20. Kiera
KIERA
Classic bird brains. Baiting us with a plan, and then completely ghosting before delivering on their end.
In all fairness, it hadn’t been that long. And a few more days in Vivienne’s sleepy countryside cottage wasn’t exactly hellish. But it was the uncertainty that felt like torture, the constant, impending doom of when the calm would finally end.
How long does it take to find a safehouse anyway?
Everyone was anxious about the limbo, living out of half-packed duffels and jumping every time a phone rang. But no one was more on edge than Dom.
She could hardly sit still, often going on early morning runs and disappearing into the forest for hours. One night while the rest of us were getting ready for bed, I found her outside, chopping firewood despite the winter being long over.
She was a mess, and Lord knew she didn’t know how to express it with her words.
Which meant that every night, I was her relief. Nearly to my limit.
I tried to be quieter ever since our Peeping Tom made herself known, but I could only take Dom stretching my center with so much grace.
It was honestly a horrible idea to keep on like this. She was impulsive, unpredictable — violent, even. Then again, so was everything about our lives.
And at least I knew how our late night rendezvous would end… even if neither of us wanted to talk about it in the morning.
Last night, Dom had been particularly frantic, and I guess she’d worn herself out, because for once, I woke up before her in the morning. For a moment, I laid there watching her, having a hard time believing that she was actually asleep.
Even in her slumber, she looked stern. But it wasn’t the harsh snarl she wore in waking hours. The furrow of her brow read as guarded more than anything else.
The sight brought a frown to my lips. I wasn’t sure how she managed to be so defensive even in her sleep, but I felt the urge to run my finger over the wrinkle and smooth it. To kiss her cheek and…
It was definitely time to get out of bed.
Careful not to wake the beast, I scooched down the mattress and escaped over the foot of the bedframe.
The distressed tee and silky shorts Dom had torn off of me last night lay in a puddle on the floor.
No underwear to be seen, but I wasn’t risking the light or sound that came with digging through my duffel for more clothes.
This is plenty, I assured myself as I slipped on the ensemble and crept past the door.
In the hallway, early morning light filtered in past the tree branches that shaded the windows.
Spencer and Leo’s door was still closed.
I had half a mind to crack it open and sneak into their bed for a cuddle, but the Oracle could call us back at any time, and if they were managing to sleep peacefully, I wanted them to get all the rest they could.
So instead, I padded toward the stairs, careful to avoid the creaking boards at the end of the landing.
The light from downstairs was even brighter — south-facing windows, less obstructed by the trees — and the warm wood of the banister glowed under its beams. As I tiptoed down the steps, it felt like I was walking right into heaven.
But the change in elevation quickly highlighted the limitations of my current outfit.
These shorts barely covered my ass to begin with, and the shirt barely covered the shorts.
Each step down bared a whole thigh, and as I passed by the mirror at the foot of the stairs, I realized that my worn tee was nearly transparent in this lighting.
Spencer and Leo would have a field day with this outfit. I know Viv has been chill about our whole… situation, but I’m not sure I need to encourage them.
I glanced back over my shoulder, considering running back up for a change of clothes. But then I remembered the grumpy mass of muscle sleeping in my bed and decided the risk wasn’t worth the reward.
She’ll wake up soon enough. I can slip in to grab new clothes when she stalks off into the woods to terrorize the neighboring village.
Making peace with my choices, I turned into the kitchen to grab a bowl of cereal. I’d barely made it past the threshold when Lady came barrelling into my legs, knocking me back on my ass.
“Jesus, Girl, you trying to kill me?” I laughed as she crawled on top of me, pinning my shoulders as she licked my cheeks. “You’re eighty pounds, Baby! You’re not a lap dog!”
I tried to keep my voice down — Viv’s room was just across the hall, and the last thing I wanted to do was wake her up — but it was hard to be quiet when a dog the size of a twelve year old was squishing your guts.
“Off,” I whispered. “Off, Lady.”
And without hesitation, the dog rolled off of me, laying on the floor beside me.
Resting my head against the tile, I reached up to adjust the collar of my shirt from where she’d trampled me. But when I pulled my hand away, I was surprised to find traces of mud stamped into the fabric.
Furrowing my brow, I turned to face the dog. “Were you outside?”
I shot up to check the back door, but was quickly hit with one of the dizzy spells that often accompanied quick shifts of my posture. Part of my condition, according to doctor Leo: something called postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome.
Essentially, my circulation and gravity were on bad terms. If I stood or sat up too quickly, my veins failed to constrict enough to maintain my blood pressure. My body moved up, and thanks to gravity, my blood stayed down: far, far away from my head.
Sometimes, it just meant I was a little wobbly or could feel my heart beating a little harder. Other times, it meant that the room turned into a bright, spinning mess full of high-pitched ringing that didn’t stop until I calmed my heart rate.
Today, it seemed, was one of the latter days. I squinted in the direction of the wall anyway, trying to see the door.
It looks closed…?
But before my head could steady, a calm voice drifted over from the kitchen table. “I let her out already. Hope you don’t mind.”