AoT is not mine.

Chapter Warnings: Violence, gore

The Hunters

Chapter Eleven — The Show Must Go On

"Hey, you got any with dark hair?" I heard lots of voices, but with the noise coming from the stage, I could only catch bits and pieces.

"Got any older than that?"

"The females are on the other side, all ages." I still felt groggy, and groaned as I opened my heavy eyelids. My hands were bound behind my back. I looked down. I sat against a wooden crate, naked. This was great; fucking great.

"Are you awake?" My vision was still pretty fuzzy, but I recognized Reiner's voice.

"How could you do this to me?" I slurred.

"It's not personal. Now, come on, stand up." I grunted and stumbled as he pulled me to my feet.

"I thought we were friends."

"Eren, come on," he said softly.

I held back tears. "What did I ever do to you?"

He sighed. "If I don't do what I'm told—if Bertholdt doesn't do what his father says—then we end up sitting where you are. And I—I'm sorry, but it's simple self-preservation." He didn't even look me in the eye when he said it. "It's you, or me, and you're already...used to this."

"I'm already used, you mean." I clenched my teeth. "You kept asking me why I was here, right? Why Lance and I are here?" It seemed to grab his attention. "Don't you want to know?"

He paused, and his curiosity got the better of him in the end. "Tell me."

I stared him straight in the face. "Daddy liked to put his dick in me, so I put a knife in him," I growled. It was close enough to the truth that I didn't mind saying it to him. I wouldn't ever admit that to Levi, though, who gave me the cover story to memorize. "And Lance's mom said I was a husband-stealing whore, and let it happen right under her nose, so he shot her." Reiner looked as shocked as I expected. "So, when you sell me off, I'll stab that guy too," I said very seriously, "and when Lance finds out you let it happen, he'll come for you." I didn't doubt it for a second, either.

Bertholdt came over at that moment. "Is he awake?"

"Y-yes." Reiner took a step back from me. "Are they already starting to auction?"

Bertholdt nodded, coming up to me with a roll of duct tape. "I'm sorry," he said, ripping off a piece.

I looked at him with as much hatred as I could muster. "I'd like your deaths to be as miserable and painful as possible."

He slapped the tape over my mouth as quickly as he could, as if he were afraid that I'd bite a finger off. I got a lot of satisfaction out of that. "Let's go." He grabbed my arm, pulled me around a corner, and pushed me into the line with maybe twenty or so other boys—most of them were around my age. A couple of them were already men. And some of them were...much too young. My eyes burned, but I tried not to cry. Not in front of them.

They examined us carefully—mostly men, but a couple of women—but I noticed that they never touched us. They made us turn around, commented on how they liked us, or didn't. The comments about me weren't nice. They all agreed that I was secondhand. One even recognized my brand as Ian's, and then licked his lips and said I'd be a "well-trained slut." The ones who were especially girly or muscular were well liked. On the other hand, I just had a rectangle for a physique, scars and piercings—I actually started to think that I'd get through this all right. These others were fresh meat, and I'd already been used for years, and it was obvious. Why would they buy a dirty whore when they could buy one pure as snow? It was better that I didn't get purchased, but I couldn't help feeling just a little bit pathetic. I was such a filthy whore that I wasn't even good for it anymore.

Hoover came out with a clipboard, laughing, chatting with the buyers, writing things down. Our eyes met, and the way he looked at me was like he was disgusted with me at the same time as he wanted to fuck me hard. I got caught between averting my eyes in shame and staring back defiantly. How dare he think for a moment that I was disgusting? He made me that way—he and all the other men like him.

"All right," he said, scribbling something down. "We're going to take away the ones with just one bid on them while we settle on the, uh...popular ones." He chuckled, as if any of this was funny. "Right, so take this one, this one, and that one." He pointed at me as he said 'that one.' Reiner gently nudged me toward where I was when I woke up, and I understood. I sat down along with two others, both bit older than me, and looked up at Reiner with as much hate as I could. He hurried away, and I found that amusing. What did he think I was going to do to him? He was bigger and stronger. I wasn't armed, and I even had my hands behind my back. But I completely meant that I would do whatever it took to get out of this. Whoring didn't exactly mean that I was willing or that I enjoyed it, but at least it happened on my terms, and at least I got paid for it. This was different, and I wasn't going to lie down and take it. I'd rather die than be captive.

