Page 21

nineteen

The Girl in the Gas Station Bathroom (Again)

Noah

T he sound of footsteps across the floor wakes me later that day. But barely. I'm in one of those deep sleep/half-awake hazes where my head is still swimming with exhaustion and my eyelids are heavy and refuse to open. My limbs are heavy, too.

I feel Tate's warm body at my back, his breath against my skin, and then wonder if maybe I imagined the footsteps I heard before.

But then I hear them again, coming toward me from the other side of the apartment. Silas sits at the edge of the bed and slips off his shoes before slowly crawling under the covers beside me.

"Hi," I whisper.

"Hey, baby," he whispers back. "You don't have to get up because I'm here. You can go back to sleep. I'm glad you're okay. "

I blink, and I'm in the hole again, holding that muddy grey wig in my hand. The volume on that alarm increases by a few decibels. But we're even…just for now. And he feels really good wrapped around me like this.

I don't have to be mad at the unconscious version of him, do I? Especially when this is the best I've slept in months.

"Did he tell you what happened?"

Silas nods. "I'm so sorry."

He moves in closer, and I wrap my arms around him and bury my face against his chest, calming myself.

They say olfactory memory is our strongest, purest form of memory. It's less likely to be tainted by outside interference than our other senses. Maybe that's why I cling to it so tightly—because I can't trust my other senses as much; I can't trust myself. Just as jasmine will always remind me of the place I grew up and of Mia's hair, and whiskey will always make me think of Tate, the smell of bergamot and the forest after it rains will always remind me of Silas.

Of the person I ran to when the world was a little too cruel, even if when my world ended, he was too cruel, too.

"Do you hear that?" Silas whispers into my ear.

I smile. "Yeah…nothing."

"Exactly…nothing. It sounds so good, doesn't it?"

"It's always better with you."

"Mmm…stop conspiring," Tate says. He reaches over me, putting a hand over Silas's face. "Ah, don't bite me!" He tries to jerk it back, but Silas grabs it and laces their fingers together. "I'm still traumatized by what Noah did to me last night."

"Did you really stab him?" Silas asks.

I press my lips together and nod.

"Told you," Tate says. "Silas thought you were a nice girl, Noah. He knows better now."

I shrug and scoot away from him and on top of Silas. "You get what you give. You don't deserve nice."

Silas laughs and holds me against him.

"Hey—no. You said we were even. You agreed."

Tate moves over until his body is against Silas, resting his head on his shoulder and throwing his leg around both of ours. His intense gaze meets mine before I break eye contact, wrapping my arms around Silas.

"He's not going to save you from me, Noah," Tate says, running his fingers through my hair. "You know that."

"Do I need to be saved from you, Tate?" I ask.

He smiles sadly. "Probably."

I don't know what to make of that answer, but my heart sinks a little.

"I miss this," Silas says, seemingly oblivious to the moment that just passed between us. "Oh, I brought you guys breakfast…even though it's three in the fucking afternoon."

"It's three?" I ask.

"Three-thirty now," he says. He kisses the top of my head before crawling out from under me.

I sit up in the bed beside Tate and watch Silas grab a paper bag from the counter. He pulls out two giant smoothies and hands them to us. "Here you go," he says. "There are eight hundred calories in that, Noah."

"Thanks," I tell him. "You didn't have to do that. "

"Of course I did. I take care of the people I love. And I love you both."

He says it so casually, dropping back into that place beside me afterward and resting his hand on the inside of my thigh like it's the easiest thing in the world. But the air in the room has changed. There's tension between me and the person who spent an hour holding me in the bath last night. I can't quite name it, so I ignore it, sipping from my giant eight hundred calorie smoothie.

"It's too fucking quiet in here. I can't stand it," Tate says.

Silas and I exchange a look while he reaches for the remote and turns on the TV, selecting another episode of Unsolved Mysteries from Netflix.

"He likes the ones where the bad guys get away."

Silas laughs. "Yeah, I know."

I watch Tate stare at the television and drink from a matching styrofoam cup, a tattooed hand with black polished nails wrapped around it.

He used to paint them blue—a shade of blue that matched his blue hair. It was an OPI color called No Chips on my Shoulder , and sometimes, he'd paint mine to match. I'd worry that Mia would notice, and she'd be suspicious, but I liked having evidence of our secret, and she never did.

