The three of us burst through the front door, we stopped running blocks ago but we are still absolutely exhausted.
None of us said much of anything on the way back, still processing everything.
Boss man is getting worried. And we just wanted to chat with an old friend.
Woah, take a chill pill. You damn well know what happens if you keep that up.
I don't know what they were processing, but that's what I was running through my mind on an endless loop.
As soon as the door slams shut Marcus pulls Lola into an embrace. She plants a peck on his cheek that Marcus turns into a regular kiss.
Could it all be an act?
He seems passionate, but couldn't that be accomplished with almost any half decent acting training?
Lola pulls away from their kiss, still intertwined in his arms, "For Cassie's sake let's cool it on the PDA."
"Thank you," I mumble.
Even though they're no longer kissing, it hurts to see them together when I don't know if Marcus is really with us.
If this is acting, he would be taking advantage of Lola.
The thought of Marcus being with them sends a shiver down my spine, and without thought, I grab Lola's arm and pull her out of Maucus' arms.
She turns around and glares at me, "What's wrong?"
Marcus watches, waiting for an answer.
"I..." I realize that my grip on Lola's arm is slowly tightening, "Lola, uh... come'ere."
I pull her back out of the house, once we're outside I check the windows to make sure Marcus isn't right there. He stands a few feet from the door carrying a stupid dumbfounded expression.
She tugs my hand off her arm, "Are you ok? What's wrong?"
"I... I don't think... Marcus. In the van," I don't know what to say, let alone how I'm supposed to say it. Lola waits for whatever I have to say with deep concern written across her face.
"What about him?" To my own shock, she doesn't sound as concerned as she looks. In fact, she seems the exact opposite, she crosses her arms and glances back in the window at Marcus. Her concern being spent on him.
"Those two with the van... I think Marcus might've been with them," After saying it I bite my lip and look at her sneakers, unable to bear meeting her surely shocked eyes.
"Excuse me?" she says hatefully.
I look up, absolutely astonished that she just by her tone she is siding with Marcus.
I thought that when I looked up she'd be near tears, or an oh-my-god gape, at very least nervous. But she isn't any of those things.
Gaping, sure, but it isn't surprise. It's disgust. Disgust that I would even consider her boyfriend to be a spy for the organization that kidnapped us, killed Maurice, and so many others. She wrinkles her nose like she smells something foul.
"Are you saying Marcus is a traitor?"
My jaw falls open, and I inch away. In response, she makes the space between us smaller than it was even at first by taking a bigger step forward.
"Marcus is the nicest person I've ever met," she threatens, "and you really want to go on and say that he's working with those murderous assholes?
Nicest person she's ever met.
There was a time she called me that, in first grade I think, and there was a kid on the playground all alone. So I went to go play tag with the kid, and Lola saw.
I was telling the story on the car ride with our Dad home from school later that day.
And of course, Lola made a super cheesy comment from the booster car seat next to mine, "You're the nicest person I've ever met!"
She was so bubbly and my Dad even laughed a bit. Even though it was the excited word of a seven-year-old (which in this case especially means very little), I still remembered.
And I carried the fact with me that I might not be a great person in the eyes of everyone. But if anything, nine years ago my sister for a brief moment thought I was the nicest person in the world.
And now here she is with fury blazing from her eyes because I'd suggest her "replacement" nicest person in the world is not what he seems.
"Would you hear me out?" I raise my open palms in front of me, "I didn't say he was, I'm just trying to tell you that I was listening to their conversation and-"
"No!" She growls, "It doesn't matter what you heard! They're liars and are trying to trick you, Marcus isn't like that! He would never be!"
I've never seen this side of my sister. I always thought that blood was thicker than water--or however that saying went.
A bubble of air remains caught in my throat, not even letting a croak through to argue for me. With an angry sigh, she storms back inside. Letting the door slam behind her that shakes the pavement.
I can hear the faint mumble of Lola and Marcus talking, I don't bother to decipher it or even look in the window.
I thought that being siblings would mean that you were always most important. Family first, I guess. But apparently, a big enough crush is more important than not even agreeing, but hearing out your family. At this point, I'd consider her(and Nayan) my best friend, not just family.
I can't tell what he's saying, but Marcus is trying to either figure out what's wrong or console Lola. Just thinking of him lying that that, bringing them closer together, stealing Lola further into his deception makes my fists knot.
Half crescents dig into my palms and I fight the urge to scream, not for me, but for Lola.
***
Time passes, I haven't been able to face Lola again. Neither of us talks to the other, at least not in a real sense. We say hello when we pass, we say goodnight and good morning, and every day when I leave to go to see Nayan I tell her.
