To Be Free (13 page)

"In a good way or a bad way?" I
ask quietly, turning my head to catch his eyes. When we lock eyes,
he visibly falters and for a second he seems to be trying to find
his train of thought.

"I... I haven't decided yet,"
Seb laughs, and in response I kiss his skin lightly, enjoying how
every small thing I do makes the skin of his cheeks darken. It bled
down his neck earlier this morning, disappearing down his collar
entirely. "Both, but bad in a different sense of the word."

I chuckle, understanding what
he's trying to say, and for a while we just sit there in the safety
of the tree. The sun is our only witness, but right now all I
desire is to hold this man against me, to hold him and show him
he's safe and loved in these arms, and by God that's what I'll do.
He doesn't complain, leaning his head back against my shoulder -
the gesture still allowing me that enticing length of his neck, and
however much I want to, I don't do anything. Holding him is
enough.

He knows this, I know he does,
and his subconscious actions are permission enough for me to
indulge in a few of these awakened desires, but I don't. His words
are bouncing in my skull, the truth of his nightmares and the
darkness of his past reminding me that he's truly seen hell. Seen
hell and lived to tell the tale, and his actions are proof of his
trust in me.

I still want
him to take those first steps, though.
Show
me when he's ready to do
things, the same way I waited for him to kiss me this morning, and
not claim those lips the way I'd wanted to.

It really was worth the
wait.

Seb gives me these chances to
sate a few desires, a lot more attuned to me than I'd given him
credit for, and I think it means all the more to him that I'm
waiting. Honestly, all I've done is kiss him. Kiss his lips, his
neck and ran my hands along his sides.

"If you're not careful," he
starts, his voice reaching my ears sleepily. I realize them that
he'd been falling asleep - and I, too, started nodding off in the
afternoon heat, "I might fall."

I smile, my lips against his
neck, and the man settles back more comfortably against me.

"I'll catch you," I vow, and
with a quiet laugh we both listen to the allure of sleep, the heat
making it unnecessarily warm and the bugs singing softly around us
lulling us to our dreams. There we remain, lost in our own
worlds.

I wake to the sight of a spider
hovering inches from my face, nearly the size of a tarantula.

Naturally, I scream.

Scrambling back, heart lodged
in my throat and threatening to jump out, the spider shrivels up at
the sound of my shout, and for a moment all I can concentrate on is
the sight of its eight legs moving around, curling and uncurling as
it struggles to hear again. The curtain of leaves from the willow
tree parts, admitting a dripping wet, half-naked Seb.

"Oh my fucking God," he sighs,
his face the very definition of unimpressed as he looks from the
spider to my face. I look at him, shocked awake, and the man
crosses his arms and frowns at me. "You gave me a heart attack, you
know that? I almost didn't put some pants on."

Just what the hell was he
doing?

"There's a small lake not far
from here, and I was getting rid of some of the dirt on me when you
decided you wanted to confirm to half of fucking California that,
yes, Quinn fucking Terry is petrified of spiders," he scoffs,
rolling his eyes. "Honestly, if you're trying to win me over you're
going at it in a strange fashion."

...that explains the dripping
hair. He's quite honestly clad in nothing but his suit, only zipped
up to about his pelvic bone and it's threatening to slip below that
- I keep my eyes to his face, but this way his bones protrude even
more prominently, the suit at least hiding that fact relatively
well when it's on.

I force myself to look at the
grass, and with a breathless sigh I hear the man laugh quietly,
shaking his head as he presses a hand to his forehead and the other
on his hip. Seb walks over to crouch beside me, the suit slipping
lower down his hips, and waits until I meet his gaze before giving
me a bemused smirk.

"Believe it or not, your
technique is working," he admits, winking at me before he stands
again and ties the arms around his waist, leaving it as is for now
thanks to the evening heat. As he does so, he gestures with his
head behind him. "Why don't you do the same? In the meantime, I'll
conjure up something edible."

Nine holds out a hand to help
me up, which I take after a moment, and once I'm standing he smiles
up at me. Then goes up on his toes and kisses me briefly, stepping
back.

"Once we eat, we'll keep
heading north; we should hit the border in about a week, two if we
run into a lot of trouble," he informs me, and walks over to the
spider still chilling calmly from its thread, picking it up and
releasing it near the entrance to the tunnels; it scurries off.
"They probably think we're still in that area, though, so we should
be fine - not to mention they're following three other false
leads."

With that he dismisses me,
rummaging through the pack and leaving me to chance one last glance
to his form crouching by the rucksack, the picture of
concentration. There are drops of water running down his skin,
mapping the contours of protruding bones and disappearing beneath
the fabric of his suit.

I pull out from beneath the
tree, casting my eyes for this lake and seeking a distraction,
something to help me think of other things. I feel like I'm fucking
fifteen again, what with the raging libido.

Finding the lake's shore not
twenty meters away, I walk over to the secluded area and strip off
my suit without a moment wasted, glad to finally be free of the
constricting fabric. Sure, I'm used to it now, but it still doesn't
really let your skin breathe the way it should. Finally, I step
into the cool waters, wading in to my hips and sighing contentedly,
the heat of the evening being chased off. Then I submerge long
enough to wet my hair, and wade to an area I can float easily,
treading water as I think.

Is all this even possible? I've
known the man a scattering of days, but it feels as if I've known
him so much longer than that; as a matter of fact, if you would've
asked me about whether not I believed in love at first sight I
would've laughed you out of the room, but...

Actually, I
can't really call this that regardless. When I first met Seb, I
didn't really feel anything except annoyance and grim acceptance of
my fate being stuck Running with him. I'm not sure you could
even
call
it
love, not yet anyways, but there’s a potential that could blossom
eventually. I mean, sometimes he just reminds me of Kenny, and
sometimes he just does something so distinctly
him
that I can't help but think that
I'd have to be crazy
not
to have fallen.

