Page 83 of Caging Liberty
Desiree’s anger returns as well, only worse now. Her face twists into a snarl, the only thing stopping her from looking feral is the lack of foam at her mouth. She throws an elbow back when the guard goes to grab her. “He told you his fucking name?!”
I don’t answer.
I just fucked up. I know it, and I still don’t quite care. So I just stare as Desiree is slung over the guard’s shoulder—not without a fight—and carried off kicking and screaming. Lily scurries behind them with another guard at her back.
Now it’s just me and Sawyer. I meet his eyes, then look down at the floor. My heart picks up its pace, and a sense of foreboding finally swallows me up.
“I’m sorry,” I say before he can start in on me.
I find the courage to look at him as he blows out a breath, the anger leaving his expression with it.
“And you were doing so well.” He shakes his head in disappointment. His voice is oddly calm. No yelling. No sneering.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat because I’m not sure what else to do. “I didn’t even think about saying his name. I was angry. Desiree, she—”
“Yeah, I’m going to be honest with you, I don’t really give a shit what Desiree did or said. She’s going to be gone soon anyway, so why don’t you just save the fake apology?”
I frown with confusion.
He isn’t angry.
Why isn’t he angry?
“Just don’t…” He searches for words and sighs. “You know what, fuck it. Scream Angel’s name from the rooftops. I don’t give a shit anymore.” He throws up one hand like it truly doesn’t matter to him, but I can see the defeat in his expression.
This doesn’t make sense. This isn’t Sawyer.
Another sigh, then he gestures down the hall behind me. “You should check on your friend.”
I blink at him, standing in place a few more moments before I turn and start down the hall, half expecting him to shoot me in the back. After a few feet, my steps grow urgent, and my mind shifts away from everything that just happened and back to Naomi.
I throw open the door to her room and see her lying on the bed, facing away from me. I hurry over to the other side of the bed and drop to my knees.
Her eyes are open, and when she sees it’s me, she gives me the smallest, saddest smile. “Should’ve known it was you making trouble out there.”
I don’t smile back.
My eyes are wide, and by the time I think to right myself, it’s too late.
Both her eyes are puffy and bruised, and her jaw is painted various shades of purple and yellow. Her arm, partially hidden by the covers, is in a sling, and her neck is even more bruised than her face.
“Bad, I know,” she rasps, her voice hoarse. She smiles like this is amusing, but there’s too much sadness in her eyes to convince me.
I go along with the sarcasm anyway. I know Naomi well enough to understand it’s how she copes.
“I don’t know, I think this is actually an improvement.”
She laughs then cringes, moving her other hand to her ribs. The blanket shifts with the movement, exposing bandages wrapped firmly around her midsection.
My eyes begin to burn. When Naomi notices, she moves her hand from her ribs, her teeth gritting.
“Don’t cry, you weakling,” she teases. “We said we were past that.”
I choke on a laugh and cover my mouth, the bridge of my nose tingling with impending tears.
“What the hell were you doing out there?” she asks, probably trying to distract us both. “You woke me up.”
“Sorry.” I frown. “The cunt suddenly remembered I exist.”