But in the day we drift past each other like cars on the street. When you drive you follow the rules of the road, you stay polite, you do the right things at the right time, and you only interact to send short messages if needed.
When you drive a car the last thing you want to do is crash, directly contacting one another is a catastrophe.
Lola and I do our part. I boil the water like always and she makes the rice with Marcus. She and Marcus eat on the third floor and Lola leaves a bowl on the table for me.
Marcus always seems hesitant to leave me behind, but then he shakes off whatever argument he may have been making with himself and they go upstairs hand in hand.
It's probably best they do. No matter what blood divides us I will always and forever still love her. I love her so much It kills me to see her with someone who could be working for the EAA.
I spend most of my time with Nayan now. It doesn't matter what we do, but he's always there, and as dumb as it sounds he feels like the one person in this world(quite literally) who isn't either trying to kidnap/kill me(and yes, I do include Marcus in that) or strategically avoiding me.
As soon as it's appropriate to, I either leave to go to Nayan's, he comes here, or we go exploring. I go back home as late as I can without worrying my sister, even if we're at odds I still care about her sanity.
I lean onto the side of the couch and stare at the blank, dusty television. Why does Nayan even bother keeping it in the house? It doesn't serve as anything more than a reminder of how sucky this world is, and I sure as hell know he doesn't keep it around as some weird form of optimism.
Nayan nudges my shoulder, knocking me out of my daydream, "You've been staring at the TV for a solid five minutes."
I snap out of my daydream, "Why bother leaving it in the house?"
There were actually two televisions at the house where I and Lola--and Marcus live. I and Lola put them under a tarp in the backyard ages ago.
"Makes the room look normal," He says blatantly, but something tells me that there's a different reason to keep it, "That a problem?"
My gaze falls onto the quilt pinned to the wall behind it, each square a different shade of purple with a few flowery shapes scattered about in varients of blue and yellow.
And behind the quilt, a reminder of the horrors that lurk behind the door.
It builds a knot in my stomach, a feeling that parallels to when I think of Marcus and my sister together. The feeling of helplessness that she won't even listen. And Marcus--he's no better than Lola, he hasn't even told me that he isn't a spy.
He takes hold of my shoulder and gently shakes me out of my trance, "Cass, you're doing it again. What's wrong?"
I keep my eyes set on the seamlessly stitched quilt, but I can sense Nayan watching me attentively, "Remember how I told you what happened last week, with Marcus and-" He nods, "yes?"
"Yeah, what of it?"
"Do you think...Do you think Marcus could be one of the bad guys? That he could've been deceiving us--deceiving Lola this whole time?" I look over to him with wide eyes, and even though I sound cold and dark, the uncertainty makes me feel like a child.
He sighs and looks down at his lap where intertwines his fingertips, "Didn't you say when we found Marcus that it was just luck? You were certain?"
What Marcus said to me at the school comes back, ironic I'm taking his advice, huh?
I can't be naïve anymore.
I know he was using a different context but it still rings true. The EAA has truly shown us how hardcore they are, and you can't count on mercy or what lengths they wouldn't go to.
I can't rely on the hope that Marcus is a good person because he hugged me when we first met or because he has always been super nice.
I can't rely on Marcus, a possible spy, not spying on us. Just letting him walk around and smooch with my sister, and then go report back to those two dickheads in that van or Whittle and tell them everything we know.
I can't just sit around letting myself fall into pitiful hope that maybe he isn't out to get us.
"I did. But that doesn't matter anymore," I say bitterly and unlike myself, "He could have been spying on us this whole time. So in that case you would've been right about when we found him-"
"He was a plant," Nayan finishes, but he isn't rejoicing in being right.
I turn to him and I think I'm hopeful, but everything I've felt lately is so mangled and messy, "So you believe me?"
"I hate to break it to you, but as soon as you told me what happened last week I believe you."
We smile at each other sadly, like the best of a bad situation kind of way.
Looking into my best friend's warm brown eyes I don't think there's anyone I'd rather be stuck in a bad situation with.
We lean closer together, neither of us seeming to notice that it's happening.
But then I do and I jerk back. He does the same and diverts his attention back to the television.
"Well it's good we're on the same page," I say awkwardly.
He pauses, "What?"
I laugh quietly but my laughter dies quickly into the silence, "You said you believed me last week," I turn my attention to anything else in the room, "Scatterbrain," I mumble jokingly.
We keep talking in the same choppy way a bit longer, neither of us able to keep our minds off whatever that was.