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Chapter 51

A few days had passed, and there hadn't been any news.

Luke missed her. Somehow, she'd gotten easy to talk to. Or maybe she always had been. Either way, she was consistent. He'd always known where he stood with her. No matter how many times he'd forced an argument with her, he wondered if there'd always been a safety in them. She never crossed any lines. A part of him had derived some stupid, egocentric enjoyment from their arguments, even if he'd always convinced himself he hated it and was only doing it because he had to.

It was somewhat funny that the moment he'd actually gotten around to calling anybody his friend, she was gone.

He couldn't bring himself to believe that anything too bad had happened yet, but the idea was looming in his head.

If they'd found her dead, everyone would have been made aware within a few hours. They had no reason to hide it, and even if they wanted to, rumours about her were spreading like wildfire. Some said she'd run away. Others said that she probably got killed unceremoniously and thrown somewhere untraceable before anybody had the chance to come to. Whatever had happened to her, he refused to believe that it hadn't been at least somewhat heroic. She couldn't have died so easily after everything she'd been through.

He covered his eyes and tried to remember more details about the last time he'd spoken to her. He'd gone into the school building along with the others, and he'd gone down a dark corridor. Then he must have been caught. Everything else was blank. Their last interaction was him giving her his coat. It'd annoyed her off at the time, but it hadn't been completely void of affection. It was a good coat.

He uncovered his eyes and sat down, trying not to keep thinking about it too much. She wasn't confirmed to be deceased yet. If she was dead, they had no reason to hide her body. And if she was anywhere else, she could be back any day now. There was still hope.

He was hoping a lot, because her absence was felt a lot more than he could ever have imagined.

In the meantime, he'd managed to restrain himself. He'd convinced himself that he was busy with revising for something or other and had to wait until every responsibility was fulfilled before reaching out to anybody.

He hadn't known why he'd been so averse to the idea of trying to matter to anybody for so long, or why it was so tempting now to go back to not trying. Then he remembered what Quinn had said to him, and came to the uncomfortable realisation that it might not have been strength, or professionalism, or an intellectual superiority. He'd been a coward, and nothing more impressive than that.

He thought about how twisted up with bitterness he'd been before them all, and realised that he really, really didn't want to go back. If Quinn was still going to be missing, and he still had to deal with that absence, then the very least he could do now was take her advice and try.

Giving in at long last, he called the others.

It was around six o'clock when Jess arrived, clutching a sketchpad. It was a lot nicer than her old one, a genuine art pad. The cover was bound in thread and the paper inside was creamy and clean. She was clutching it to her chest tightly.

For the first time, the clothes she was wearing seemed to fit her, and whatever Adam had given her for her scars seemed to be working. She looked more human than ever.

She'd asked to sit down in the kitchen and had immediately taken off her coat and started to draw again. Luke had sat opposite her with some homework and was watching her quietly.

She wasn't good at it. She pressed down too hard and creased the paper and smudged the pencil. It didn't seem to matter to her though. She was one of the smartest people he knew, but she still seemed happiest when she was scribbling over the paper. It was sweet, in a way.