I skipped school for the next two days, hiding in my makeshift shelter until the weekend. It was cold, but I had managed to block a lot of the heat from escaping by covering the windows with my extra clothes, and a spell had crossed my mind that seemed to be co-mingling with the lights and emitting just enough heat to keep me from freezing.

Sometimes my mind would drift to Max and Roman. I hadn't given them any sort of explanation for my fear of the hospital, nor a reason for disappearing, and part of me wondered if they were worried or if they'd forgotten about me. I hoped it was the latter, that 'out of sight, out of mind' was a phrase that was applicable to this situation and that we could all proceed with our lives like normal.

By Saturday afternoon I was almost out of food, and the cold had settled so deep in my bones that I knew I was going to be sick by the end of the day. It had taken an embarrassing amount of time to realize that most of my money had been in the bag I'd abandoned under the drooping pine and that my only options were to break into school on a Saturday and hope it was there, outright steal food, or starve another day. Sunday mornings were safe, and I knew I had some cash squirreled away in my attic room, so it wasn't like I wasn't going to eat ever again.

It was very likely that my bag had been stolen or destroyed by the weather, and that was a blow too heavy to give much thought to.

The most important thing was to get warmer. So I stood on shaky legs, pulling my coat closer and rubbing my numb arms, before descending the creaky old ladder. There was a path back into town through the dense forest, and now that it was brighter out I didn't mind taking it.

At this time of day people were bustling about, going out for brunch or shopping with friends. My hands were buried deep in my pockets, curled into tight fists and trying desperately to get warm. I knew I had to get inside, or whatever illness I faced would be made all the worse, and while shopping centers were generally off limits most days, there was one nearby with individual private bathrooms, a huge selection of books, and a cafe where I could sit and read without having to buy anything.

I found my way there as quickly as I could, darting into one of the bathrooms the moment it was free. Within an hour I had warmed my hands and face under the faucet, shaken the cold from my shoes, grabbed a stack of books, and settled myself at one of the cafe tables, eyes scanning over the pages. It might have been hope that urged my browsing, but it might also have been the desire to have anything else occupy my mind than the events of this past week.

Dreams had plagued my sleep, each one promising a different and more stressful outcome than the last. I felt like I had a lot of dreams. I could never be sure, as I'd never experienced sleep as another person, nor did anyone seem to be willing to compare, but there wasn't a night where I didn't remember at least two. They always took on that stressful tone of being just outside my control, and when I woke my stomach was always sore from being tense for so long.

The dreams I had last night were worse than usual, filled with people being angry at me for running, for being injured, for being useless. Mum had been in one, remarking with only her eyes that she was glad to be rid of me. I woke up several times, tears streaming down my face, heart thumping quickly, and no less tired than before I'd slept.

My skin felt tight, my extremities numb – not from cold, but from sheer exhaustion – and my attention span couldn't stretch wide enough to include both my circumstance and the books I'd selected for the day.

I didn't even realize anyone had joined me at the table until fingers were impatiently snapping near my eyes.

“Hey, Riddick, wake up. I'm talking to you.” Freya's mouth was turned down in an unpleasant sneer and I had to bite down my response of 'Actually, it's Rhydderch' to fix her with a tired look, “I don't know how you tricked Max into being your friend, but it ends today. You make a lot of people uncomfortable and none of us are going to stand around and watch you drag him down.”

I tried to recall any sort of dragging in any direction, but my mind was still struggling to comprehend sitting at a table with Freya. As far as I was aware, all of my interactions with Max heavily included trying to escape his attention so he could live a normal teenage life. She didn't seem to agree.

“James says you pretended to be sick so you could fawn over Max and Roman.” She continued, “He says you even convinced Sam to bring you to the hospital during school.”

Yeah, maybe in Bizarro World, where Bizarro Julian craved people's attention, and had no fear of emergency rooms, or people finding out his Bizarro Secrets.

“Yeah, then he fucking bolted.” I hadn't even noticed James standing nearby, his arm around Eden's shoulders. “Probably because the doctor's would've known he was faking.”

Faking what, exactly? The fugue state? The puke? The dark bruise on my wrist? The unyielding and active fear of the hospital?

I closed my book. Couldn't exactly get any reading done while people were loudly accusing you of being exactly as weird as they thought you were. I gathered up my stack quickly, putting the weight of it on my right arm as I tried to keep it steady with my stinging left. I was intent on returning them to their individual homes before retreating from this posse of pitchfork and torch bearing villagers, but I hardly made it two steps before halting in front of Roman, his face indecipherable. He didn't seem willing to move, and once again I realized he was struggling to find words.

“Look,” he finally managed, “Max is a good guy and he's really been sticking his neck out for you. He convinced us to give you a chance, and.. And what you did was pretty shitty, even for you.”

Excuse me?

“You should apologize to him, or just leave him alone.” Ah yes, there was that urge to scream again. It must've shown on my face because suddenly Roman looked defensive.

I knew he was going to speak again and I desperately didn't want him to. I didn't think I could take more of this. Like every other punishment, it seemed far from earned. Before he could open his mouth I pushed my stack of books into his arms and stomped away.

