to settle into. I cry until my throat is raw and my nose is too clogged to breathe, until my chest aches and I feel wrung out, exhausted.
Empty.
I pull my hands back from my face, blinking against the sudden brightness on my swollen eyes. My hands are washed clean where I had them cupped them over my eyes, but the rest of me is still crusted with dirt and worse, my smell a nauseating contrast to the room’s pure, clean scent.
A shower. I can at least use Ania’s shower before her parents get home, then figure out what to do after that. A clean head is a clear head, or so my dad always used to say. It can’t hurt.
I sniffle and dash my tears away with an angry swipe.
Enough. Pull it together, Diz. You’re harder than this. You grew up in group homes. You lived in the Caves for a year before you got into the Cliffs. You’ve gotten by your whole life. This is no different. You knew they were going to leave.
You don’t need them. You don’t.
Let. It. Go.
I wipe my nose on my sleeve and stand, pressing my tongue hard against the roof of my mouth to push the last of the tears away. Sitting there and crying about it isn’t going to help anything. It’s time to move forward, on my own two feet. Take care of me, like Davon always says I’m so good at. I have to look after myself.
With that thought, I square my shoulders and rip the now-filthy cover off Ania’s bed, stuffing it down her laundry chute on my way to her en suite bathroom. My boots come off first, toed off so I don’t have to touch them, and my socks follow, with much wobbly balancing. The alternating blue and white tiles are cold under my feet, solid and grounding. I toss my boots into the shower to rinse them off first so I won’t have to handle them after I’m clean, but just as I reach out for the hot-water knob—a rhythmic thump, thump, thump overhead.
Footsteps. Ania’s parents are still home.
My heart hammers against my rib cage. If I’d turned the water on, that would have been it, they’d have found me and called the police, and no job with MMC would have saved me. I hold my breath and strain to listen for more indications. Are they leaving soon? Or do I have to wait for hours? Or leave in my current state and find a shelter that’ll let me use their shower?
I’m so screwed.
I tug my socks and boots back on hurriedly, swearing under my breath as my fingers get tangled in a threadbare hole. I have to get out before they find me, have to call Davon for a ride—
Another thump, thump, thump, then a stumble, a crash, and peals of laughter.
Familiar laughter.
They haven’t left yet.
I crumple in on myself, arms wrapped around my torso like I’m holding my own organs in. They haven’t left.
My heart in my throat, I dash for the staircase leading up to the main floor of the house and burst through the door, leaving my dirty footprints everywhere. As I stumble through, everyone turns to look at me, their eyes wide, confused, concerned, and in Jaesin’s case especially, still angry.
Remi and Jaesin are showered, shoes on, dressed in new clothes. Considering we had to leave all our things behind, I bet they ordered new ones for drone delivery last night. Remi looks well, all things considered. Like they got a good night of sleep, recovering from yesterday. Ania’s eyes are narrow as she takes in my appearance, a few curls popping out from under her satiny purple headwrap. Everything about her body language says furious, from the folded arms to the raised chin to the one foot stuck out at an angle. All three of them sit at the kitchen island with bowls of fruit in front of them. Three travel backpacks sit to one side, two of them brand-new.
Because they were planning to leave without me.
They just haven’t gotten there yet.
Jaesin opens his mouth to lay into me, but I hold up a hand, forestalling his scolding.
“I know you’re—” I cut off, my throat thick. With every blink I can feel how swollen and red my eyes are, and I’m sure they can see it too. Mortifying. Damn it, get it together. They’re here, I’m not too late, they’re right in front of me. I breathe. “I know you’re