The way she says my name makes me flush. The dental floss in my hand is now being clutched with a deathly grip.
I’m going to have to stitch her up. I’m going to have to
The thought makes me nauseous. I feel ill. I’ve never been going at sewing, but I’m her only hope at this point. I have to do this.
I have toI’m going to stitch this up now, I say.
Kaya, she repeats, as I begin the first stitch. What’s your favourite colour ?
The bullet tore across her back, leaving a thin but long line across her shoulder blade. The first stitch goes in easily through the red flesh, and I am on the verge of passing out.
My favourite . . . I laugh weakly, finishing the second stitch. Yellow. It’s yellow, like sunflowers and lemons and . . . I don’t know. What’s yours ?
I realize, then, that she is doing this for my sake. To distract me.
She pauses, as the third stitch goes in. Black.
Black ? I say. Fourth stitch. That’s not a colour. And I won’t accept thatit’s too dark.
That’s kind of the point, she says, laughing grimly.
No, I insist. That’s not a colour. Pick something else.
Are you telling me what my favourite colour is ?
No, I say. Fifth stitchshe doesn’t even flinch. I am merely suggesting that you pick a better favourite colour. I think . . . green. But not grass green. Dark, emerald green, like a forest at night.
That’s good, she says. Breathing hard. Are you a writer ?
No, I say, blushing, glad she can’t see me. No, I’m a computer engineer.
A . . . computer engineer.
Yeah, I say. Sixth stitch. Done. I major in engineering and math.
I rip off a strip of cloth and tie it over her bullet wound. The blood soaks in after only seconds, which makes my heart stopbut then it slows. Clotting.
A breath of relief. You’re okay.
Veah turns around and shrugs on her leather jacket, as though she wasn’t just shot and stitched up, as though she is ready to do it all over again.
Jesus Christ. Sit down ! I snap. You’re going to hurt yourself !
Shit. Why do I sound like that ? I don’t care if she hurts herself. I don’t care if she rips out all the stitches I just sewed. I don’t care
A smirk pulls at one side of her mouth. I think she’s going to reply with something sharp, witty, but then her face softens.
Kaya, she begins. I’m
No, I interrupt. Let’s just . . . go to sleep, alright ?
With my hand snagging on the handcuff, I curl into a sleeping position as best I can. As close to the edge of the bed as possible. As far away from her as I can get.
I turn off the lamp beside me, and the world dissolves into dark.
Goodnight, I say stiffly.
Just before I drift off, I think I hear her whisper, Green . . . I could get used to that. But then the dreams blur with reality, and I forget entirely.
I wake up to the sound of gunshots.
My arm is jerked upward, startling me, and I realize it’s Veah reaching for her gun on the nightstand.
We have to go, she says, her face pale.
So . . . this is definitely not the good morning I had anticipated.
What ? Why ? And I remember how the hotel manager had noticed our handcuffs, had paid special interest.
They found us, Veah says grimly.
Okay, maybe that dire pronouncement is a little short of a soft morning whisper, or a sleepy kiss, or a pina colada.
I scramble out of bed andVeah is shoving on her jacket hurriedly, as if she’s trying to hide
Your gunshot ! Maybe I faint a little bit. Her hand is suddenly on my shoulder, holding me upright. Her dark eyes peer into mine.
Her injury is bleeding heavily, soaking through her bandages and into the whiteor really, if you could call it thatblankets of the bed we just slept in.
It looks like a murder scene. Or the morning after my period.
I did that, I moan, closing my eyes, stumbling back a few steps. You’re going to die because of me. Because I can’t even stitch a goddamn straight line !
Please, shut up, Veah says, arming her guns with bullet casings. But I see the faintest flicker of a smile on her face.
My stomach clenches. Butterflies or nauseawho knows at this point ?
Duck, Veah says calmly, and she throws me to the ground a second before a gunshot fires through the motel window.
The damn hotel manager sold us out.
None of this feels real. And I’m still dressed in a slutty pumpkin costumealthough it’s stripped down to the bare essentials. Black leggings. Orange turtle neck.
Veah notices me examining myself and tosses me a shirt. Get changed and let’s go.
We don’t have time
For God’s sake, someone just fired through the window of our room, and she wants me to get changed. But she gives me the kind of look that I don’t question it.
In front of you ? Stupid question.
Are you shy ? A daring smirk that makes me want to throttle her. But I only meet her eyes as I throw my costume to the ground, letting her see exactly what’s beneath the slutty pumpkin.
Her lips part. Briefly, I wonder what they taste like.