Free The Crash of Hennington by Patrick Ness Page B

Jacki, breathe.
    The Lions were at her heels, trying to drag her back to the present, if she could just, if she could only, if she could—
    There it was. Oh, my, yes. There it was.
    Everything’s all right, honey. Nothing could be finer, darling.
    Was she talking aloud?
    She exhaled slowly, and her unconscious hand tenderly stroked the Councilman’s thinning brown hair.

20. In the Hours Before Morning.
    The questions were as old as time itself, but no less rigorous for their familiarity:
    Are there reasons for love? And are they all intangible? If not, what if intangibles are the only things I have? Am I justifying all of this for my own wishful thinking? Is that love then, or is it just rationalization? Is this what we do when we’re in love? Is there nothing real? Or is he just beyond my reach? And what does he think of me? Is he reminded of me during the rest of the week? Does my name enter his mind at work? Do I exist for him when I’m not here?
    Peter hadn’t slept much. He glanced over Luther’s slumbering neck at the clock. It was still a little while before dawn. Staying for the whole night was another rarity in a clip,especially since Luther had already paid and Peter had logged in a completion over the phone hours ago. He put his face to the back of Luther’s neck, inhaling a funk that verged on the offensive but steadfastly remained deeply sexual. It was a smell only lovers got. A stranger would have wrinkled his nose at the presumption.
    Luther stirred.
    —Are you awake?
    —Oh, sorry, Luther. I didn’t mean to wake you.
    —I wasn’t sleeping.
    —Me neither.
    —Why not?
    —Just thinking.
    —What about?
    —Just things. How about you? You’ve got to get up for work in a couple of hours.
    —I know.
    —So why are you awake? I don’t go on shift until tonight. I can afford to waste sleeping time.
    —It’s not as if I’m choosing to.
    —What’s bothering you?
    —It’s nothing.
    —I’ve heard that before.
    —You wouldn’t understand.
    —Do you have any idea how insulting that is?
    —Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I only meant that I don’t quite understand it, and that’s why I’m awake, because I can’t figure it out.
    —Maybe I could help you.
    —You wouldn’t want to get involved in my problems.
    —Why wouldn’t I?
    In the blue darkness, Luther turned to face Peter.
    —Why would you?
    Luther’s eyes reflected the moonlight that crept in through the slats in the windowblinds. He held on to Peter’s arm and peered deeply into Peter’s face, as if the answer were literally written there and he would have to make it out in the dark somehow. Peter could feel the pressure of full attention. Here was, if not the moment, then certainly a moment, a turning point where wished-for but unexpected advancement just might be possible, where the door opened a crack and a small light flung its way toward the promising. Peter couldn’t catch his breath. He could actually feel the sweat coming off of his brow.
    But, curses until the end of time, it was too early for him to rise to the occasion.
    —I think … I mean, you’re a great guy.
    —Oh. Well. Thanks. That’s very sweet.
    He kissed Peter on the forehead.
    —I think you’re great, too, Peter.
    —I just mean—
    —You don’t have to say any more. It’s all right. Just me and my boring problems. Let’s just try to get some sleep, okay?
    Luther turned back around, away from Peter. Peter nuzzled closer to him. Neither of them slept during what remained of the rags of the early morning, Luther lost in his thoughts, Peter berating himself for not saying something, anything better. And so neither of them found out what there was to find out, neither of them spoke when the opportunity was there. Which was too bad, because if either of them had had that tiny bit of bravery available right at that moment, so much of what followed could have been avoided.

21. The Crash Before Dawn.
    It was still dark, and the sleeping bodies of