Read Online Phoenix (dystopian romance) (Theta Waves: Episode 1) by Thea Atkinson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Thea Atkinson
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stomach.
"You really want to talk about that, here?"
She looked out the window, give some setting here, and groaned at the thought of going down another six flights.
"I'm coming off," she moaned.
He groaned. "Of course you are. And at just the right moment too." He cursed under his breath, making her glare at him.
"It's your fault," she said to him.
"Right. Because it's never an addict's fault."
"You forced three smears into me. What did you think would happen?"
"You didn't seem too upset about it at the time."
She shrugged. "Have you ever met an addict who would turn down copious amounts of their favourite distraction?"
He looked her head to heel as though he was trying to decide what to do with her. "Well, you certainly look like shit now."
She clutched at her stomach, nodding. "I feel like it." She leaned against the railing, legs quaking. She was pretty sure she was going to throw up again: the pains in her stomach had grown sharper. Her mouth flooded with water. She couldn't look him in the eye.
"Are you going to be sick again?" He said it with a strange coolness. "Because I'd like to have some warning this time." He lifted his foot to show where she had doused him on the pant leg.
"I'll be okay," she struggled to get the words out, to seem alert when every movement of her head took a huge amount of energy. Each breath made the sickness that much more imminent.
He sighed impatiently. "Well, you can be sick and get the hell out of here," he said. "Or you can be sick and get dead. Take your pick."
She glared at him. "Not much of a choice." She swallowed down hard half a dozen times, marshalling her strength. Shivers fingered their way up her spine to clutch at the back of her shoulders and drive hot nails into her back. For the life of her she couldn't stop shaking.
A scream came from behind them. Someone had found the bodies, a woman by the sound of it. Theda groaned out loud, because she knew her brief respite was over and by now all she wanted to do was to curl into a ball and wait for somebody to put a bullet in her head.
His mouth worked itself into a pitying line for one hopeful moment as he regarded her, then his face went hard again and the light in his eyes shuttered out.
"Oh for fuck sakes," he said, shaking his head. "Suck it up."
He grabbed for her wrist again, and threw himself down the stairs, pulling on her as he went. She baptized the steps several times before they reached the bottom floor, and by the time they stepped outside, she was panting and shivering convulsively. All she could think about was curling up somewhere, and the only somewhere she could think about that was familiar was a terribly long way away.
"Where are we going? The survivor's station?"
He took one moment to pause, eyes clouded with uncertainty and she realized that he had no plan past running from the building.
"Ezekiel? Are you taking me back to Ami?"
"No," he said.
"Why not?" She asked. "Will they look for us there?"
"Not exactly."
"Then what?"
"Because by now he's probably dead."
ACT EIGHT
Night had hunkered down around them by the time she found herself standing next to Ezekiel on the top step of a respectable looking brownstone. She wanted to believe she knew how they'd got there, but the truth was she'd been so engrossed in her own misery that she'd let him drag her along not caring how many times her feet slapped against pavement or cement, not truly giving much thought to the times he'd lifted her into his arms and carried her. She thought perhaps he'd carried her a good deal more than she'd walked, but standing shivering in a cold sweat in front of the brownstone door, she couldn't clearly be sure.
And by now, she didn't really give a damn anyway.
She swayed on her feet as he knocked on the door. Almost over, she told herself. A few minutes more and she could curl into herself somewhere and hope the headache would subside, believe that the little fire
"You really want to talk about that, here?"
She looked out the window, give some setting here, and groaned at the thought of going down another six flights.
"I'm coming off," she moaned.
He groaned. "Of course you are. And at just the right moment too." He cursed under his breath, making her glare at him.
"It's your fault," she said to him.
"Right. Because it's never an addict's fault."
"You forced three smears into me. What did you think would happen?"
"You didn't seem too upset about it at the time."
She shrugged. "Have you ever met an addict who would turn down copious amounts of their favourite distraction?"
He looked her head to heel as though he was trying to decide what to do with her. "Well, you certainly look like shit now."
She clutched at her stomach, nodding. "I feel like it." She leaned against the railing, legs quaking. She was pretty sure she was going to throw up again: the pains in her stomach had grown sharper. Her mouth flooded with water. She couldn't look him in the eye.
"Are you going to be sick again?" He said it with a strange coolness. "Because I'd like to have some warning this time." He lifted his foot to show where she had doused him on the pant leg.
"I'll be okay," she struggled to get the words out, to seem alert when every movement of her head took a huge amount of energy. Each breath made the sickness that much more imminent.
He sighed impatiently. "Well, you can be sick and get the hell out of here," he said. "Or you can be sick and get dead. Take your pick."
She glared at him. "Not much of a choice." She swallowed down hard half a dozen times, marshalling her strength. Shivers fingered their way up her spine to clutch at the back of her shoulders and drive hot nails into her back. For the life of her she couldn't stop shaking.
A scream came from behind them. Someone had found the bodies, a woman by the sound of it. Theda groaned out loud, because she knew her brief respite was over and by now all she wanted to do was to curl into a ball and wait for somebody to put a bullet in her head.
His mouth worked itself into a pitying line for one hopeful moment as he regarded her, then his face went hard again and the light in his eyes shuttered out.
"Oh for fuck sakes," he said, shaking his head. "Suck it up."
He grabbed for her wrist again, and threw himself down the stairs, pulling on her as he went. She baptized the steps several times before they reached the bottom floor, and by the time they stepped outside, she was panting and shivering convulsively. All she could think about was curling up somewhere, and the only somewhere she could think about that was familiar was a terribly long way away.
"Where are we going? The survivor's station?"
He took one moment to pause, eyes clouded with uncertainty and she realized that he had no plan past running from the building.
"Ezekiel? Are you taking me back to Ami?"
"No," he said.
"Why not?" She asked. "Will they look for us there?"
"Not exactly."
"Then what?"
"Because by now he's probably dead."
ACT EIGHT
Night had hunkered down around them by the time she found herself standing next to Ezekiel on the top step of a respectable looking brownstone. She wanted to believe she knew how they'd got there, but the truth was she'd been so engrossed in her own misery that she'd let him drag her along not caring how many times her feet slapped against pavement or cement, not truly giving much thought to the times he'd lifted her into his arms and carried her. She thought perhaps he'd carried her a good deal more than she'd walked, but standing shivering in a cold sweat in front of the brownstone door, she couldn't clearly be sure.
And by now, she didn't really give a damn anyway.
She swayed on her feet as he knocked on the door. Almost over, she told herself. A few minutes more and she could curl into herself somewhere and hope the headache would subside, believe that the little fire
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