Page 86 of Icarus

“Let me see you, please. I haven’t . . . I need—tell me what happened?”

Helios laughed and pushed a hand through his hair in anguish. “He tossed me around, dragged me for a bit. My ribs still hurt a lot on one side.”

He got out of bed and let the sheet fall from his shoulders so Icarus could see him. Helios’s legs were peppered with small Band-Aids, though no horrible gashes like Icarus had imagined in his nightmares. He had bruising around his arms, up his sides, and around his throat, where Mr. Black had grabbed him. There was a scratch across his back that was shallow and healing. Icarus took pictures, quiet and solemn, for proof if they needed it later.

Then, he touched each one, gauging their severity by the quiet noises Helios made. The only one that seemed dangerous was the mottled yellow and purple bruise across his ribs.

“Icarus, you have to go. Things have been weird around here—my dad is acting different. Suspicious. It’s much worse than before. You shouldn’t come back here for a week, maybe two. Even for stealing,” Helios said firmly.

Icarus brushed his lips across an abrasion on Helios’s hip and Helios hissed.

“I’m not kidding. He’s been going in rooms he never goes into and picking up things he rarely touches. You’re not safe here.” Helios shuddered as Icarus tongued a purple mark at his collar.

“He goes in his office for all his phone calls, and he used—he used to take them in the living room where I could overhear.”

This couldn’t be allowed to go on.

“I’ll give you your two weeks,” Icarus said, running his nose up the length of Helios’s neck. “But when I come back, do you want to leave with me?”

Helios was frowning when Icarus pulled back to see his face.

“Icarus, I’m wearing a tracker made of fucking steel. How are you going to—” Helios started.

“Then I’ll have two weeks to figure that out.” Icarus pushed Helios backward, and he sat on the bed hard with a small gasp of pain.

“My ribs.” Helios wrapped an arm around them. “They feel like they’re broken.”

Icarus sank to his knees and lifted Helios’s shirt again for a closer inspection. “I think they’re bruised. I broke one of mine when I was learning to climb. If they were broken, you would be screaming right now. That’s not to say it doesn’t hurt though. Can you take Tylenol?”

Helios shook his head and looked so very sad. “Where are we going to go?”

Icarus ceased his attentions and sat back on his heels. He picked up one of Helios’s hands to hold. “Helios. I have some savings and . . . a plan to get more. I’m not going to wait around for this maniac to kill you.”

“Can . . . can I tell my mom?”

Icarus rolled his eyes. “Of course you can tell your mom. The only reason we aren’t going straight to her is because he’ll probably go there first. The goal is to get you out of here, get her on the phone, send pictures of your bruises and cuts so she understands why you had to leave. Get her blessing to go dark for a bit and then run off. I don’t want there to be like a national manhunt.”

Helios swallowed.

“I want her to know you,” Helios said, earnestly. “I want her to see you. I think she would love you so much.”

Icarus leaned up and brushed their lips together, soft.

“Don’t kiss me so hard next time,” he said with a smile. “I almost died.”

Helios beamed back, and wiped his eyes. “You have to go. You really have to go.”

Icarus squeezed his hand just once, then crawled under the bed to get his things.

“Two weeks,” he said seriously. “I’ll be back for you.”

Weak

The morning came gentle and light.

Icarus got out of bed and got ready for school. He pulled on his softest, warmest clothes, laced up his boots, and ran a comb through his hair. He didn’t feel ready to join the real world again, but he had to. He had to.

On the kitchen table, still steaming beneath an upturned dessert plate, was a bowl of oatmeal. There was a heaping spoonful of his favorite blackberry jam in the center. Cinnamon sugar sprinkled over the edges. Angus was nowhere to be found.