Read Online No Time to Cry (Nine While Nine Legacy Book 1) by Stasia Morineaux - Free Book Online
Authors: Stasia Morineaux
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forearm. His touch. Warm, tingling, firm—but not
hurtful—an anchor to my drowning all the same. What was this? They were crazy?
Or was I? I yanked my arm from his grasp, backing away to the doorway. They did
not move. Where would I go? Was I awake? Dreams were never like this. Dreams
darted about, they were not sequential. I had to be awake. That left me with
crazy.
“What are you going to do Iliana? Walk
back to Los Angeles?” Gideon asked, not even turning in his seat or looking my
way. Calling me by my new name. He had a point. Everything I had was at Liam’s,
and though I knew my way back, I didn’t have a key. But anywhere but here, with
them, was better. An improvement to all of this.
“Iliana?” This time it was Liam.
And him. Why had I left L.A. with him?
Why had I believed him? So what if someone—several someones —had
walked through me. Had they actually? Or did I just think they had? Where was
the factual, solid proof that what they said was true? Maybe my hand passing
through the door knob was hallucinatory, a result of the power of suggestion
and really strong, really awesome drugs.
Liam stood up, started to move toward
me. I touched my fingers to my lips, remembering the feel of his kisses. I’d
wanted those kisses, loved those kisses—craved more. My lips still felt plumped
from them.
“No.” I said against those thoughts. It
tore from me as some sort of sob. “This is insanity.”
“Whether you find it to be insane or not,
does not change the fact that it is indeed real.” Gideon pointed out.
I turned, shut my mind to them and ran
from that room, from that coffee house with the idiotic apropos moniker. I ran
in the rain and slowed only when I realized neither of them was following me.
Why hadn’t they followed?
~ Chapter Six ~
Where
was I going? I didn’t know anyone in Seattle—not anymore. I didn’t have my cell
phone, or tablet, or even my purse. I only had a twenty dollar bill that I’d
stuffed into my back pocket.
So I wandered. I wandered and replayed
it all over and over in my mind. I roamed all around the Capitol Hill area,
staying to the shadows, and when that seemed unsafe and ridiculous, I ventured
to Broadway, where I stared into shop windows, and then stopped my pointless
meandering at a Thai restaurant.
The smell had stopped me in my tracks;
the amazing smell of cooking food—real food—making my mouth water, my stomach
grumble. I was lured in easily. Seemed to be a habit.
Once I was sitting, just how tired I was
washed over me again and I melted into the red vinyl seat of the booth. I
ordered a pot of hot jasmine tea and an order of spring rolls. I was suddenly
starving, and I was soaked through from the rain.
I had to figure this out. This was not a
dream. That much was obvious to me. As much as I may want it to be ersatz,
every moment was too clear, lucid, and coherent. Dreams did not work that way.
I was on my second pot of tea when Liam
found me at the far back corner of the restaurant. Huddled sadly and
pathetically, hair still wet with rain even though I’d tried drying it with
napkins, in my out-of-the-way booth. He sat down across from me, uninvited,
much like our first meeting. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t look at him. I
didn’t acknowledge him in anyway. I just drank my tea, and shivered.
A smart phone slid across the table,
picture up to me. It was Facebook. It was my Facebook page. So, here was my
proof. My wall was covered, overflowing, with sadness and remembrances. A
flooding of condolences. A plethora after only twenty four hours.
For my death.
My untimely, mysterious death.
I shoved his phone back across the table
at him. My mind was an explosion. Blindness.
I must have begun to leave, because I
found myself being pulled back down into the booth by him, to his side of the
booth.
“I know it’s not easy. I know it’s
scary.
hurtful—an anchor to my drowning all the same. What was this? They were crazy?
Or was I? I yanked my arm from his grasp, backing away to the doorway. They did
not move. Where would I go? Was I awake? Dreams were never like this. Dreams
darted about, they were not sequential. I had to be awake. That left me with
crazy.
“What are you going to do Iliana? Walk
back to Los Angeles?” Gideon asked, not even turning in his seat or looking my
way. Calling me by my new name. He had a point. Everything I had was at Liam’s,
and though I knew my way back, I didn’t have a key. But anywhere but here, with
them, was better. An improvement to all of this.
“Iliana?” This time it was Liam.
And him. Why had I left L.A. with him?
Why had I believed him? So what if someone—several someones —had
walked through me. Had they actually? Or did I just think they had? Where was
the factual, solid proof that what they said was true? Maybe my hand passing
through the door knob was hallucinatory, a result of the power of suggestion
and really strong, really awesome drugs.
Liam stood up, started to move toward
me. I touched my fingers to my lips, remembering the feel of his kisses. I’d
wanted those kisses, loved those kisses—craved more. My lips still felt plumped
from them.
“No.” I said against those thoughts. It
tore from me as some sort of sob. “This is insanity.”
“Whether you find it to be insane or not,
does not change the fact that it is indeed real.” Gideon pointed out.
I turned, shut my mind to them and ran
from that room, from that coffee house with the idiotic apropos moniker. I ran
in the rain and slowed only when I realized neither of them was following me.
Why hadn’t they followed?
~ Chapter Six ~
Where
was I going? I didn’t know anyone in Seattle—not anymore. I didn’t have my cell
phone, or tablet, or even my purse. I only had a twenty dollar bill that I’d
stuffed into my back pocket.
So I wandered. I wandered and replayed
it all over and over in my mind. I roamed all around the Capitol Hill area,
staying to the shadows, and when that seemed unsafe and ridiculous, I ventured
to Broadway, where I stared into shop windows, and then stopped my pointless
meandering at a Thai restaurant.
The smell had stopped me in my tracks;
the amazing smell of cooking food—real food—making my mouth water, my stomach
grumble. I was lured in easily. Seemed to be a habit.
Once I was sitting, just how tired I was
washed over me again and I melted into the red vinyl seat of the booth. I
ordered a pot of hot jasmine tea and an order of spring rolls. I was suddenly
starving, and I was soaked through from the rain.
I had to figure this out. This was not a
dream. That much was obvious to me. As much as I may want it to be ersatz,
every moment was too clear, lucid, and coherent. Dreams did not work that way.
I was on my second pot of tea when Liam
found me at the far back corner of the restaurant. Huddled sadly and
pathetically, hair still wet with rain even though I’d tried drying it with
napkins, in my out-of-the-way booth. He sat down across from me, uninvited,
much like our first meeting. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t look at him. I
didn’t acknowledge him in anyway. I just drank my tea, and shivered.
A smart phone slid across the table,
picture up to me. It was Facebook. It was my Facebook page. So, here was my
proof. My wall was covered, overflowing, with sadness and remembrances. A
flooding of condolences. A plethora after only twenty four hours.
For my death.
My untimely, mysterious death.
I shoved his phone back across the table
at him. My mind was an explosion. Blindness.
I must have begun to leave, because I
found myself being pulled back down into the booth by him, to his side of the
booth.
“I know it’s not easy. I know it’s
scary.
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