Still not satisfied, they lash his feet together. Finally, they shove him into the same cell as me and slam the door shut. I hear the lock catch. All of the guards other than Sean move into the front room. I wonder how many will stay at the Pawn Shop to keep an eye on us. Probably most of them, since we're Rafe's prize possession.
Now they're gone, there's enough room to breathe. Amir drags the machine through the narrow doorway and into the three-foot aisle between Job's cell and mine. He rolls it alongside where I'm sitting with my arms still bound behind my back.
“If you promise to behave yourself, we'll cut your zip ties,” Amir says.
“You'll cut them either way,” I say flatly, “because you need my plasma.”
He smiles. “True. We do.” He pulls a knife from his boot and holds his hand out. I scoot around and push my hands over to the bars. “I am truly sorry for all this nastiness. You have always tried to help, and this hardly seems the best way to repay you.”
I turn away because even though I like Amir, I don't want to make polite conversation. Not now, not with anyone here.
If I thought giving plasma the last two times was uncomfortable, I had no idea what discomfort really meant. My arm goes to sleep while I reach through the bars of the cell and let them hook a wide bore needle to the vein inside my elbow. My butt goes numb on the concrete floor. Around and around, I watch the blood flow out, the machine circulate it, and the red blood cells flow back inside.
On the third rotation, something louder than rain happens in the front room. I can't tell what's happening, and when I shift to try and look, the needle jabs painfully into the crook of my elbow. I don't want to blow my vein.
“Don't hurt yourself, princess. It's just your bags. Rafe ordered they send them over.” Sean jingles the keys. “Of course, they've gone through them to make sure there's nothing dangerous in there.”
Riyah ducks through the door, and comes back with a black backpack. Sean opens the lock on Job's cell first, and tosses it through the cell door. Job doesn't move.
“He's not even shifting. Even if your scientific background focused on cows, you should recognize the signs of shock,” I say. “He needs medical attention.”
Amir shakes his head from where he's standing against the doorway. “We've all lost family. He'll survive it.”
“You idiot, I don't mean he's surprised by his sister's death or even sad about it. Sometimes cases of extreme grief, like the loss of a twin,” I glare pointedly at Riyah, because Amir should understand this, “can cause physical symptoms. Medically speaking, shock means there isn't enough blood flow in the body. Having his hands bound behind his back while sitting in a heap on a concrete floor certainly isn't helping. With insufficient blood flow, organs can die. The heart tries to overcompensate for the lower volume, and it makes things worse. One in five patients die of shock.”
Technically that's true. I don't explain that statistic applies to medical shock and Job isn't suffering from that, because I want them to undo his zip ties. He doesn't deserve this. He's worked tirelessly to help save them, so they shoot his sister, tie him up, and lock him in a cage? I clench my hands and the blood flows out even faster. My machine begins beeping when it over collects and Amir glares at me.
Sean's opening Job's cage and cutting his ties when someone else I know walks through the door. I always called her Beefy in my head, and I'm embarrassed not to recall her real name. She's a large, heavy set, ruddy-faced girl who had a crush on Sam. She was with Sean when they almost caught me on my way to Galveston the first time. As much as she liked Sam, that’s how much she disliked me. She sucks on her teeth and lifts my large black duffel bag. It looks much lighter than it was before. I wonder what they removed and why.
“Rafe thought you might need something in here. He didn't figure you'd need that fancy crown with the sparkly gemstones.” She lifts one eyebrow and spits on the floor.
Good riddance.
“But he left you that fancy red dress. Figured you might wanna put it on for his brother to try and win him back.” She chortles, and I glance at Sam.
He pays her no attention at all, and it’s the kind of behavior he wouldn’t have tolerated two hours ago. I want to curl up like Job and pretend nothing matters. Old Ruby would have done it.
Sean closes Job's cell door again and I glance over, hopeful. In spite of the removal of his restraints, Job hasn't even shifted, his hands still clasped behind his back. I offer up a silent prayer. Please God, if you're there, keep him alive and safe.