"What?" he asks, sensing my staring.

"Nothing." I decide to say fuck it to the weird tension, and lean over and kiss him on the lips. "I was just thinking about you. Or remembering you, I guess."

"Something good, then?" he asks.

"Mmhmm. Something nice. "

"Are you admitting I was nice to you sometimes?"

I shrug. "Yeah."

He lifts my chin and narrows his eyes, searching mine for something, but I'm not sure what it is. "Hmm…" he says before kissing me. "Okay."

I'm confused, but he changes the subject.

"Did you bring the costumes?" he asks Silas.

Silas smiles widely, laughing a little. "Yeah, they're in that bag by the front door."

"What costumes?" I ask.

"It's Halloween, Noah. It's our favorite holiday. Did you forget?"

Honestly, yes. I've had little concept of day or time since the café closed.

Or maybe more specifically, since Tate and Silas came back into my life. The last thought has me worried about how much longer they will be in my life.

It's not really something I can ask.

"I guess I did."

"Don't worry," Tate says. "We got you a costume, too."

I frown. "Will I like it?"

"Yes."

"No," Silas says, laughing. "You won't like it."

"I don't know. It'll be a fun game. You might like it, Noah," Tate says.

"Another game?" I ask. "What kind of game?"

"You'll see."

"Will there be mandatory crawling?"

"No comment," he says, and Silas laughs again .

"Great. I'm going to the bathroom."

I climb off the bed and step into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. After using the toilet, I wash my hands and splash water on my face while the two of them talk and laugh from the other side of the door.

It squeezes at my chest a little.

I end up turning on my straightener, intending to just run it over my bangs and be done with it, but instead, I straighten all of my hair and put on makeup while I listen to them laugh and speak in hushed tones I can't quite decipher over the television.

When I step into the main room, they're standing beside the bed, kissing. Tate is wearing the sweats he wore last night with one of my tops—the long-sleeved shirt I stole from the gas station the night I ran away from them all those months ago. It's tight on his shoulders and slightly cropped at the bottom.

I bite back a smile and watch them whisper for a minute more, unaware of my presence.

It's Silas who notices me first. "What?" he asks.

"Nothing," I say, looking away to hide my smile. "I'm just…"

"Just what?"

Remembering again, I guess. When we were different. When this was us. It's comfortable.

"Nothing. I don't know."

"I took your shirt," Tate says.

"Yeah, I can see that. That's actually a trauma shirt for me, so you're welcome to keep it."

"Trauma shirt? What's a trauma shirt?"

"I'd rather not explain. "

"Are you ready to see your costume?" Silas asks.

I sigh. "Yeah, I guess so."

Silas grabs the bag from beside the door and empties the contents onto my bed, first removing the masks they wore to the café that day.

"Still smells like tomato soup," Tate says, pulling the Ghostface mask over his head.

I make a face at him and then watch Silas pull something else from the bag.

I was expecting—I don't know—maybe something like what Zoey wore at the party the other night or a serial killer mask of my own. Instead, he lays out something that looks like fuzzy one-piece pajamas on the bed.

Fuzzy white pajamas with black spots. And then I notice the hood and the ears.

I'm not wearing that.

I don't say it aloud, but Tate, seeing the look on my face, answers anyway. "You have to wear it. It's part of the game, Noah."

"Well, what's the game, Tate?" I ask. "What do I get?"

"A tip. And the internal satisfaction that comes with knowing how happy you've made me."

"What if I'd rather be poor and make you angry?"

"I think you've done enough of that, don't you?"

"The limit does not exist."

"Trust me, Noah," he says, closing the space between us. "The limit exists. And you've been well past it for a while now."

"And what do I have to do in this dog costume? "

I watch Silas put on his own mask and pull a leash from the bag. I narrow my eyes and he laughs.

"I just want to watch Silas take you for a walk. That's all."

"A walk where? Like around the room?"

"No, like down the street. Personally, I prefer to think of you as a kitten or a bunny when I think of you as our pet, but we'd look pretty silly walking one of those down the road, don't you think?"

I frown, not bothering to point out the ridiculousness of that comment. "No. I'm not doing that."

"It's Halloween, Noah," Silas says. "It's no big deal."

"Plus, Silas is really excited about it. Don't let him stand there and act like it was all my idea."

