Our one shot to
keep running is to jump the border. The patrol’s tight, but we’ve got nowhere
else to go. If we double-back, it’s just a matter of ‘who will catch us first’ –
the proxies, or the police.
It was stupid.
We were both so fucking stupid. I don’t even know what to do, now.
I haven’t had a
home in years, but I’ve never felt
like I’m a million miles from ‘home’ until now. All the clusterfuck of
not-knowing-what-to-do, I’ve coasted on it, and it’s never been this bad.
We’ve got
Archivists on our tail, the Vision still waking us up every night, and…this far
down south, we shouldn’t be able to see our breath. Sometimes, though, when
Curtis and I aren’t huddled up against each other, it’s like…we’re together,
but alone. And then I exhale, and feel the chill go down my spine. Tonight, I’m
hearing howls – but it’s hard to hear much anything through the ringing that’s still in my ears, following the
explosion.
The thing that’s
bothering me most is that I’m not sure what’s real and what’s not. It’s getting
close to my breaking point; I feel this itchy kind of heat under my skin, and
Curtis is all, “If you get that way I
promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I know he’s
telling the truth, but at this point…does it even matter?
I’m so tired of
running from the mark in me. It’s twisted, I hate it, but it’s who I am.
Fuck it, I’m
just tired of running.
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