The memory of that night comes
back to me before I can even stop it, and once it starts I have
about a snowball's chance in hell of pretending the memories aren't
there and that they don't make me laugh and cry at the same
time.

I leave the
small lake behind a while later, rubbing at my eyes and cursing
whatever presides over my fate for what I've had to live through.
For being plagued with his memory when it's never been my fault, I
know that, but I still somehow feel as if
I'm the one responsible
for his
death.

I don't have much enthusiasm
getting dressed, slipping on the suit to my hips before giving up
and tying it off the same way Seb did, and slip back under the
willow tree to find him stoking a fire and carefully watching the
smoke, gauging whether not it's safe.

When he notices I'm back, he
looks at me and offers me a bright smile that disappears as quickly
as it's come. Nine drops everything he's doing and stands so
quickly he stumbles on his first step, coming to stand in front of
me and holding my head in his hands, tilting it in his
direction.

"What happened?" he questions,
genuine concern written in his eyes. At his touch my body decides
it's checking out for the day, my knees giving out and pulling me
to the ground. He follows, never once breaking eye contact.
"Quinn?"

I lower my gaze, looking to the
bead of water - or sweat, I don't know - trailing down along his
chest.

"Can I...
tell you a story?" I ask, and he makes a sound the mixture of
confusion and acceptance, tipping my head up again so I look at
him. "Well, not a story per se, since it actually
happened
..."

"Anything," he confirms,
pressing his lips to my forehead and smoothing back my hair with
his hands. "Come on, let's get settled by the fire, and you can
tell me what's on your mind, okay?"

Seb stands, taking both my
hands in his and leading me up with him. He guides me all the way
back to the fire, and we sit down side-by-side with a few feet
between us and the fire. He takes my hand, playing with my fingers
and waiting.

I take a breath, and I
begin.

It was late. The moon was up
and everyone was asleep, all the lights of the neighbourhood shut
for the night and the people of Catchford tucked into their beds. I
couldn't sleep, tossing and turning for what seemed like hours
before I gave up and got up, pulling my laptop out and deciding to
play a game for a while, to tire myself out. I can't even remember
what it was called or what it was.

Then my friend sends me a
message on my phone, and it buzzes faintly against my thigh. I take
it, and read what it says - the last thing I'd expected from Kenny,
plain as day.

Quinn can you come over
something's wrong, something's gone horribly wrong.

It was a very odd request,
especially since it was about one in the morning; but nonetheless I
got dressed and snuck out, telling him I was on my way and that I'd
pass through the back. He never replied, but he was waiting at the
back door when I arrived some fifteen minutes later, his house
being a short walk's away from mine.

At first, he seemed almost
reluctant - panicked, and he looked as if he regretted his decision
- and didn't let me in until I managed to convince him that I
wasn't followed.

It was my first indication that
something was really, really wrong.

The black-haired man offered me
a cup of coffee, having just brewed one for himself, and once I was
served we went to the living room and sat down. Kenny kept about
half a meter's distance between us, which was my second indication.
The dude could be very clingy when he got emotional in any sense of
the word - excited, angry, you name it - and while he looked way
more emotional than I was used to, this time he seemed adamant on
having space between us. As if either of us carried a plague.

It was a tense silence for a
while, sipping our drinks and lost in our own thoughts, mine
circulating around the reason why he summoned me here and his God
only knew where.

Then he spoke.

"Quinn, I think I'm gay."

My heart
stopped. His words were a whisper, as if the Vigils were listening
in on every word and he knew it would condemn him to say it aloud,
but he needed to get the words out because the burden was just too
much to bear. Why he chose
me
to confide in has always been a mystery to
me.

"I don't know what to do," he
continued, the breath of a whisper that seemed to me as if it
somehow kept him alive. In this world where being different will
get you shot, I don't know why he chose to confide in another soul.
His blue eyes remained trained on his hands, refusing to meet mine.
"I'm terrified. You're the only person I thought could help."

I stared at the dark liquid in
my mug, the bitter flavor still on my tongue. Right then and there,
I felt physically ill for a reason I couldn't figure out - although
I know better now, and know why his words made me feel sick.

"...I don't know what you want
me to do," I admitted quietly, cradling the mug in my hands and
swallowing down the lump in my throat. "I wish I had a cure, if
that's what you're asking for."

He didn't say anything for a
bit, but when he spoke again his voice shook so much I remember
wondering how it wasn't scattered into a thousand pieces.

"I need you
to tell me it's not something I should be ashamed of," he pled, and
I looked up at that tone of voice, the one that says its owner is
barely clinging to sanity. Holding on a thread, and that there's a
single person who can help them. Only one, and it depends on what
they say - they can save them or condemn them. "That I'm normal.
That I'm not an
animal
, I'm alive for a reason and I-"

His expression was one of the
rawest sorrows, the grandest pain, and I knew that with one glance
I'd never forget that face. I'd never forget that expression that
tore my heart to pieces and broke me, too. I realized why I'd felt
sick, and it made my hands shake.

"Never be
ashamed of who we are," I told him, my throat constricting as I
spoke. His lips parted when the words registered, and I forged on -
the more I continued, the more I realized that it was the
irreversible truth, and I'd go to hell with him. "We're
special
. We're
alive
because we're
worth something to this fucking planet, and damn these people to
hell for thinking they could play
God
. That they had the right of
divine power, had the right to decide who lives and who dies simply
because it suits
them
. That they could take away our rights because it seemed
right to them, and fuck their God for making them believe that in
the first place! We're people, just like they are..."