"Are you, Silas?" I ask. "Are you really excited to walk me like a dog?"

"Yeah, Noah, I really am," he says, adjusting his hard on.

He makes his point. I feel a rush of wet heat between my legs. Maybe I should do it.

"Fine."

I pull on the jumpsuit, zip the front, and slip into my tennis shoes. Silas kisses me, and I smile against his lips, his beard tickling my chin. He wraps his hand around my throat, squeezing before slipping his tongue into my mouth and deepening the kiss.

My knees are weak by the time he pulls away. I half-expect him to say fuck it and throw me on the bed and tear my clothes off, but he doesn't. He pulls the hood over my head and gently tucks my hair inside before fastening a black leather studded collar around my neck, tightening it until it just digs into the skin.

"Make it a little tighter," Tate says.

Silas tightens the collar the smallest bit, but it's enough that I can feel a difference. A little bit of pain, a small imposition on my airway. Not enough to cause any issues, but enough to ensure I'm constantly aware of its presence and that someone else is in control of me.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't like that.

Silas clips the leash onto it and tugs hard once, taking my breath away. "How's that feel?" he asks, looking down into my eyes, his body mere centimeters from my own.

I swallow hard. "It feels good."

"Good."

He tugs at it again, twisting the collar until the d-ring is in the back. I whimper a little as it burns my skin, and he pulls the leash through a hole in the back of my hood.

Tate looks at me and raises an eyebrow. "You better stop, Noah."

"Stop what?"

"You know what," he says. "Making noises like that. He's going to tear you apart and ruin the game. Silas, you can't fuck her."

Silas laughs a little and lets the leash drop. "I didn't do anything," he says.

Tate opens the door. "Walk," he says, instructing me. "You can walk like a human until you get to the sidewalk, but then you have to get down on all fours and let Silas walk you. "

I follow them down the staircase like a human. There are a few people out in town, but I only see a couple of costumes. Still, trick-or-treating will start soon. Last year, I handed out candy at the café, but this year, the building is dark, the door locked, and the parking lot empty.

I stare until Silas pulls on the back of my leash. "Hey," he says. "We're on the sidewalk now."

"Sorry," I say before dropping to my knees and crawling. Silas keeps the leash taut enough that I can feel it, and even though it is Halloween, I can feel the people on the streets and in front of store and restaurant windows staring, and my cheeks burn.

"I forgot to tell you, Noah," Tate says. "There's one more rule."

"What is it?"

"If anyone acknowledges you as a dog, you have to bite them."

"What? Why?"

"Because I think it's fucking funny, that's why. Okay, puppy?" he says, patting my head.

From where I'm sitting, he just acknowledged me as a dog. I turn to the side and dig my teeth into his forearm before he can move away.

"Ahh!" Tate yells, jerking his arm away. "Not me! Bad dog!" He slaps me hard on the ass, and Silas laughs. "Don't bite the hand that feeds you."

Downtown Winter Falls is small, but I'm also really, really fucking slow like this. It takes forever for me to crawl past the three blocks of restaurants and retail shops. We even pass the garage where Mason works.

I haven't heard from him since he saw me with Silas and Tate at the bar. I take extra care to keep my head down as we pass.

"My knees hurt," I tell them. "How much longer do I have to do this?"

"Until we get to the motel or someone acknowledges you as a dog," Tate says. "Now, stop breaking character."

"You should bear crawl," Silas says. "Dalmatians are tall. You're supposed to be a dalmatian."

I push up onto my feet. "This is more work," I grumble.

"Good girls don't complain," Silas says.

It is hard, but it is nice to give my knees a break. However, it isn't long before my hamstrings burn, and I find myself hoping someone will stop and acknowledge me as a dog so I can bite their ass and get this over with.

"She likes it," Tate says. "Noah always likes our games; that's why she does it. It's a lot more fun when she admits it."

Before I can snap back, I hear a familiar voice.

"Well, look at that," Betsy says.

This-cream-is-poisoned Betsy. You-and-your-friend-dress-inappropriately Betsy. You're-not-very-ladylike Betsy. And I think she's about to acknowledge me as a dog.

"You look a little old for trick-or-treating. I hope you're not planning on causing any trouble around here," she says. "That's a cute dog you've got, though."