Mum was waiting just inside the hallway when I got home. Relief washed over me and I had the sudden urge to reach out and hug her, cry into her shoulder like I did when I was little. Things didn't work like that anymore. They'd never work like that again. Instead I wrapped my arms around myself. She gave me a small apologetic smile that I could barely see through the water building up in my eyes.

“It's fine, mum.” I said, trying to ease some of her concern. “It's just the usual stuff, you know. I'm gonna have to run into town tomorrow. Someone nicked my bag at school.”

She frowned deeply, but couldn't voice her concern before I spoke again, “Seriously, it's fine. Nothing important in it, really. Just need a new one so I don't have to lug all my textbooks around.”

I walked away before she could think of more things to worry about, and headed to the bathroom. The water in the shower was hot, and it soaked more thoroughly though my bones than the sink at the bookstore ever could have. After that I changed into my pajamas, grabbed some crackers from the cupboard to nibble on, and slowly made my way into my room. This time I made sure to close the hatch, being careful of my injured wrist, before settling on my bed.

I'm fairly certain I was asleep before my bed hit my pillow.

I woke early that morning, the sun barely starting to shine through the dense forest. It was still dark, and I knew I could get out without a repeat of Wednesday if I was quick enough. I dressed and readied myself, then darted out into the street without a hint of a shadow following me.

The streetlights were still on, the sunlight not enough to lighten the area on its own, and the glow from the poles illuminated the sidewalk like a path to the city. I stopped outside of Max's house, the windows dark and occupants likely still sleeping. There was a little nugget of despair in my chest, as my mind shot back to the events of yesterday in grim detail.

I was told to stay away. To let Max be a person not saddled with an abomination. I forced myself to start walking again.

The first thing on my to-do list was food. I hadn't eaten well in a week and my stomach was starting to protest. Between being exhausted and panicked and in pain, there hadn't been a lot of time to cook a proper meal. Also, my tree-house was in dire need of restocking. I couldn't put it off and risk having no food next time I had to hide.

I'd had about thirty dollars stashed in my room for emergencies, and it was always difficult to get more, but every day was warmer than the last and soon I'd be able to help people with their gardens. Elderly people loved flowers, and didn't mind handing out a couple dollars here and there for help tending to them. If I happened to make the plants a little greener, livelier, healthier, no one seemed to mind terribly, and that made it easy to get repeat customers.

Mum always said it was a terrible idea to shop on an empty stomach, so I went to a bakery first. There I grabbed a chocolate croissant and hot cocoa. They were my favorite, and really only, indulgence that wasn't in the general shape of a book.

After that it was the grocery store. It was still early enough that lines hadn't begun to form, and I slipped in quick and loaded a basket up with more non-perishable food and bottled water. I'd made the mistake of going to the grocery store after nine in the morning on a Sunday exactly once. The lines practically traversed the whole store, and each aisle was so packed with people it was almost impossible to grab what I needed. I never intended on repeating that experience and had done pretty well avoiding it.

At the register I almost got embarrassed at my basket full of food. It was all canned soups and veggies, granola bars, peanut butter – things that could survive any weather and wouldn't rot before I needed them again. I felt like I was homeless. In a way, I sort of was. Besides, I reminded myself, avoiding the cashier's gaze, it was always better to be prepared for worst-case-scenarios.

I headed to the bookstore next. It wasn't actually on my agenda, but one of those books yesterday felt a little promising, and while I couldn't afford it, I could at least write down the title and author for when I could.

Obviously there was no way to prevent me from getting distracted, and I ended up spending a couple hours there, sitting cross-legged on the floor, my grocery bags nearby, deeply invested in a book about beetles and other insects.

Outside the bookstore I wandered aimlessly, ignoring the new chill, ignoring the deep sorrow that seemed to be everywhere now. I passed people and buildings, all blurring into an impermeable line of gray, and felt no connection to any of it. There was no slot that I fit into. There was no missing me-shaped puzzle piece. I was excess. I was a useless and broken thing that would never quite belong in any environment and the weight of that thought made my limbs feel heavy.

The park was a lot busier than I thought it would be and, although I never actually planned to end up there, I settled on one of the stone benches with my bags and watched the world around me. Dogs walked on leashes held by their humans, every step a production of that kind of love pets reserve for those who care for them. Nearby children were playing in what remained of the snow, their parents settled close and hoping their spawn would empty themselves of excess energy.

Beneath that, beneath everything, beneath the low murmur of private conversations, was a hum. It was an echo of a forgotten language, known only by the earth, that twisted into the roots of trees and flowers, settled in the footprints of animals, burrowed deep into the rocks. The hum followed me like creeping vines everywhere I went.

Mum was the only person who knew about the hum. She'd sat with me for endless hours while I cried over the noise that just wouldn't stop, taught me not to fight it; to let it settle in my soul and guide me. I still ignored it at times, but knew she had been right. It wasn't something that was mine to ignore. Still, some days it felt like I was losing my mind.