Break Away (Away, Book 1) (16 page)

I took the chocolate with a growl in my
stomach. “Thanks.”

He sat next to me and sighed. “You know, the
cafeteria is open twenty-four hours a day.”

“Not interested.”

“Not that great anyway.”

We stayed silent. I peeled back the paper
from the chocolate and plunged the sweet concoction into my mouth.
I swallowed back a moan. Never had a chocolate tasted that good. I
took two more bites and ended its existence. And never had a
chocolate felt so small. It'd left me starving!

I was so going to sue Hersheys. No, scratch
that. I was going to sue Mars, I thought looking down at the small
logo.

“The cafeteria is on the first floor,” Ian
suddenly said.

I glanced at him. An amused smile played on
his lips as he watched the brown wrinkled paper in my hands.

“Real food is always better than vending
junk.” He was trying to convince me to eat. How interesting. There
was no trace of that anger I’d seen in his face at the house, only
a soft blush of rose in his cheeks that bordered on pale. Ingesting
calories while in sleep deprivation did that to people's skin, I
guessed.

When I didn't respond, he embarked on the
mission again. “I mean, if we talk about quality food, Lola is the
queen, but—”

“Lola?” I arched my eyebrow.

“Yeah, she rocks the kitchen like nobody. But
Candace Spencer sure knows how to make a good tomato soup.”

“Can dispenser?”

“No,
Candace Spencer
.”

“Yes, I heard you, and I don't get how a can
dispenser makes a good tomato soup.”

“Exactly.”

I frowned. Had the blood stopped from flowing
into my brain? Because I wasn't grasping anything of what was
coming out of his mouth.

“Candace Spencer is one of the cooks at the
cafeteria downstairs, not a
can
dispenser
.” A cracked
chuckle escaped his lips, as if he was holding back himself from
laughing.

I stared at him with incredulity, not able to
mouth the words churning in my throat, waiting like missiles to be
ignited.

He must've noticed because that stupid smile
left his face and was replaced with a big Uh-Oh flashing across his
eyes.

“Are you trying to make me
laugh
?” I
said.

He shrugged one shoulder. “I thought it was
funny.”

“Do you think any of this is
funny
?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you think any of what happened to Buffy
is
funny
?”

“No.”

“Do you think waiting on a stiff chair for my
sister to wake up while no one, not even doctors, know what the
hell caused her to fall into a coma in the first place is somewhat
funny
?”

“No.”

“Then, do you think
Candace Spencer
is
worthy of my time?”

He let out a strangled breath. “I was just
trying to—never mind. I'm sorry.”

I wasn't going to let him go that easily.
“You know what you should try? Being here for Buffy, in body and
soul. She doesn't need a freaking clown babbling stupid jokes
around.”

By the look on his face, I'd hit home, really
deep. “Do you think I've just spent more than thirty-six hours
without sleeping just to hang around here and joke? Do you
really
think that?”

I looked at the crimson corners in his eyes,
at the thin, almost invisible rosy branches reaching out to his
emerald irises. A dull glow of fatigue glazed in them, turning
those two lush forests into frozen leaves. I turned my head away,
shame wrapping me in a cocoon of guilt. Ian was in no better
condition than I was. We both looked like shabby automatons in need
of a new set of mechanical parts.

He'd done a great deal for us in the last
forty hours. I still hadn't forgotten how he'd helped to still my
screams after the paramedics had taken Buffy away. His arms had
enfolded me, surrounded my quivering body with warm promises of
peace and serenity. I couldn't have lived through that dark,
choking moment without his soothing words and human touch. And for
that I owed him. Even if my hatred for him continued as
unadulterated as ever, I made a silent pledge to repay his good
deed someday.

“Tell me,” he continued. “Do you really
believe that?”

“No,” I sighed.

I felt him relax into his chair. He bent
forward and settled his elbows on his knees, taking a deep breath
while he was at it. “I think we should just…rest, sleep a few hours
and peel off this grumpiness we both have going on.”

