Page 53 of Wrong Cabin, Right Time
I chuckle. “You’re the one insisting on ‘flavor.’”
We turn a corner, and I nearly knock over a tower of avocados stacked like a Jenga death trap.
“This store is a lawsuit waiting to happen,” I mutter, catching a rolling avocado with the toe of my shoe.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she says without looking up from her list.
The store isn’t busy, but there are a few customers straggling around and throwing items haphazardly into their carts. Sage seems to take inventory of each of them as she leads me through the aisles toward the back of the store, which is completely empty.
“You can’t hurt that girl,” she whispers. Her eyes are sharp and adamant, but I’m almost shocked by her reaction. With how excited she was with Eli’s kill, I would assume she would be happy that I found another. “She doesn’t deserve to die.”
“How do you know that?” I inch closer and lean down slightly so the two of us can converse more discreetly. “Neither of us knows anything about her. She could be just as bad as Eli.”
She rolls her eyes and drops the basket on the ground to cross her arms in front of her. “She’s just a kid. She doesn’t even look like she’s old enough to buy alcohol. You can’t go after someone like her. There are countless other people who deserve to go.”
I clench my fists and sigh, shaking my head. “Don’t put this on me. The vigilante idea was all yours, not mine. This isn’t about who deserves to go. It’s about who I choose to vent the energy inside me. It’s always in me. I have to get it out, and I can’t always wait until we find the right person.”
Sage is silent as she sees how resolute I am. With each word, I feel myself growing more frustrated with her. After everything we’ve done, I thought I could expect her to be more understanding of the risks involved.
“I have a choice. I can either find some anonymous person nobody’s ever going to miss and kill them, or I can find someone else who I track down and interact with, which will lead to me getting caught,” I continue, gritting my teeth as I speak. “Regardless of how you’re looking at it, someone’s going to die either way. I’m not a hero, and you’re not going to make me one.”
She looks away from me, and for a moment I feel bad about snapping. I know she has good intentions, but that’s not my responsibility. She’s already come into my life and changed it so much; I am not willing to budge on this. This is who I am. She knew this before she got involved.
“Let’s get out of here.” I turn around and storm out of the store before she says anything else. My anger is boiling over, and I can’t risk the two of us having an outburst in public, not when so much is on the line. I expect Sage to follow me. Normally, when I tell her to do something, she does. But when I get to the car, I turn around and she’s not there.
It feels like the ground has been pulled out from under me. She’s always there. I’ve gotten used to her following me around like a puppy dog all day long. It’s part of my new routine, and her not being there is yet another way she has disrupted it.
That’s not even mentioning the fact that she knows everything about my kills. She knows the names of the people I have tracked down, where I’ve killed them, and where I keep their ashes.
I open the driver’s-side door just to slam it shut as I storm toward the store entrance once again. How could I be so fucking stupid? Never in my life have I been trusting with anyone, save my sister when we were children. Why would I give such sensitive information to someone I barely know? If I don’t do what Sage wants, is she just going to rat me out to the police?
Of course they would believe her. She can make up any lie she wants, and they’ll believe her. She has that ability to charm people. She can tell them I forced her to help me, that she was a victim just like everyone else I’ve killed. I can’t have that.
I briskly walk through every aisle, trying to find her. She’s not hard to spot with her vibrant pink hair. But no matter where I look, she has practically vanished. I feel my frustration starting to boil over. On top of that, I’m worried she’s run off to someplace I’ll never find.
The last place I look is the bathroom. Thankfully, the store is empty enough that nobody else is in the ladies’ room aside from Sage. She grips the counter as her shoulders shake with every sob she lets out.
I freeze. I’ve seen her cry only once before, under much different circumstances. It stirs something in me that I don’t recognize. My heart aches, and I feel like it’s pushing me toward her. It’s unfamiliar, and I don’t know how to act.
“You’re crying,” I say as I slowly inch toward her. She looks at me with blotchy red eyes and a scowl on her face. She’s never looked at me like this.
My brain is completely still, refusing to cooperate with me. I know how to put on a facade to seem like I’m the same as everyone else. The only problem is that facade works only for typical situations like what to say to a clerk at a grocery store checkout. Not how to console a crying woman in a bathroom.
I hold my hand out and place it on her shoulder. My entire arm feels heavy, like I’m doing the wrong thing and forcing my body to go against itself. Sage looks at it, then back at me, and rolls her eyes.
“Is this ... helping?” I ask, my hand awkwardly hovering in midair like I’m waiting for a high five from a statue.
“You look like you’re malfunctioning,” she says, sniffling.
“That checks out.” I retract my hand and wipe it on my pants like it caught feelings.
“Do I pat your head now? Or fetch tissues? I’ve seen people offer tea during emotional events.”
“Unless it’s laced with bourbon, I’d pass,” I retort.
“Noted for next time. Bring booze and avoid touching.”
“I’m sorry.” I pull my arm away and step closer. “I don’t know how to respond to emotional outbursts from other people. This is all new to me.”