I lunge at her, snapping at her ankles as she scurries back toward her front porch. Silas drops the end of the leash, and I chase her up the staircase, growling and barking. I latch onto her ankle as she reaches the door, and she screams.

"Get off me!" she shouts, attempting to shake me off. "You pervert! Get off me! I'm calling the police!"

Eventually, I decide that's enough and let her go. She slams the door behind her, and I get back on my feet and rush over to Silas and Tate.

"She probably is calling the police," I tell them. "We should get out of here."

"Good girl," Silas says. He bends down and gestures for me to get on his back. "Hop on."

I wrap my arms around his neck and climb onto his back, resting my head on his shoulders. Then I pull down his hoodie, inhaling before pressing my lips to his neck.

"Did you have fun?" Tate asks as we walk through the small motel parking lot.

"Yes."

"That's what I thought," he says.

"My knees hurt, but it was kind of funny. I hate that lady. She comes into the restaurant every Saturday, and she's always mean to me."

"Want us to kill her?"

"What? No!"

Silas sets me down in front of a first floor unit around the backside of the building.

"Is that the last game?" I ask.

Silas looks at Tate, who shakes his head slightly, but neither of them answers .

"Okay, so am I supposed to go home, then? Do I get my money now?"

"Don't be a brat, Noah," Tate says, ushering me inside with a hand on the small of my back.

The room is what you'd expect it to be—dated, dark, and a little sad. For whatever reason, whoever decorated went with a nautical theme. It's so out of place it makes the room seem worse than it is.

"I think my knees are bleeding," I say.

The guys remove their masks, and I slip off my shoes, unzip the costume, and shrug it off, letting it fall to the ground. Spots of blood seep through the knees of my grey sweats.

"Shit."

"Come here," Silas says, gesturing toward the bathroom. "I'll help you."

I follow him into the bathroom, and he pulls my bloody sweats off of me and hoists me onto the countertop. I wait there in my t-shirt and underwear while he takes out a first aid kit. "This will sting a little. Ready?"

I take a deep breath and hold it while he cleans the scrapes with alcohol and gauze.

I watch him in silence through the process. I watch his hands, his forearms and his lips when he bends down and blows on the cuts. I feel the light touch of his fingertips on the back of my calves while he bandages them.

I realize I don't feel the void anymore—and I'd gotten so used to it. I don't feel the empty nothingness at my core—the one that weighs me down and pins me to the bed every morning, the one that used to hold all the things that made me me before I lost them all.

I feel…important. Loved.

"Silas?"

"Yeah?" he answers, tossing the gauze into the garbage.

"I'm happy," I tell him. "Like…I think I'm really happy again. I want to stay with you guys. Please don't leave me. Don't hurt me. I don't think I can go back to…"

To what? Go back to what? But any of it, really. I think about the way I've been living, how lonely and sick I've been, and I don't really know how I've done any of it.

I mean, I knew I wasn't happy, but have I been in shock this entire time?

I place my hands on his shoulders. "I love you, Silas. And I do need you to take care of me—I need you more than you could possibly understand. Are you going to leave me?"

He presses his lips together, his brow furrowed. "No," he says, but his tone is unsure. "We won't leave you."

"Okay…" I whisper.

Silas leans in, quieting my uneasiness with his expert lips, kissing me slowly at first, toying with my lower lip before dipping his tongue into my mouth. I slide my hands down from his shoulders to his chest and then grip his hoodie in my fists, using it to pull him in closer until he's pressed up against me. I gasp when his mouth leaves mine, but then he reaches for the hemline of my t-shirt and pulls it overhead, tossing it aside. Then he reaches behind me, unhooking my bra and pushing the straps away from my shoulders, letting it fall onto the tile floor .

And the collar. I guess I've gotten used to it because I forgot it was there until he removed my shirt and I felt the leash against my bare back.

Silas runs his hands up the back of my thighs, wrapping them around his waist. His mouth finds mine again, his kiss more desperate and eager than before. I hook my ankles together behind him as he grinds against me, but it's not good enough. I reach for the button on his jeans, and he jerks me back with the leash, rolling it around his fist.

I guess he didn't forget it was there.

"I love you," he says.

A strangled gasp escapes me as he pulls at the leash again, a little harder this time, and he holds it there while he kisses me. His lips trail down my jawbone and onto my neck. My head is swimming; I close my eyes, seeing stars behind my lids while my swollen clit pulses between my legs.