That was Ian's gracious, civilized way of
saying I had to temper down my inner beast. On a regular day, I
would've ripped off his dragon wings faster than a cannon bullet,
but on this unexpected dreary day, where rules didn't seem to apply
anymore, I let his words pass. Maybe I was too tired, or maybe I'd
suddenly felt a tad of sympathy toward Ian for bearing with my
cranky persona. Either way, I decided to leave things like that,
with an unspoken answer.

“What do you think?” I felt him watching me.
“Should we take a quick detour and sleep a bit?”

We.
The full implication of his words
fell on me. He wasn't leaving this place, this cold hallway, unless
I did. It was another startling sign of support from his part that,
once again, I wasn't exactly sure how to handle. Feeling vulnerable
in front of others, especially in front of Ian, wasn't something my
mind knew how to process, because without those walls surrounding
me, I recognized the impermanence of things, of the frailness that
followed. And having weak thoughts, like the ones flapping in my
head in that moment, permeated my resolve with possibilities.
Possibilities that could mean the end of everything I'd worked so
hard for.

Gran chose that moment to walk out of Buffy's
room. “Ian, you're still here,” she said with no surprise. It was
more like a scolding. “Did you get something to eat, Dafne? You're
still as pale as a bone.”

I didn't want any of that scolding near me,
so I looked at Ian with a silent warning in my eyes and said, “I
did, Gran. Tomato soup.” From the corner of my eye, I saw him
smile.

She eyed me, doubt narrowing her eyes. “Then
go and have something else. I'll feel better when you have a bit of
fat in your stomach. There's plenty of time for you to go. Morgan
will stay the night with us.”

I froze.
Spend the night with Aunt Morgan
in that room?
As if drowning in a storm-ridden ocean, with
nothing else to latch my arms on, I said, “I think I'll go to Ian's
house to spend the night.” The desperation in my words resounded
like an echo in my ears. Had Gran noticed? I hoped not, or else a
long, uncomfortable explanation was going to be needed. And I so
wasn't ready for anything of that sort. Not now. Not ever.

Gran looked at me with shock, as if I'd just
told her I wanted to become a nun. “My poor, Dafne, you must feel
pretty tired to say something like that. No offense, of course.”
She glanced at Ian with a sweet smile.

“No offense taken,” he said, raising his
hands. He caught my eyes and shot me a questioning look.

Taking advantage of Gran's unawareness, I
rushed to explain. “I told Ian I was pretty tired but that I didn't
feel like going back to the house.” I looked at him. He was waiting
for me to go on. “So, he offered to take me to his and…I said yes.
I
really
am tired.”

He stared at me, amazement and confusion
sharpening the green emerald in his eyes. As if realizing Gran
expected a confirmation, he blinked and shook his head. “Uh, yes.
Yes. I told her she should come with me. We were about to leave,
actually.” He said like it was a question and looked at me.

I nodded and glanced at Buffy's room. “I was
going to tell you right now, but you got ahead of me.”

Gran took a step toward me and cupped my
cheek. “It's a very good idea. You need to regain some color.” She
brushed her thumb on what must've been a taut slab of cheekbone.
“You can call me anytime, okay? We'll be here.”

“Okay,” I smiled.

“And you,” she turned to Ian and placed her
hand on his shoulder. “Take care of my Dafne. Feed her something,
even if you have to force a spoon into her mouth.”

“
Gran
,” I blushed.

She smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “You're
a good boy Ian. I'll always be in debt with you for taking care of
my girls.”

He smiled back. “No need. It was my
pleasure.”

Gran kissed him tenderly on the cheek and
stepped into the room.

Ian's face was glowing with something warm I
couldn't quite put my finger on. It suited him. He looked fulfilled
and pleased. For a moment I wondered if his mom had ever kissed him
on the cheek, or taken his body inside the circle of her arms for a
hug. He didn't have any grandparents left. That much I knew—so no
chance to have been pampered with hot cocoa and cookies. Buffy had
even told us that his mother had left him and his dad a long time
ago. His father had gotten married again and found happiness. But
Ian…had he found real happiness? I wondered if his life lacked
warmth.