I was going to take my chance to run for it when Bertholdt came to babysit us. Luckily for me, it was only Bertholdt. If it were Reiner, I wasn't sure what I would do besides kick him in the balls and try to use his newfound fear to my advantage. In this case, I tried to get to my feet to get his attention. Levi had taught me how to fight even when I was down, but it wouldn't do any good if I couldn't get up by myself.

"What is it?" he asked, helping me up. I decided to kick him in the nuts anyway, because it's only a cheap shot if your life isn't in danger. He doubled over, and I took advantage of his already-bent knees to knock him to the ground. For good measure, I kicked him in the face before I ran off, because hey, he deserved it.

The closest vehicle was Hoover's trailer, and against my better judgement, that's where I decided to hide. It would have been smarter to make a break for Levi's van, but it was on the outermost edge, and I didn't think I'd make it before someone saw me. I made it to the door and realized I might not be able to open it with my hands behind my back. I looked around for a second, but there really wasn't anything that could help. I turned my back to the door, hopped up, grabbed the handle—it broke off in my hand, but the door opened enough for me to pry it the rest of the way open with my foot. I pulled it closed behind me and made for the kitchen drawers, searching for scissors or a knife, or anything, really. I found a steak knife and worked on the duct tape keeping my hands bound. It was difficult at first, and I made shallow cuts into my own hand more than once, but once I figured it out, it was a matter of time. I ripped the tape off of my wrists and my mouth and breathed deep. I felt like I could finally relax. But that's when I noticed the pile of clothes on the floor—no, lots of piles. Dresses, jeans, shirts, socks, shoes, everything. The clothing of the people they'd taken. The ones that I...left behind there. I didn't want to think about that.

As I turned toward the bedroom, I spotted my own clothing—at least I was grateful for that. In the bedroom, where I didn't have to stare at the other garments anymore, I pulled on my black shorts and the Cardinals t-shirt that Levi had given me what felt like forever ago. We hadn't even been together a month, but it felt like ages. Everything was so different. I sat onto the bed to catch my breath, to decide where to go from here—and then the door opened, and Hoover walked in, looking none too pleased. I immediately pushed the knife under a pillow, and he didn't seem to notice. "That was a pretty little stunt you pulled back there, wasn't it?" He marched right up to me and grabbed my wrist tightly, pulling me off the bed.

While Levi could always see right through me, I found that my acting skills weren't too atrocious in other situations, as long as I incorporated enough truth into it. Lying was still lying, and anyone who wasn't an idiot could tell. "I'm sorry, but—please, don't sell me." I put my hand on his forearm and pleaded with my eyes, pouring as much emotion into it as I could. "Please, whatever I did to make you angry, I'm sorry."

He stared me down for a moment, his nails digging painfully into the soft underside of my wrist, and then threw me back down on the bed. I bounced a bit, sprawled out on my back as he leaned over me menacingly. "Bertie told me all about how you've been spreading your legs for your brother." He squeezed my crotch roughly. "You greedy slut."

"It-It's not like that," I said, putting my hands on his arms. I had to picture Ian while saying it, to maintain the truthfulness. "He's just like his father. He makes me, he threatens me—he pretended to be nice, to trick me, and then it turned out—" Oh, God, I couldn't breathe, just thinking about him. My eyes teared up; the words caught in my throat. "You—you treat me so much nicer than him. I mean...where do you think I got these scars? I'm just—I get scared, being with you, because I don't want him to find out." No, the last thing I wanted was for Levi to know about the things I'd done at this camp. I pulled him closer just the slightest bit. "I'm terrified of what he'll do when he finds out. I don't…" I paused to look away. "I don't want to get hurt anymore." I looked back at him, and his gaze softened. I had hope it was working. Stringing a bunch of unrelated truths together to make a big fat lie—yeah, that was the only way I'd ever be successful.