But then, he lets go.

"Don't stop," I say as I gasp for air. "You can do it harder."

"Fuck, Noah," he says, running his thumb over my nipple. "You might regret saying that to me."

I shake my head. "No, I won't."

He winds the leash around his fist again and then throws me over his shoulder, carries me out of the bathroom, and lays me down on the bed. I watch as he pulls his hoodie and the shirt beneath it over his head, and then unbuttons his pants.

"Get on all fours," Silas says.

Tate watches from the only chair in the room just a few feet away, holding my eyes while I pull myself up. I watch his hand move to the bulge in his sweatpants, stroking the tip with his thumb.

Silas grabs the leash again, pulling it backward, and not expecting it, I choke loudly on air. He holds it there while he lines the head of his dick up with my entrance, my pussy clenching in anticipation until he pushes his way inside.

"Fuck, that's good," he groans, burying himself to the hilt. He holds it there, stretching me. I can feel it when his dick twitches inside me, and I whimper, a shiver running up my spine.

Then he adjusts his grip on the leash again and begins thrusting in and out of me. He fucks me hard, pulling the leash tightly, just like I asked. Each time his hips slam into my ass, rocking me forward, my collar tightens, and I choke and sputter, whimpering with each tiny, quick breath I take. Drool runs down my chin, but my body feels so good.

"You look like a slut," Tate says. I look over and see him standing at the side of the bed, naked and hard. He climbs onto the bed beside me. "Do you like that, Noah? Getting fucked like a slut? Does it feel good?"

I try to tell him yes, but I can't quite form the word. It comes out as a squeal instead, and I nod.

He shoves two fingers into my mouth, and I choke on those, too, until he pulls them out and trails them down my spine. "What about this?"

And then he pushes those two fingers into my ass.

Silas does the work for him. Every time he thrusts his hips into me and jerks on that leash, Tate's fingers fuck into my ass.

I'm so close to coming now, I'm yelping with every thrust.

"I think that' s a yes," Silas groans. "I think she's going to come."

"Sil…Silas…" I manage. "God…"

"I think she has too much air," Tate says.

Silas pulls the leash tighter again while simultaneously picking up the pace. And I don't make any sounds between thrusts anymore. I fist the comforter and arch my back, trembling as he brings me over the edge.

"God, you feel so." Thrust. "Fucking." Thrust. "Good."

My eyes roll back in my head, and I silently come apart.

While my pussy is still clenching around Silas's dick, the leash goes slack, my collar loosens, and I gasp for air.

"Ahhhh!" I cry out. "Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck…fuck me."

Tate takes his fingers out of my ass and leans over, kissing my mouth, but I'm too breathless to kiss him back. He says something, too, as Silas slips out of me, but I can't hear him over my heaving breath and the ringing in my ears.

"What?" I gasp.

"Lie down, Noah," Tate says.

No problem. My knees are sore and my body is tired. I nod and stretch out on my stomach as Silas lies down next to me.

Tate grabs me and rolls me onto my side with my back against his chest, hitching one of my legs up and holding me open while Silas pushes his cock into me again, taking me in long, powerful thrusts.

"Oh, god…" I whimper.

"There you go," Tate says. "Let him in, baby. You'll let us use your body however we want, won't you? "

"Yes…" I wrap my arms around Silas's neck, clinging to him while he drills into me. "You can use me. I love it when you use me."

"Fuck, I'm going to come," Silas says.

"Not yet," Tate tells him.

Silas grits his teeth as he slows his pace, and I lean against his chest, still sensitive and spent from my own orgasm.

I gasp when I feel something cold and wet run down my backside. Something much bigger than fingers nudges at my back entrance, and my heart pounds.

Tate pulls back on the leash and kisses my neck before whispering into my ear, "Have you ever done this before?"

I shake my head. "No," I reply weakly.

"Good," he says.

He pulls my earlobe through his teeth as he pushes the head of his cock inside me, and I scream, squeezing my eyes closed and digging my nails into Silas's shoulders. "Fuck!"

"Relax," Tate whispers. He kisses my neck and reaches around the front of me, cupping my tit in his hand. "Will you tell her to relax?"

"Relax, Noah," Silas says. "Just breathe through it. You'll be fine."