Sean walks over to the far end of my cubby where Sam sits on the ground, knees up, hands bound behind him. “I'm going to open this door, alright?”
Beefy points a gun at my head. “I'll shoot her if you try anything Sam. You hear me?”
Sam's face doesn't show a single emotion when he responds. “You wouldn't shoot her if I sliced your friend up into a dozen pieces. You need Ruby too much.”
“Fine.” Sean grunts. “We'll shoot that one. Briggs.” Beefy, apparently also known as Briggs, swings her gun toward Job.
Sam rolls his eyes. “You need him too, but if the threat makes you feel better.”
Sean opens the door and tosses my bag into the space between Sam and me, then he slams the door shut again. “Hey Briggs, where's his stuff?”
She shakes her head, the corners of her mouth turning up in admiration. “Rafe said his bag was full of weapons. Nothing we could bring to him.”
I smile. That's my Sam alright.
A puddle is forming around my bag. Clearly they didn't get it here before the deluge began. I hope the rain didn't ruin any of my stuff. The clothing should all be fine, except maybe that stupid red ballgown. I roll my eyes. Now that I actually have one, I realize parents are ridiculous.
Oh man, my Dad's journal!
I use my toe to pull the bag closer to me, cursing the stupid needle in my arm. Once I finally pull it close enough, I unzip the bag and rummage around with my right arm. I finally find the messenger bag and open it. The journal's gone. I throw the messenger bag against the wall with a shout, and swear loudly.
Sam's eyes follow my actions, but he doesn't speak. Why doesn't he say anything? I want to talk to him about it, but I don't know what to say or even how to broach the topic.
Eventually, Riyah crosses to where I'm sitting, crouches down and disconnects the needle from my arm. She binds the entry wound carefully. Before she stands up, she passes me a bottle of water. “Stay hydrated. We'll have food sent over soon.” She meets my eyes and for once, hers aren't angry. They aren't full of hate. At first I can't figure out what I'm seeing. She pulls something from her pocket and passes it to me.
“One of my friends loves to take pictures. She had this on her wall and I thought you might want it.”
It's a Polaroid photograph of Rhonda from our first day in Baton Rouge.
My eyes well with tears. “Why would she take this?”
“She took several of you on the day you arrived.” She rolls her eyes. “She took that one as a contrast, the savior we thought and the one we really got.”
I bite my lip. Everyone would be better off if only Rhonda and I could've traded places. She'd have made the right decisions and she'd have been stronger, faster and better at making them. Why couldn't I have died instead?
I stare at the image, Rhonda's high cheekbone clear because her face is turned toward the sun. Such a gorgeous face and I'll never see it again. “Thank you.” The words come out in a whisper. When I meet Riyah's eyes, I recognize what I couldn't before. Now that Rhonda's gone, Riyah doesn't hate me anymore.
She pities me instead.
Riyah and Amir gather up the plasma machine and accoutrements and push them through the door. Sean looks from me to Sam and back again. He clears his throat. “If I loved someone and I lived in a world where there was no guarantee of tomorrow. And if that person always tried to do what was right, well I might forgive them for most anything.”
Sam raises one eyebro
w and tilts his head.
Sean stretches and yawns. “Not that any of that has to do with either of you. But I think I'm just going to rest my eyes for a minute on the other side of this doorway. I'll be able to hear anything louder than say, a strong cough. So don't try anything, okay?”
I would hug Sean if I could. But part of me also wants to yank him back in here. Clearly I don't know what I want. Except once he’s gone I have no idea what to say, so I sit helplessly on the concrete floor and stare at Job's still form.
Seconds pass, or maybe they're minutes. I don't know. I can't count them because my mind spins like a top, like the bottle from that fateful night at the Last Supper. The night when all I thought about was Wesley and our first kiss. Only now I don't want to kiss Wesley. I only want to kiss Sam. I realize what I need to say, and I'm not sure why it took me so long to find the right words. They're so simple, so universal, and so necessary.
