22. Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-two
Ace
We eat dinner as a group.
Most of us eat, at least.
Matt doesn’t. He doesn’t eat a goddamn bite.
Matt isn’t even really here. He’s an empty body, eyes glazed over, mind far away. His hands never stop fiddling inside the pocket of his sweatshirt. From the size of the bulge, I assume it’s his bunny tucked in there. Hiding.
I can tell that Matt desperately needs to hide, too.
Every instinct in me is crying out to take him by the hand and bring him to my office. To double lock the office door and give him some snacks and put on the blues.
He stays for the whole meal, and even after, when us operatives clean up and leave the rest of them to have some time together since it’s Carter and Casey’s last night.
I watch the feed for the dining area, despite having a shit load of work to do.
Despite the exhaustion. Despite the fact that I need to leave any minute now.
He barely looks at anyone. He’s in a daze. He’s lost.
He’s going to come looking to hide soon and I’m not going to fucking be here.
I panic at the thought.
Then I remember something I found in one of the boxes from when I moved here. It had been packed on accident, tangled around some chords I hadn’t felt like unraveling at the time. My old iPod.
I should have been on the road 30 minutes ago.
Instead, I’m plugging the old thing in, delighted to find it somehow still even has a sliver of battery.
I should have been on the road 40 minutes ago.
Instead, I’m downloading songs faster than I can fully read the titles.
I should have been on the road 50 minutes ago.
Instead, I’m sneaking into a survivor’s bedroom and placing a present on the bed I’m only 80% sure is his. There’s a note, at least. In case there’s some confusion.
Of course, then I panic and have to steal a paper and pen from his - well, 80% sure it’s his - bedside table to write another note in case he goes directly under his bed to hide, letting him know there’s a present on top of his bed.
Then, because I am the literal definition of a fucking overthinker, I leave a note under the other bed in case that’s actually his bed, letting him know that on the wrong bed is a present for him.
I stop short of putting a note on the other bed, at least. I figure if it’s Nolan’s bed with the iPod, it’ll still make its way to Matt once he reads the note.
Plus, I’m 63 minutes late getting on the road.
I stop in my office just long enough to grab another energy drink and my second to last pill.
Then I’m gone.