He reaches his hand between us, finding my clit with his fingers, fucking me at the same slow pace while Tate thrusts into me from behind, and I moan from both pain and pleasure.

"It feels so good," Tate says. "I can feel Silas fucking you, too."

"I can feel it, too," Silas says. "You look so pretty like this."

I breathe through it like Silas said, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, and with the help of his fingers, it gets easier to take them both like this. My clit starts to throb, and then it's the only sensation I care about.

I moan into his chest, rocking my hips a little, moving my body with them.

"There you go," Tate says. "I knew you'd like this, you little slut."

He pulls on my earlobe with his teeth just as spasms rack my body, and I come hard, shaking between them—on both of them. I cry out, raking my fingernails down Silas's back.

"Oh, fuck! Fuck! Oh, my god!"

"Jesus, Noah."

I'd apologize if I could. I know it'll leave a mark, but my head is swimming, my clit throbbing, and Tate jerks on the leash again—not like Silas, but enough to make me feel it, and I gasp.

"You're tensing up again," Tate says. "I don't mind, but it's going to hurt more."

His hand runs down my body, stopping at my hip, and I focus on that touch while trying to relax, watching Silas move in and out of me.

"She likes watching it fuck into her," Tate says.

"Do you, baby? Do you like seeing your pussy juices all over my dick when I slip it inside?"

"Yes—ahh!" Before I can answer, Tate pulls the leash again.

"Shit," Silas says. "Do it again. I like the sounds she makes."

Tate pulls back again, causing me to whimper, just like he likes.

"Fuck." Silas picks up his pace, thrusting into me harder, faster. "I can't go easy on you anymore. I need to come in you. If you can't walk when we're finished with you, it's okay—I'll carry you."

Tate matches his pace, and I scream, my toes curling as I dig my nails deeper into Silas's flesh again, and he growls in response.

"You can take it," Tate says. "You can take it, baby. We're going to put so much cum in you, it'll be dripping down your legs for a week."

"Oh, god…"

"Fuck!" Silas roars before sucking air through his teeth. His dick jumps inside me, his thrusts growing slower, and then shorter, before he stills. "Jesus fuck, that feels good."

He pulls out when he finishes, rolling onto his back, and Tate tightens his arm around my waist, hammering into me from behind for a minute longer. I cry out every time his hips drive into mine until he finally comes, too.

I lie between them, spent and breathless, clutching the comforter in my fists, while he finishes inside me.

"You did good, baby," Tate says. He releases the arm around my waist and brings his hand to my face, using his thumb to wipe the tears from my eyes.

"I don't think I've ever come that hard in my life," Silas says. He pulls the sheet over the three of us before kissing me on the lips. "You okay?"

I nod before closing my eyes with Tate still inside me.

We lie there for a while, my body aching, my eyes still closed, before there's a knock at the door. I look up at Silas, who looks alarmed, too .

"Oh, I ordered pizza," Tate says. "That's what I was going to tell you before you guys came in all…well, you know."

Relief overtakes Silas's worried expression. I guess I'm not the only one who thinks every unknown phone call or uninvited visitor might be the end. "All right, I'll get it."

Silas climbs out of bed, dresses, and then grabs a wad of cash from a backpack in the corner of the room. He opens the door just enough to step through and closes it behind him.

"If I take you off your leash, do you promise to be a good girl?" Tate asks, kissing my shoulder.

"Yes."

I shiver as he pulls out of me, and then he props himself up on his elbow, removes the collar from around my neck, and tosses it behind him onto the floor.

"That's going to leave a mark," he says, rubbing my neck. "It did leave a mark."

"That's okay," I whisper.

Silas walks back inside with the pizza, and Tate sits against the headboard, pulling the sheet up to his waist, and turns on the television. "No Netflix at The Trash Bag Inn. Sorry, Noah."

I scoff and crawl under the covers beside him. "That's not what it's called."

"No, you're right. Do you know what it's called? Motel."

"Make room for the pizza," Silas says.

I move closer to Tate and he pulls me over until I'm sitting between his legs and reclining against his chest.

"It's not really called Motel, either," I say. "It has to have a name. "

"Yeah, it is, Noah. And it has a name—I just told you the name. What's the sign say?"

"Motel…but—"

"You live here. If it's not called Motel, what's it called then?" He shrugs and grabs a slice of pizza from the box. "Oh, Scream marathon. Let's watch that."