That is why my next words shouldn't have been
uttered. “What? Now you're infatuated with Gran, too?”

He unglued his eyes from the door and looked
at me. His face no longer glowing. “You're unbelievable.”

Since I regretted what I'd said and didn't
know what to tell him, I did what conveyed both, agreement and
anger, in one little motion. I crossed my arms over my waist.

He snorted and shook his head. “Let's
go.”

I
shuffled around in
my seat, rasping the rough fabric of my jeans against the smooth,
butter-soft surface underneath. I crossed my hands on my lap and
looked through the window beside me. I had to give them that. For
car leather seats, their feel and texture was amazingly sleek and
delicate. Their color a soothing camel brown that filled one’s
senses with vanilla caramel scents and silk veil images. But soon
my mind struck me with thundering visions of cows being slaughtered
and skinned, and my senses were quickly flooded with putrid scents
and revulsion.

I sighed sharply. So much pain and death to
just fulfill people's vanity. I shuffled around in my seat once
again.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Ian asked.

I turned to look at him. “You have me sitting
on something made out of torture and unconsciousness. What do you
think?”

He frowned and glanced at me, confusion
cloaking his eyes.

I arched my eyebrow to emphasize.

“Ah,” he suddenly remembered. “Yes. How could
I've forgotten your veggie psycho mode?”

“
Excuse me?
”

“Come on, you know you get—” He trailed off
when he saw my face. He paused and said, “Shit. I'm sorry.” He
shook his head, as if realizing this wasn't the time for this.
“Please just…ignore what I said. I can be a real asshole
sometimes,” he added, muttering to himself.

I swallowed back the need to agree with him
and focused my eyes on the lush tree line edging the road. Even
though darkness dyed the skies and obliterated everything around
into a mass of hazy shapes, I knew that pretty blue chiming bell
wildflowers graced the skirts of these towering trunks. I knew that
the limbs of these soaring trees formed a beautiful emerald canopy
above the road, turning it into the passageway of a fantasy
world.

This hill was widely known and talked about
in Berryford. It wasn't only its natural beauty that attracted
locals and tourists, that called them to dream of settling with
their families in here and sharing barbecues out in the
picturesque, green land with friends. It was the stunning houses
embellishing the scenery, too. Some people called them
architectural masterpieces, with several of them having being
featured in magazines.

Ian's house was among them.

I'd once driven Buffy there. I remembered the
sense of littleness while facing that monster of a house through
the windshield of my Mini. It looked like a sparkling, see-through
black iceberg, catching beams of light like a diamond. The
two-storey house was a stunning glass and black-clad structure, the
vast living room, brightly lit foyer, and high staircase visible
through the large walls of glass wrapping its façade. The smooth
and glossy black panels framing them gave the appearance of
polished marble, enhancing the beauty of the house with the
reflection of trees and clouds on its surface. It was a
breathtaking example of contemporary art, a perfectly executed
design by some well-known architect for sure.

And like all of the houses in this
tree-covered hillside, Ian's crib featured a
state-of-the-art
heating technology based on an air exchange
system and extraction of energy deep from the ground below—a piece
of information that'd been quite the buzz once it'd gotten out.
Still was. If possible, it placed the residents of
Berryly
Hills
a hundred steps above us commoners of Berryford.

I eyed Ian and his presumptuous car and
wondered what was with hills and rich people. Was it something with
height, altitude equaling power?

“So,” Ian said, dissolving the coat of
silence that'd been shrouding the car. “Why were you in such a
hurry to leave the hospital?”

“I wasn't.”

“Dafne, I may be an asshole sometimes, but
I'm not an idiot. You could barely move an inch away from Buffy
without feeling guilty about leaving her side.”

Without looking away from the window, I said,
“Only because you're on the receiving end of Gran's gratitude
doesn't mean you're on mine.”

“I did help you back there.”

I paused. “Yes you did,” I said reluctantly
after a while. “But that doesn't mean that we're buddies and that
I'm sharing my deepest secrets with you.”