***
Apollon and I walk together toward the center of the Outpost. He says he's going to the marketplace, but I don't know what money he intends to use there. I, on the other hand, am just getting away for a while. I'll go to the Rustler, and sit on a stool, and even though Arthur Adner will probably know better than to give me any free drinks, I'll enjoy the change of scenery. Maybe I'll hear something about the war with Grey. Give myself something else to worry about. Take my mind off of... off of....
I squint sideways at Apollon as we walk. Why not just ask? I make my voice very casual. "...Jonas and Miranda..." I say. I swallow the lump in my throat.
He glances at me, eyes narrowing.
I make myself go on. "So they're like..." That's all I can seem to get out. I can feel my cheeks turn pink. I want to hide my face, but that would just be worse, so I stick it out, hoping he'll believe it's the wind.
"They're not really like anything," Apollon says, eyeing me. "Why?"
Which is exactly what I didn't want him to ask. I glance away and shake my head.
"You're not really his type," he says, as if it's a simple fact.
There's no hiding it now. I just have to pretend his answer doesn't bother me as much as it does. "Voluptuous?" I say, looking off into the distance.
He laughs. "Shallow."
I blink at him in surprise. We've come to the corner of the main street now, and he stops and turns to me.
"Jonas doesn't get involved with anyone he could possibly be serious about. Miranda, case in point. He doesn't even like her," he says. "He's too focused on his other thing. You know." The last of it comes out like he doesn't really want to say it— like he's not sure he should. He looks away, and goes quiet.
I just nod in the silence.
He grins. "On the other hand," he lulls, his eyes flicking past me for a moment, then settling back on me, "you're exactly my type."
I can't help but smile back at him. Apollon has the most adorable dimples when he grins like that. I check behind me. Sumter and his daughter are crossing the street. "I'm flattered," I tell Apollon. "Try again when you can hit on me without checking out another girl simultaneously."
He just laughs and looks off down the street, toward whatever destination he has in mind. "I'll do that," he says, and he saunters off.
I shake my head as I walk toward the Rustler. For all of two seconds, I'm distracted by Apollon's teasing. Then my thoughts dart back to Jonas, computing this new information. Sorting. Organizing. Dissecting. There are so many other things to worry about— so many things that really matter— and here I am literally wallowing in thoughts of Jonas. Maybe it's because everything else is so messed up. Maybe it's my way of hiding from the real problems. But it feels good, to think of him. To entertain my far-fetched conjectures. To remember. And remembering, even though there's truly little meat to the memories, has a thickness about it— a feeling of sinking into significance. So, ignoring Sarah's bird-pecked corpse still hanging from the pole at the corner, I duck into the Rustler, pondering why exactly Jonas decided to stay. Pondering if it could have had anything to do with me.
I make it one step inside before I forget Jonas entirely. The room is frozen as the door bangs shut behind me. Everyone's eyes have fixed on me, seeing who's coming in. People around the edges of the room look pointedly away from what's happening in the center, where a group of men are on their feet, a table turned over. Matthew stands amongst his henchmen. He holds a long knife in his left hand. His teeth are clenched, feet set shoulder width apart. Kneeling on the floor before him is Coyote Dan, half-slumped with one eye starting to swell shut. Colton glares at me from Matthew's side, a clear warning, but I don't take it. I bolt toward them and skid into place between Matt and Coyote Dan. Only as I look Matt in the eye do I remember that I no longer have a knife of my own.
Matt gives a little laugh of disgust before fixing me with a look sharper than the blade in his hand. "Get out of the way, Eden," he growls.
I almost obey. Not quite. I glance at the knife in his hand. The blood drains from my face. "He's my friend," I say. My voice is so much smaller than I hoped it would be.
In my peripheral vision, I see Colton's hand move. He's reaching for his knife. I flinch in reaction, but Matt is twice as quick. His right fist comes out of nowhere and connects with my chin in an explosion of pain. I stumble backward, tripping over Coyote Dan, but then Matt has me by the front of my jacket, hauling me back to my feet. The pull against my ribcage is like a dagger in my side.
"You take things too far, Eden," he says, dragging me toward him so he's staring into my eyes, breathing into my face. "Just because I let you get away with things, don't take it as given. The fact is, I have plans for you. That is why you're still alive. But plans can change. Understand?"
I'm still blinking stars away, scrambling to get my feet back underneath me. Blood runs down my chin and drips onto his fisted hand. I want to nod, but I can't. Behind me, Coyote Dan's hoarse voice mumbles something that includes the words "let it go". Tears are stinging behind my eyes, threatening to come out. Instead of nodding, I start to shake my head.
Matt cuts the gesture off by shaking my whole body. He drags me toward the door. As I realize he's about to throw me out of it, I twist, trying to get my feet on solid ground. He shakes me one more time, stopping me, his eyes piercing in to mine. "Don't be stupid," he spits. "You'll be dead in five seconds."
It's not the threat that stops me. It's something in his look. He kicks the door open and heaves me out of it. I go sprawling onto the sidewalk. For a second, feeling the bruising of my backside, the sting of skinned flesh, the ache of my ribcage, I stay there. Then I roll to my feet and eye the closed door. Two choices. Go back in, or go home. If I leave, Coyote Dan might die. But I don't think so. I think there was something in that look that Matt gave me, and I'm good at reading people. I take a gamble that Coyote Dan will make it out of this alive. I cover my bloody mouth with one sleeve, and limp toward home.