"I don't know what it's called; I exist in a vacuum." He scoffs and takes a bite of the pizza. "But you're lying."

"No, he's not, Noah," Silas says. "It's really called Motel. It comes up as Motel on a GPS, and when I checked in, I asked the guy what it's called, and he said it doesn't really have a name, but they called it Winter Falls Motel when they answer the phone."

"Then that's the name. It's not just Motel."

"No!" Tate says. "No, it's not, because then , I asked the guy what his paycheck says, and he told me it just says Motel."

I sigh. "Whatever."

"You're mad because I'm right," he says.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Just admit it."

"No, she's mad because the motel doesn't have a name. It made me fucking mad, too; that's why I asked what it was called."

"Yeah, it does make me mad, and I refuse to accept it. If I stopped at a motel, and the person behind the desk told me it didn't have a name, I would break everything in there and leave."

"Well, your town doesn't have a lot of options," Silas says.

"This is the only option," Tate says .

"Well…where do you live?" I ask.

I wait, but neither of them answers. I look at Silas, but he's looking at Tate, and Tate isn't answering.

It scares me.

Tate threads his fingers through my hair and rubs circles behind my ear with his thumb. "You need to eat," he says, ignoring my question.

I glance at Silas again, but he's just eating and staring straight ahead at the television. He's not going to tell me, either.

"I can't eat that."

There are too many different textures and far too much cheese. Even cut into tiny pieces, I don't think I'd be able to stomach it.

"Hey, Silas? Can you get me one of those forks?"

Silas removes the wrapping from a plastic fork and knife and hands it to Tate. He uses it to cut the pizza into pieces and then brings the fork to my mouth.

"Eat," he says, rubbing my neck. "You'll be fine."

Why do I feel like he's always saying that to me? It's okay, Noah. You'll be fine, Noah. You're okay. But if everything is fine, why won't they tell me where they live or where they've been all this time?

I'm afraid to ask, so I push it down.

I let him feed me an entire slice like that. I only choke on the first couple of bites; my head is elsewhere, the way it is when I'm drunk, and I think that's why I'm able to eat.

They finish the rest of the pizza, and Silas tosses the box aside and moves over until he's shoulder to shoulder with Tate, resting his hand inside my thigh beneath the sheets. Tate kisses the top of my head, his fingers still entwined in my hair, and I listen to his heartbeat, calm and steady, while Scream 2 starts playing on the television.

"You're my Sydney. You know that?" Tate asks.

I shake my head before turning onto my side, pulling my legs into my body as I wrap my arms around him and curl into him.

"What's wrong? These movies don't still give you nightmares, do they?"

"No," I say softly.

"Well, that's good."

"Tate?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

It's quiet for a few seconds before he sighs and removes his hand from my hair. "Damn it."

"Tate?"

"That's not what this is, Noah."

I can't breathe. It feels like someone dropped a weight in the center of my chest, and it's crushing my ribcage.

I sit up, clutching the blanket to my body, and turn to face him.

"What do you mean?"

"Fuck, Noah. Why'd you have to do this?"

"What did I do?"

"I can't love you," he says. "You're untrustworthy; you're a liar, and when we leave tomorrow, you're not coming with us."

I search his eyes for some sign that he's lying, holding my breath and waiting for him to tell me it's just another one of his cruel jokes. Something else he said or did just so he could kiss it and make it better.

But his posture relaxes, and he casually takes a pull from a bottle of whiskey. When he sets it down on the side table, he just looks around me—no, through me—at the television screen, completely unfazed.

Well, he got me again, didn't he?

And I'm heavy again. I drag myself out of the bed toward the bathroom where I'd discarded my clothes, each footstep requiring an undue amount of effort, as if I'm trudging through water.

Silas is speaking, but I'm not sure if it's to me or to him. I'm not sure I can take any more, anyway.

I close the door behind me, lock it, and pick up my sweatpants from the ground. I'm not going back out there for my underwear. And after I dress, I catch my reflection in the mirror, and suddenly, I'm that girl in the gas station bathroom again. Alone, with no life to go back to.

I wonder where she dug up her will to live, her survival instinct. I don't think I have it anymore.

"You win, Tate," I tell him as I head for the motel door. "I give up."