I whisper the words, but I know he can hear me. “I'm sorry, Sam.”
No response.
I scoot across the floor until I'm only a foot away from him. “Are you ever going to talk to me again?”
“Why?” Sam's eyes are closed.
At first I think he's asking why he'd talk to me again, but then I realize what he's really asking. He wants to know why I did it. Why did I kiss Wesley? Or maybe he’s asking why I didn't tell him.
I look at his face, his breathtaking face. Large square jaw covered in blonde stubble, and full, thick golden hair, a few strands falling forward over his cheekbones. Flawless golden skin. Full lips, barely parted to show large, straight white teeth. And his eyes are closed, so I don't know whether they look greener or more gold in this moment. I'm not even sure which one I prefer.
He's everything I want, and everything I've lost by my stupid indecision.
“I don't know why. I think I kissed him that night because, well, maybe I felt like I didn't deserve you. I left you on that bridge to die, but you lived through it. I gave up on us when I never should have. You suffered because of me, and I felt guilty about it. You're so much better than me, stronger, faster.” I shake my head. “I didn't deserve you then and I definitely don't now. I guess I knew that already and I figured—”
Sam's eyes open and he shakes his head. “I don't care about that. You hoped I was alive, but you thought I wasn't. I get it and I don't really care that you kissed him.” His jaw clenches. “Or I'm trying not to anyway. Either way, I get it because I know you, Ruby. I knew you'd feel guilty about leaving me.” He chokes. “I can get over that. What hurt me most was that you lied to me. Why you didn't tell me when I asked you that night? Why lie about it?” He leans his head back against the shelf and closes his eyes. “There's only one reason I can think of and it's not a good one.”
My stomach sinks. I want to cry but I can't hide behind that, so I blink back the tears. Sam isn't even upset I kissed Wesley? I should've told him that first night. I take a deep breath to tell him I lied because I was afraid to lose him, because I need him to survive. I'm still a big fat coward, even now, even after everything else. My mouth opens to confess the words, but then it closes again. He says there's only one reason he can think of, and it's not that. Sam doesn't think I'm a coward, and if I'm being honest I don't either. Not anymore.
I can't lie to him now, which means I can't lie to myself anymore. The only other reason I'd have kissed Wesley right before discovering whether Sam was alive was if I wasn't sure Sam was the one for me. If I wasn't positive, and I wasn't ready to commit to being Sam's girlfriend, maybe I’d want to preserve another option. If I wasn't ready to end any possibility with Wesley, then I couldn't admit to its existence in the first place.
My voice sounds small, even to my own ears. “I don't know.”
Sam grunts. “I do.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means I know why, and you know too, and you don't have to say the words.”
“Then does that mean you'll forgive me? What can I do?”
Sam shakes his head. “I don't need to forgive you, Ruby. You haven't done anything wrong.”
I scoot closer, and lean against his arm. “What are you saying? I don't understand.”
His greenish-gold eyes stare into mine. “You're still so naive sometimes. You think everything is black and white, but black and white don't exist in real life. The entire world’s drawn in shades of grey. I love you and that means I choose you every minute of every day. With everything I say and everything I do, I choose you again and again. It's a conscious choice. People think love is like a gift, or a one-time decision, but it's not. It's something you do over and over and over, like Sisyphus rolling the rock up the hill. As soon as you stop, the rock rolls away, and you either keep pushing or walk away. If you really love someone, it takes work and you make the choice to do it every single day. You have to choose to be whatever that person needs.”
“Who's sissy fuss?”
Sam sighs. “It's a Greek thing. Never mind. I'm hurt Ruby, not angry. If you're kissing Wesley and keeping things from me, that means you aren't choosing me back. It means you aren't sure yet, and that's not something you need to apologize for, it just means we aren't in the same place like I thought we were.”
I take his hand in mine. “I do choose you. We are in the same place.”
