Chapter 22

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The next day is similar to the one before it, with only slight variation. During breakfast, I take my food to go. And walking back from school, I don't run into Lander. I know it's just because of my empty 7th, but it really adds to my loneliness.

The following week is really lonely as well, and I'm able to get through it not talking to anybody at the safe house. School wise, I'm doing just as well as before, and have worked ahead on big projects.

And after my first ten days as somebody with the ability to turn invisible, I still haven't done anything fun with it. The urge to steal something was really tempting, and I really wanted to sneak into a movie. But so far, the perfect opportunity had not presented itself. And I really didn't want to risk it.

Occasionally I test out my invisibility in front of the mirror in my room, when I'm sure nobody is in the hallway. But that's just to make sure that I am well practiced, and still able to do so. Because at some times I start to believe the lie that I am, in fact, normal. And I need to see something else to disprove that.

But then after a week, I start to see Lander more often. Apparently he had been working double shifts at Tim Horton's, and only came back to the safe house late at night.

"Delaphine!" I hear him call out one day after school. I slow down my walking to let him catch up. He starts walking beside me, and I allow him a few moments to catch his breath before speaking.

"Hi, how was work?" I say in an attempt to make small talk. But Lander completely brushes it off.

"Good. But Tess told me that you haven't been outside the safe house all week except for school. Please tell me you've made some sort of friends there." he rambles on, seemingly worried.

"No, I was just doing homework" I respond honestly. It hurts me a little bit to see the concern on Lander's face.

"You don't seem like the focused on academics type." he comments. It makes me laugh.

"It's a distraction." I confess. I stare at my feet and listen to the rhythm they make. A few moments pass in eerie silence before Lander responds.

"There's better distractions." he says quietly. I lift my gaze to take in his expression, and to see if it's supposed to be some sort of joke. But it's not. "Life's is the worst when you shut out everything. I'd know, cause I do that all the freaking time. But, you understand? It's a problem when we're on the run. Even though we're not the ones being hunted-" Lander's sentence cuts off.

It seems like he forgot what he was going to say next, but I'm already in my own head.

"How'd you hear about your mom?" I ask him, thinking about my own experience with my parent's deaths. Hearing everything from the closet, trying to cry quietly so the people wouldn't hear. Powerless. Defenseless.

Lander laughs dryly. "I was in middle school. They called me out in the middle of class on the loudspeaker. And then they expected me to go through the rest of the day like everything was normal. Every single kid who saw me would ask about why I was called in, and I just lied and told each of them that I sold the most magazines. When I got home, my dad was there crying. And he was never even there before. He just thought to come to our pitiful apartment and cry for the death of some woman he'd left for dead already." His face shifts throughout the story. I notice when he is his angriest, and I grab his hand.

It's kind of a split second decision, and I soon realize that you can't simply take back holding somebody's hand. But anyway, I am holding his hand and he is holding mine so that he won't burst out like the hulk. And I guess I feel kind of nervous.

After awhile just walking while holding hands, I decide to start my own personal story. Because of the stupid lie I'd told him earlier which was not really a lie, I'd have to continue with holding truths from him. But I could at least say this. "I was in my bedroom, which was basically just a closet. I was supposed to be sleeping, but I'd heard a door slam. Then I heard them screaming and the gunshots. The setup was supposed to look like suicides, but it was actually hunters who thought my parents were.. falcons."

By the end of the story, we are still holding hands. I try to inconspicuously lower my hand from his grip, and then I feel a cold breeze blow over. It was a nice moment, but it's over now.

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