Run Now, Panic Later 2
I dropped my hands to catch what was happening. Out of the corner of my eyes, I picked up the sight of his hands retracting into his pocket, cradling a syringe.
“He-he injected me with…” my words slurred, failing to ring out loud enough for anyone to hear over the growing commotion.
Before I could try to say more, my legs gave out and I fell.
“You'll be fine,” I heard the blue-eyed man whisper to me. It wasn't particularly menacing but I was still terrified.
My entire body protested against giving in to whatever liquid was pulsing in my veins at the moment but I couldn't help it, I was fading away.
Why wasn't my body countering its effects? That was my last question for the night before I passed out.
xxx
I was startled right awake sitting atop a soft plushy surface. With a casual feel under my fingers, I quickly realized it was a bed.
“Huh?“ I uttered in confusion recognizing the pale green lily lace pattern on the sheets of the bed.
It was the same in my room given to me by Ethan. A gasp rushed out my lips. I was right back in my room.
As if on cue, Ethan strode my way with a platter of food held up in his arms. He was clad in a black T-shirt and pleated pants, his broad shoulders contrasting heavily against the dainty metal platter.
“Explain yourself !“ I bellowed with a menacing glare but my strength faltered and my words slurred.
“It doesn’t take much to have certain contacts find and bring you back here, Harlyn,” Ethan said, his voice steady but edged with something unreadable.
My body felt heavy, my limbs sluggish. There was a strange warmth in my veins like my blood had thickened. I barely remembered being moved, yet here I was, back in this cursed room.
I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. The blue-eyed man. His eerie stare. The way he kept watching me. He must have been the quote-unquote contact in question.
“So you hired someone to put a syringe in me?” My voice was hoarse, my tongue thick. I sat up straighter, but the room swayed slightly. “I could have died.”
Ethan raised a brow, unbothered. “Given those were not my orders, unlikely.”
I scowled. My mind was slow, my thoughts slipping through my grasp like water through cupped hands. I clenched my fists against the lingering numbness in my fingers.
“How did he know I was going to get on that bus?” I shuddered at the thought. It was too much of a coincidence that I entered a bus that just happened to have one of Ethan’s contacts sitting in the back row.
Ethan exhaled, placing the tray of food on the nightstand. “He most likely just happened to be in the area. They do have lives, you know.”
“They?” I repeated, a whisper of realization curling in my chest. There were more of them. Not just Ethan and his little group, but an entire web of people, unseen and possibly watching my every move. So now I also had to worry about some secret society when I tried to run again.
Ethan tilted his head slightly, studying me with squinted eyes. Then he smirked. “Are you seriously thinking about running away again?”
I gave him a pointed look. He read my mind again. Another moment to acknowledge he marked me fully conscious of the consequences. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t try again, did you?”
His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. “You’re not making this keeping you safe thing easy on me.”
I let out a breathy, bitter laugh and looked away. “Keeping me safe? Right. Because drugging me and bringing me back here against my will spells protection.” I scoffed, shaking my head as I leaned back against the headboard.
Ethan hummed. “You don't really believe I wanted that, do you?”
I glanced at him with narrowed eyes. “You tell me.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair before sitting on the edge of the bed, his weight dipping the mattress heavily. “That was reckless, Harlyn. You ran out of here without knowing what changes were happening, what you’re capable of, or what could be waiting for you out there.”
Fair point but I didn't want to yield. My jaw clenched. “And whose fault is that?”
His gaze met mine, sharp and unwavering. “Mine,” he admitted, and the honesty in his voice startled me.
I blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. “W-what?“
He exhaled through his nose. “I should’ve told you everything the moment you got here. I thought giving you time would help you adjust, that maybe easing you into it was the right call.” His fingers tapped against his knee. “But I underestimated how fast you’d catch on and apparently how fast you’d run.”
I swallowed down the lump in my throat. I wasn’t expecting him to take any form of responsibility. I was just being difficult. “So, what now?”
“That depends.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Are you going to listen this time?”
I hesitated. Part of me wanted to tell him to go to hell, to hold on to my anger like a shield. But another part of me—the tired, confused, and undeniably curious part wanted to know more even if it meant considering some parts of my life had been a lie.
I stared at my hands, flexing my fingers as the memory of my unnatural speed replayed. The rush of it. The raw power in my legs. The way my body felt different. Like it wasn’t entirely mine anymore. Things were happening to me, things beyond just shifting. Those finger itches, those urges to snap someone's neck, actually snapping people's neck.
Finally, I looked up. “Will you actually tell me the truth?”
Ethan studied me for a long moment as if weighing his next words carefully. Then he nodded. “No more half-truths. You ask, I’ll answer.”
Something inside me loosened, just a little. I wanted to hear him out.
“But, If you really want answers, then you have to start being open to them. No more running, no more denial.”