His mouth smiles, but his eyes are still sad. “When you're forced to choose, you pick me. But when no one's asking, you're not sure. The thing is, you're still so young. You're supposed to have time to make these decisions. I don't want you to take this the wrong way, because it's really a gift.”
“What is? I don't want to take anything the wrong way, because that sounds ominous. With the day we've both had, let's not do anything we'll regret.”
“Ruby, I'm dumping you. We’re through.”
I thought my heart was already as broken as it could be after Rhonda. I didn't think it could hurt more, but it does. When I hear Sam say we’re through, my heart splinters into a million pieces, and they burrow down into my chest cavity. I scoot away, pull my legs up into my nose, and wrap my arms around them. Tears leak down my cheeks. “Don't, don't do it. You said you aren't even mad. You don't mean it.”
Sam sighs. “I'm not breaking up with you because I'm hurt. I kept things from you before, like Wesley's message, and I've regretted that decision every day since. I'll never do that again because you're my one constant. But it's not enough for me to be sure.”
I gasp. “I choose you too. I said that.”
Sam sighs. “You don't, not yet anyway, and that's okay. I shouldn't have pushed you before. It was wrong. We've been under a lot of pressure and you don't need more, not right now, so I won't push you again.”
I bump him with my shoulder. “I want you to pressure me. I do, because I need us to be okay. The world's upside down, and we're locked up again, and I need us to be alright. Something in my life has to be good.”
Sam strains his arms, muscles bulging, veins popping. A small pop followed by a larger one. He rotates his shoulders and brings his arms around to the front. “I can't be with you because you need something good, like a lifeline for someone who's drowning. You need to be okay on your own before we can ever be okay together. We all live in prisons of our own making.” He reaches toward me and I gasp. His wrists are bleeding.
“Sam.”
He puts one finger on my mouth. “Shhh, it's fine. They'll heal in the next few minutes. I didn't want to break them because it'll make them even more nervous around me, but you need to know this, Ruby. I'm all in. You aren't sure what you want yet, and that's okay. If you love Wesley, and I know you do.” Sam swallows and his hands shake, but he stills them. “If you do love that wise-cracking idiot more than you love me, well, I'll be alright. I'll always do my best to keep you safe, even if I get frustrated or annoyed. My support for you isn't contingent on your picking me.”
“Things are almost okay,” I say. “The world's so close, if people will just stop being
stupid long enough that we can fix it.”
Sam pulls my head against his chest. “Oh, Ruby. You're so absurdly hopeful sometimes. We can't ever 'fix' the world, because Tercera isn't what broke it. Humans broke it, and they won't stop even if we fix this problem, and the one after this. And the one after that.”
I exhale and shift, turning toward Sam, trying to savor this moment and the knowledge he isn't mad. I may not be sure yet why I kissed Wesley, or exactly how I feel, but I know I love Sam. I know I do.
“I don't want us to be broken up,” I say.
Sam presses a kiss to my forehead. “When you can tell me why you kissed Wesley and promise me it will never happen again. When you can tell me you don't need me, but you want me, then we can be together. Until then, I'm not going anywhere. I'll still keep you safe, and I'll try my best not to bash Wesley's idiotic head in every time he touches you. And if you want to kiss him.” His arms tense and a vein pops in his temple. “If you kiss him I’ll turn the other way. You’re free and you have time. That’s why I’m dumping you.”
I don’t know if I’ll ever see Wesley again. My gaze lowers to the messenger bag, slumped on the bottom shelf. At least the journal didn't get wet if Rafe took it out before bringing the bag to me. I notice something white poking out from the edge of the bag and squint at it. What is that?
I push forward and crawl across the floor toward the white paper poking out. I open the biggest pocket in the bag and shake it. A packet of letters slides out. I forgot those were on top of the journal. I shoved them into the bag that night back in Solomon's office, right after my mom shot him.
Sam says, “What is it?”
I crawl back over and lean against him again. “Some letters were bound up next to my dad's last journal. They weren't in the safe, so I guess Solomon got them from somewhere else. I forgot I even had them. Rafe took the journal, but he missed these.”
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