens…because he didn't tell me I'm pretty.

"Yeah, okay. Good talk," I say, pushing him away.

"Noah, wait…"

I step back into Mia's room and crawl into bed next to her, but Tate follows only seconds later, kneeling next to my side of the bed. "What are you doing?" he whispers. "What'd I do? Huh?"

"You can't be in here," I whisper back. "She told me to stay away from you, or I'm dead to her. And I need her…and she needs me, so…go."

He rolls his eyes. "She doesn't mean that, either. Come on, Noah." He trails a finger down my cheek, then to my neck and down my chest until he reaches the hard point of my nipple, toying with it through the thin cotton material of my t-shirt.

"I can't," I tell him, my eyes filling with tears again. "I don't want to."

Tate frowns. He rests his hand against the exposed skin of my lower abdomen. "Then why do you look so sad when you say it?"

"It's weird…what we've been doing."

"No, it' s not."

"It's not…" I start. It's not love. "…normal."

"You don't like it?" he asks.

"No. I mean…I do, but—"

"Noah, you're hurting my feelings…"

My lower lip quivers, and I blink back tears. "I'm starting to get really confused."

"What are you confused about? What do you think this is?"

"I don't know," I say. "A game? Boredom? A joke, and I'm the ugly fucking punchline."

"Noah…" His brow furrows, hurt apparent on his face.

"What is it to you?"

"A relationship. Love."

That word from his lips knocks the air from my lungs. I part my own as my expression twists with confusion, but no sound comes out.

"There's no rule about what love has to look like, Noah. This is what it looks like to me, and I think this is what it looks like for you, too. Maybe it's weird, but that's okay. You're worried about Mia, and you're moving, and I know you're stressed out—I get it. But…there's nothing to be confused about. We've been there for you through everything…from the very beginning, haven't we?"

I roll onto my side to face him, holding my breath as Mia stirs next to me. "Yeah, but—"

"You won't find anyone who knows you like this—who loves you like this. I know the ugly parts—the ones that will always be a secret, the parts you'll never be able to say out loud because I was there. You know mine, too. And you know what I'm capable of, and you're always going to love me, anyway. "

"That sounds like a threat."

"Who wouldn't want to be loved like a threat?"

I laugh just a little, careful to keep quiet.

"Come with me," he says. "Let me hold you; I hate that you're hurting like this."

I want to, but Mia's words still echo through my brain. He's saying these things because I'm leaving, and that's convenient. I wouldn't be the first person he's lied to like this, but given our history and the out I'd offered him, it would be particularly cruel.

But I know he's more than capable of being particularly cruel, too.

I pull my knees into my chest. "I can't," I say, looking somewhere over his shoulder.

"Fine," Tate says, pulling himself to his feet. He leans over me, planting one hand on the edge of the bed and pushing my hair away from my face with the other. "Doesn't change anything, though. And you're really fucking beautiful, Noah. I'm sorry the world has been so ugly to you that it's made it impossible for you to believe it."

He presses his lips to mine and then turns, leaving the room.

"I'm sorry, too," I whisper once he's gone. I squeeze my eyes closed, sending weighty tears rolling down each of my cheeks. I don't know how long I lie there staring at the ceiling before I give up and slip out of bed, glancing back at Mia once before leaving the room.

I walk across the hall, pushing open the door and slowly closing it behind me before crawling up the bed on all fours .

"Noah," Tate says, pulling the covers back and gesturing for me to lie down next to him. I don't know if he's been lying here awake, too, or if I woke him. "Come here, baby."

I crawl under the covers and into his arms, resting my head against his bare chest. "I just want to sleep with you for a little while. Wake me up in two hours, okay?"

"Okay," he says, reaching for his phone on the side table and setting the alarm.

"Are you mad at me, Tate?"

"Of course not."

"I missed you today," I whisper, because I still can't bring myself to say the other thing.

Tate rolls onto his side and kisses me slowly, slipping his tongue into my mouth. "Mmm," he moans against my lips before pulling away. "It's been three days. And I missed you, too. The only good thing about Mia dating that piece of shit Levi was that she wasn't here breathing down our fucking necks all the time."

Yeah. I guess that's kind of how all of this started.

"I hate lying to her."

"Is that Noah?" Silas asks from the other side of the bed, moving until his body is at my back. I feel the hard ridge of his cock against my backside when he hooks a leg around both of us. "What's wrong, baby?"

He presses his lips to my neck while slipping his hand inside in the front of my shirt.

"Nothing," I lie. "Mia just…hurt my feelings. I don't want to talk about it; I just want to sleep. "

"You're so fucking pretty, Noah," Silas says. I guess Tate already told him. He buries his face in my hair and inhales. "Don't listen to Mia. She's just jealous because her boyfriend is a piece of shit, and you smell like rain and taste like peaches."

This. This is why I get confused.

"You just think you have to say that."

"Cut the shit, Noah," Tate says. "You think you'd be dripping with our cum every day if we didn't think you were pretty?" He presses his erection between my legs. "I'm happy to show you how pretty I think you are, but Mia's going to hear you scream. And I don't think you want that, so go to sleep."

"I can keep you quiet for him if you do want that," Silas says. "Just say the word."

What the fuck is wrong with me? I want to know how he plans to keep me quiet—with his hand or with his dick? I'd like either one.

How did it get this far? Nothing about this is normal.

"If you're going to say no, you better do it now," Tate says. "Because your eyes and the way you're biting your lip right now say yes."

"No," I tell them.

Tate shrugs. "Okay," he says, kissing my forehead. "Good night, baby."

"Good night."

I close my eyes and drape my arm across Tate's chest, and he rubs small circles in that place right behind my ear with his thumb until I fall asleep.