"You should have told me," he said. There was still a slight edge to his voice, but he stroked my hair, my face, let his hands come to rest on my shoulders. "I can protect you." His hands moved down my arms, and I blushed and looked away.

What a fucking sucker. I bit my lip cutely and held his hands in my own. "It's just so hard for me to trust anyone. And I...when Bertholdt asked me about it, I wanted to protect him. I told him not to get involved." I inched closer to him. I know men, and I know they only ever think about sex—it was my most powerful weapon, and the best distraction.

"I know it's hard, son. You can trust me." He leaned over more, so that our hips met. I tilted my head up and he took it as an opportunity to kiss me chastely. I felt sick.

"If you...if you're going to sell me, then...can we…" I looked up at him timidly and blushed even more, although I was really trying my acting skills at that moment. "Just one last time? Can we be together?"

His breath hitched and smiled, putting his hands on my shoulders once again and climbing on the bed to straddle me. I knew I had him. Hook, line, and sinker. "I'll talk to Mr. K. See if I can get him to withdraw his bid." His hands moved down my torso to my hips. It took everything within me to keep it together as one hand slid up beneath my shorts. My breath caught in my throat from the fear, but with any luck he would think I was turned on. He leaned down to kiss me again, but I put a finger to his lips.

"Let me do the work," I whispered. "You deserve it."

He smiled, chuckling, and lay back on the bed. "All right, son. Let me have it."

I smiled back, sitting on his crotch. I felt his hands move up my legs to my hips as I stretched forward like a cat, reaching under the pillow and I pressing a kiss to his neck. "Don't worry, I will," I said, sitting up and jamming the knife into his stomach. It was so tiny, I was afraid it wouldn't go through anywhere else. He howled, looked at me with a wild look in his eyes, and reached for my throat. I almost threw up as I hopped off the bed and backed up—there was so much more blood than I thought there would be for such a little thing, and it was surreal to be stabbing someone, even though he was a terrible person.

"F-fuck," I whimpered, gripping the blade tightly in my sweaty hand as he lunged for me again. Out of sheer instinct I slashed at him, splitting his belly button open, and then stabbed forward into his soft flesh again, blood squishing out onto my hand, and again, and again, and again, and again, just to keep him away from me.

"You little bitch," he coughed, grabbing a fistful of my hair and knocking me to the floor. I held the knife up as he fell onto me, and it got stuck in his ribcage. It just happened, my body acting on its own—I was so fucking scared, I was shaking.

"Oh, God," I sobbed, pushing at his torso. He clawed at me, his face wild like an animal and completely terrifying. I was crying, my eyes and my throat burned, and I wriggled the knife around but couldn't get it out. He coughed again, and blood spilled out of his mouth onto my cheek and chin and neck—I managed to roll him off of me and immediately vomited onto the floor. "Shit, fuck—" I scrambled to my feet, and he grabbed my ankle. After two tries, I managed to wrench myself out of his grip and ran out of there as fast as I could, sprinting toward Levi's car. He wasn't there—I didn't see any police cars yet, either. I thanked whoever was watching over me for the good fortune and pulled open the back door. I was sobbing uncontrollably—I just stabbed a guy, over, and over, and over—his blood spattered on my face, covering my hands and my thighs—

I couldn't breathe, I was wailing like a banshee as I pulled my clothes off and used my relatively un-soiled shirt to wipe the blood off of my skin. My shorts were soaked in it. I heaved again, this time dry, since I'd emptied my stomach already in the RV, and once more as I balled up the clothes and shoved them into my backpack. I shook and trembled as I put on new clothes, and a sweatshirt to cover up any red stains I'd missed, and curled up into a shivering mess in the back.

I heard the sirens approaching, saw the blue and red lights flashing outside, and knew that if I couldn't get myself under control, I'd be found. I pushed my face into a pillow, then a second for safe measure. I couldn't stop the crying, but at least I wouldn't be louder than the ruckus outside. I just couldn't get his face out of my head, the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, the feeling of the knife pushing through the skin, the wet, squishy sounds of his guts, the heat of his blood, the stench of it, the fucking taste it left in my mouth—I didn't think it would be hard to hurt someone, but I was dead wrong. It's something I'll never forget.

