WICKED | WILLIAM FRANKLYN-MILLER

⟶ 7 | THE PLACE WE GO TO HIDE

[LOVEY]

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I'M GOING TO DIE. I'M GOING TO BLOODY DIE.

My arm feels like it's broken, and even though I know it's now, I can feel the tears stinging in my eyes. I don't remember much since the gunshot. Right now, the only thing on my mind is the fear of not running fast enough.

I can still hear Mori's scream. They knew nothing of the situation, and yet they were left alone in a room full of broken glass. I couldn't go back for them. Each time I turned to retreat back up the stairs of the fire-escape, Creep wouldn't let me pass. He'd narrow his eyes, and bark at me to keep moving.

I thought it was a joke. Maybe a part of me knew better, but I didn't take any of this seriously—not until I could have died. I might be lying on the floor with a bullet through my chest if Creep wasn't there to throw my chair out of the way. I owe him my life. I hate that.

He led me out of the building, disappearing into the bustling crowd of bystanders that had gone to look. Knowing Mori, they had their hand on the phone as soon as they were able to stand. I couldn't bear to think about them. I must be a stranger in their eyes now, and to leave them alone in a shattered living room was possibly the worst thing a friend could do. I didn't even have time for an explanation.

My heart was racing as we ran, and things were going blurry. I felt like I couldn't breathe. My arm felt bruised and swollen. I wanted to stop and fall to the ground.

"Hey," Creep said sharply, turning around, "how many times do I have to tell you? We have to keep moving."

I didn't realize I'd come to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes trained on the ground as I felt salty tears cascade down my cheeks. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be anywhere but in Paris, with anyone but him.

"Lovey, are you listening to me?" He snapped.

I lifted my head, showing him my tear-stained face. Strangers glanced at me in passing, concern visible in their eyes. Creep nearly flinched at the sight. Perhaps he wasn't accustomed to showing emotion, since he lacked even the most minimal kind.

Pursing his lips together, he shook his head, beckoning for me to follow him once more. I nearly didn't, until I noticed him change his route, heading into a small telephone booth near the end of the pavement. I wondered what he was doing. Wiping the tears with the back of my hand, I trudged after him, slipping into the booth carefully.

He shut the door.

"Cry," He said.

His words sounded more of a demand than a consolation. Then again, I don't think the latter was even a thought in his horrid little brain.

I narrowed my eyes. "I'm not crying in front of you."

"You're already doing it, just get it over with."

"No."

We were cramped in the small space, nothing but a scraped-and-battered telephone sitting between us, but I would have given anything to throttle him on the spot. If it wasn't for the fact that neither of us liked the idea of being near each other, so much as touching each other. I cringed at the thought.

"You're making a scene outside," Creep said, lowering his voice. I didn't know why he bothered. We were the only two in here. "That's the last thing we need right now."

I scoffed. "What I need right now, is to go back to my hotel room, stuff my face with food, and pretend someone wasn't trying to murder me a few minutes ago."