I was way too wired to sleep, but was jarred out of my trance from the sound of the car door being slammed closed. "Are you fucking kidding me?" It was Levi. He punched the steering wheel a few times, absolutely livid, as he screamed, "God-fucking-damnit. How the fuck could this happen?"

"We'll find out, don't worry." A voice, from outside the car. I lifted up my head. It felt heavy and painful.

"Fucking shit. This whole goddamn thing is a fucking waste if we can't get information out of him!"

"They're going to do what they can. The Commander said just move on with your next assignment."

"The Commander can go fuck himself." The engine started up. "And you can tell him I said that, too." Levi hit the gas hard, and I got thrown to the floor, caught off guard. "Eren?" His voice was considerably quieter.

"I'm here," I said meekly, hugging the two pillows. They were covered in drool and snot, and Levi wouldn't be happy, but that was the least of my worries. "What's wrong?"

"Fucking Hoover!" he growled, punching the dashboard. The CD that had started playing when he started the car skipped. "Fucking piece of shit is going to fucking die because some fucking stupid-ass chicken shit decided to basically disembowel him."

I froze, gripping the pillows so hard that my knuckles were white. "Hoover's dead?"

"Not yet, and not if they can make it to the hospital," he scoffed, "which is unlikely, considering how fucking far away it is."

I gagged and put my hands over my mouth to keep what little bit came up from coming out. I swallowed hard and shivered from how gross it was. I didn't want to kill him, I just wanted him to stop. "And if they make it? Will he live?"

I heard him huff and hit the steering wheel casually. "Probably. The EMTs said they won't know for sure the damage until they get there, but since he was still alive, they suspect there's little internal injury." I sighed in relief. "It's the damn blood loss that will kill him. They don't know how long ago it happened, but it was long enough."

I willed with every fiber of my being for him to live. "W-where are we going?"

"California," he replied simply. It seemed like he was getting his temper back under control, which helped to make me feel much less like a cornered animal. I noticed his eyes go up to the rearview mirror for the first time, watching me. "Are you okay?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

He slapped the passenger seat. "Come sit up here."

I didn't have the energy, but he would have asked if I didn't go, so I crawled through the door and flopped into the seat. "How did it go? Besides the...stabbing." I cringed as I said it.

"We won't know for sure until the dust settles, but I think we got most of them. Some always manage to slip away, but it was such a big group, so…" He glanced over at me. "You look like shit." He reached over and I flinched away instinctively from his hand. He pulled it back with another huff and looked back to the road.

"I'm sorry," I replied. "I'm just tired."

"Whatever." I apparently did nothing to help his mood. A few minutes passed in silence. "You should sleep. It might be a long ride."

"Okay." I shifted to a more comfortable position and looked out the window. The adrenaline and stuff that kept me high and alert was going away, and I was nervous about what it would leave behind. I doubted that barfing and crying was going to be the end of dealing with what I'd done, especially since I learned how pissed it made Levi. The part that made me the most sick was that I cared more about what he thought of my actions than the actions themselves—I didn't think that was right, no matter what kind of person Hoover was, and I felt just a little less human.

"Wake up." Levi shook my shoulder, and I opened my eyes slowly, swatting him away.

"I'm up, I'm up." I unbuckled my belt. "Where are we?"

"Las Vegas, New Mexico," he replied, handing me my backpack and a duffel bag.

"I thought that was in Nevada."

"This isn't that one," he said bluntly, walking toward the doors of the Best Western. "I've already checked in, so we can head straight up there."

As I walked past the lady at the desk, she gave me a look that made me instantly terrified. Like she knew something. Did I still have blood on me? Could she tell that I had attacked someone? Could she tell that I was fucking around with Levi? If she could see me like this, couldn't the rest of the world? I was anxious and paranoid. Every little sound made me startle and jump. Levi eyed me suspiciously, but kept his mouth shut. If some stranger could see through me, then someone as intuitive as Levi certainly knew. I didn't look at him the entire time we were in the elevator or while we walked to the room.

"I can sleep on the couch, if you want some space." he said, turning on the television. "I would have gotten a double, but they would have asked why when I turned in my finance report, and it's not worth the trouble."

"Are you crazy?" I replied, dropping my pack on the floor and flopping into the bed. "Forget the nightmares, I can't even fall asleep alone. That one night I tried to go to bed without you, I ended up just lying on the floor freaking out." I grabbed one side of the blanket and rolled over to the other side of the bed like a burrito. "I don't want to be alone." I didn't want him to see me fall apart, was the truth. To see me shaking like a leaf.

"Okay." I felt him get on the bed and put his arms around me. "You gonna hog the blanket all night?"

"Yes."

"Brat." I felt him get up, but before I could say anything, he added, "I'm just changing my clothes."

I curled up even tighter in the blanket. I felt like I was going to cry, and I didn't want to explain to him why. I couldn't exactly pull the Ian card because I hadn't had a nightmare, and nothing happened to make me remember it. At least as far as he knew, and as far as I wanted him to. No, I had to hold it in so that he wouldn't know.

Levi got back on the bed and asked, "Do you want me to hold you again?"

"No." If I said more than that, he'd hear the tears in my voice, and if he touched me, he'd feel the shaking through my body. "Just wanna know you're there."

He didn't say anything for a moment. "Look, I won't push it tonight. But you're obviously upset about something, and I expect you to tell me what it is. Keeping all that shit in is just going to make you constipated."

Classic Levi. I shimmied closer to him in my blanket cocoon, and that was my only answer.

I woke up from a nightmare, gasping for air, covered in a cold sweat. I peeled myself out of the blanket and looked to Levi, who was still sleeping. I knew now that it wouldn't last long, so I grabbed my backpack and went into the bathroom. My nightmares were usually these extremely vivid, strange collections of scenes, part memories and part fantasies, twisting together the parts of my life into things that don't make sense and distorting reality—being scolded by my parents, being held in that basement, Hoover, Ian, Mikasa, fighting kids on the playground, fucking around in Gilbert—no memory was safe, except they weren't how they happened. We would be somewhere else, or the dialogue would be correct but the actions were wrong—waking up was confusing, and it had been happening for so long that the line between my dreams and my real experiences was starting to blur so much that it was difficult to tell which one was which.

The water in the shower was so hot it hurt, but I needed to feel it. At the same time as I had succumbed to brutalization, becoming numb and learning to close myself off, I was a raw nerve, exposed to the air because all the skin had peeled away. I'd been dealing just fine until Levi came along and fucked it all up. Now I was just a mess, on the verge of a breakdown. My hatred and my fear were fighting each other, and the fear was winning.

I put my arms against the wall and watched the water run down the drain. I'd been standing to the sides of the spray so far, but I felt my alone time coming to an end. I'd be on the clock as soon as Levi woke up, because I knew that Levi still didn't trust me being alone. I took a deep breath and stood directly under the scalding spray, assaulting my shoulders, my arms, my back—and for a moment, the Earth stood still.

And oh, God, the water turned red.

I doubled over, coughing up stomach acid, crying and screaming, sinking to the floor. It was at that moment that I knew, for sure, that although I'd hurt him, although we were miles away, Hoover would never leave me. Ian would never leave me. All the men who'd ever laid a hand on me would still be here, even when I was far away.

I would always carry a piece of the child who lost his innocence in a basement to a man with a fork in his eye.

"Eren?" Levi sounded like he was ready to break the door down, but I'd left it unlocked. I couldn't even answer him, just hugged my knees to my chest, sitting at the bottom of the tub, directly in the spray. He nearly tore the curtain down opening it. "Eren, what's wrong? Talk to me." He pulled me to my feet, wrapping me in a towel.

"Don't touch me," I screamed, "I'm dirty!" I pushed him away. I didn't want him to see the blood. "I'm dirty!" And those people, those things were like stains on my life. Blood and sweat and tears and cum. And I couldn't bear the thought of him finding out. Of soiling what I had with him.

"Stop," he demanded quietly, in the way that only he could, wrapping the towel tightly across my chest, pinning my arms in. "It's going to be okay." I stopped fighting as he pulled me out of the tub and dragged me out to the bed, because that was the roughness I was used to. Sometimes it drove me crazy when he was gentle with me. "Take a breath," he said, putting a hand on my head.

I rolled onto my back and kicked at him. "I said don't fucking touch me," I hissed, and he backed off.

"Okay, fine," he growled, standing up and walking away. I heard him shut the water off and curse, and I curled up into a ball, cowering beneath the towel. I hoped this was the break that had been coming for me, because if it wasn't, then I was ready to stop fighting. "Do you want me to go?"

I opened my mouth, but it wasn't any use. The words that needed to be said kept failing me. I could only cry or lash out. I felt useless and stupid. The bed dipped beside me. "I'm going to sit right here and wait. And you can do what you want, but I'm going to be right here."

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Something smelled awfully good. "Are you hungry?"

"Actually, yes." I stood up and yawned, my entire body painful and sore. But by now, I was used to that. "Did you get any more sleep?"

"No, but it's not your fault. I went down to the gym and stopped by the store, so it's fine."

That didn't stop me from feeling bad. "What time is it?"

"Ten after six," he said, putting a lid on his travel mug. "I didn't think you'd be hungry, so I figured we would just leave, but there's breakfast downstairs if you want."

"No, that's okay." I rummaged through my duffel for clean clothes. "I wish you wouldn't dress me while I'm sleeping."

"I wish this brat would stop falling asleep naked," he said to his mug. "There's an extra travel cup in my bag if you want to make something here." He gestured toward the coffee maker.

I was surprised for a moment, because I'd only ever seen him drink tea, not coffee, but I realized that it was one of those where you put the little cup in and it makes whatever you want. "I'll do that, thanks." The older I got, the more I had coffee. Every restaurant has got it, and they've got it for cheap. I was on my way to becoming one of those not-until-I've-had-my-third-cup type drinkers, who are ready to kill you for just looking at them before they've had it. "Do you not like the taste of coffee?" I asked, forgetting about clothes and looking for the mug.

"I used to have coffee for blood," he replied. "I've made it a point to kick addictive behavior."

"Says the man who smokes cigarettes." I looked at the machine, not having a clue of what to do. Levi flipped the top up and put in the little cup for me before giving me a look that had "idiot" written all over it.

His voice was just a little quieter as he said, "I'm on the patch now." He took the mug out of my hands, pressed a couple buttons, and then presto—black gold.

"When did you do that?"

He didn't answer immediately. "When you stole those cigarettes from me." He wasn't looking at me, which was rare for him. Normally he was brutally honest right to my face. "I threw them away and decided to quit."

I put my hands on the counter, waiting for the machine to stop. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was the last thing I hadn't done, and you got me to do it." He put his cup down and walked over to the sofa, where there were a couple shopping bags. "That being said, I decided to get you these." He came back and put a small plastic bottle in my hands.

I looked at him questioningly. "Sleeping pills?"

He crossed his arms. "I thought it might help you sleep without nightmares. You can use them at your own discretion, and let me know if you need more." He didn't look at me again, and it worried me. "I'm trusting you not to abuse them, all right?"

I squeezed the bottle tightly, then held my hand out. "You shouldn't." It was difficult to hand them over, because those were my ticket out. "I'm not—" It was really hard to admit, but I knew I was making the right choice. "I'm not stable enough to handle that. And I don't want you to do something that you'll regret."

His eyes widened with surprise—not just a little bit, not just the slightest change in his expression, but a legitimate look of surprise came over his face as he took the pills back. "Okay." He looked at them for a second, then back at me. "Still, let me know if you want one, and I'll give it to you."

I nodded, turning back to my mug and stirring in some powdered creamer. "I will."

"Let's get ready to go, then." He picked up the shopping bags, his duffel and his bag. "Want me to take anything down for you?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm going to change and then I'll meet you there."

"Okay." I opened the door for him and he walked off. I watched him go into the elevator before turning back inside and heading for my backpack. As much as I didn't want to face it, this was my only shot at ditching the evidence. That word chilled me to my bones: evidence. But what else should it be called? I pulled the bloody clothes out of my backpack—happy that I'd had the presence of mind to put them in there, because it was the one thing of mine that Levi agreed he would keep his hands out of—and then realized I couldn't just throw them in the garbage. They were fucking bloody. Frustrated, I lay them out on the table. Okay, so the shorts were black. No problem there. The shirt was the issue, and I'd seen enough infomercials for laundry detergent to know that I wasn't washing the dried blood out of that shirt, not with sixty seconds and a bar of hotel soap. There was some on the logo, some on the shoulder, and along the bottom hem. It didn't look like I murdered someone, but also not like I'd cut myself shaving or something.

I bit my lip and struggled with myself. It was bad enough already trying to keep things from Levi, and I didn't want to be carrying around the only remaining physical thing to prove it. "Okay," I told myself. "What should I do?" I looked around again. I could throw the shorts away, but they weren't torn or holey or anything, so if he saw them, he'd ask. And then it just came to me. I pulled up the cushions of the couch, praying that they weren't upholstered, and—

They weren't. I could unzip the slipcover, lay the clothes flat inside, and zip it back up. Sure, the fabric was made so that they could easily sanitize it between guests, but the covers don't actually come off unless there's a stain.

What can I say? I've been chatty with hotel maids before. I went through with my plan, praying that by the time the clothes were discovered, we'd be long gone.

I met up with Levi at the desk, where he was checking out. "You have everything?"

"Yes," I nodded.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

He gave me a look. "Okay. Have a nice day," he said to the woman at the desk.

"So, Cali?"

"Mm-hm." He put on his sunglasses. "It's going to be about thirteen, maybe fourteen hours."

"That's okay. Didn't it take us that long to get here from Phoenix?" I threw my bags in the back before sitting down.

He started the engine. "No. That was a twelve hour drive, which we split up into two days. Also, I was speeding, so it took us more like ten and a half."

"No," I whined. "That sucks."

He shrugged unapologetically. "It's not the longest I've ever driven."

"Ugh, why don't you take planes?"

"I can't take you on a plane. You need identification and shit for that."

"O-oh." So there I was, being an inconvenience and stuff again.

"Plus, you know, it's a hassle. Packing all my shit, renting a car, hoping they don't lose my bags—besides, Erwin and I have an arrangement. He doesn't have to pay gas or airfare, and in return, he doesn't ask about my whereabouts. Instead, I get a stipend for gas and tolls based on the city I'm leaving and the city I'm entering."

"I guess." It was too late for him to explain himself. I already felt sad about it. "Let's put some music on."

The ride was fairly uneventful. Nine hours in—we'd taken breaks to eat and stretch our legs, but it was basically a straight shot, and it was taking forever. I'd survived by playing Candy Crush until my phone died, and then Zelda until my DS died, and by the time we finally crossed into California, I was bored out of my skull and annoying the shit out of the Corporal.

"I'm so bored," I whined.

He sighed. "Why don't you try to sleep for a bit?"

"No." I crossed my arms and slouched down into the chair. "I need to get out of this car."

"Can't you just hang in there?"

"Noooo." I was completely past being reasonable. I'm not the kind of person you can lock up in a car for hours on end. Or anywhere, for that matter. "Let's just stop somewhere."

"You're such a fucking—" His cell phone started to ring. "Brat. Can you pick that up and put it to my face.

"Sure." It beat staring out the window, at least.

"Hello?" he said, the irritation toward me still clear in his voice. "What happened?" All of a sudden, that irritation was gone. I didn't like how his voice sounded. "Where are you?" I didn't like that tone of voice at all. It was panic. And for any other person, sure, it wouldn't sound like they were very concerned at all. But Levi? He was freaking the fuck out. "I'm on my way."

Levi hung up the phone and veered suddenly into the right lane, taking the exit off the highway just before it was too late.

"What is it?" I said, alarmed, grabbing the arm rest to steady myself.

"We're going back to Phoenix."