She tried to laugh it off. "It's not …"

He raised an eyebrow.

And she sighed and stopped lying. "I'll remember that."

"You want to talk?"

"No. Not today. Maybe later." She blinked back the tears in her eyes. "Ash knows, then?"

"That Ren hits you or about what happened with his dealer?"

"Yeah." She felt like throwing up. "Both, I guess."

"She knows. She's been there, in a bad place, you know? Not the same, not as—" He stopped. He didn't offer her a hug or do any of those touchy-feely things that a lot of people would do, things that would make her fall apart.

"Right." Leslie folded her arms over her chest, feeling her world unraveling from somewhere inside, and knowing she couldn't fix it.

How long have they known?

Seth swallowed audibly before adding, "She'll hear about Irial too. You can talk to her."

"Like she talks to me?" Leslie held his gaze then.

"Not my business either way, but—" He bit his lip ring and rolled it into his mouth. He stared at her for several heartbeats before saying, "You'd both be better off if you started being straight with each other."

Panic welled up inside of her, a black bubble that made her throat feel tight. Like it had when their hands … No. She wasn't thinking about that, wouldn't think about it. Lately, the awful feelings had been so distant. She wished they would stay that way. She wished numbness would settle over her. She started walking faster, almost running, feet hitting the sidewalk with a steady thunking noise.

If I could outrun the memories… She couldn't, but it was better to think her heart raced from running than from the terror hidden in the memories. She ran.

And Seth ran steadily beside her, not behind or in front, keeping his pace measured to hers. He didn't try to stop her, try to make her talk. He just sprinted alongside her like running through the streets was perfectly normal.

They were at the edge of the railroad yard where he lived before she could bear to stop. Breathing deeply, she stared at one of the fire-blackened buildings across the street. Standing there in the patch of grass that shouldn't thrive in the dirty lot, she braced herself for the conversation she didn't want to have. She asked, "So how … what … how much do you know?"

"I heard about Ren setting you up to get out of trouble."

Hands, bruising, laughter, the sickly-sweet smell of crack, voices, Ren's voice, bleeding. She let the memories wash over her. I didn’t drown. I didn't break.

Seth didn't look away, didn't flinch.

And neither did she. She might scream when the nightmares found her, but not by choice, not when she was awake.

She tilted her head back and forced her voice to stay steady. "I survived."

"You did." Seth's keys clinked together as he shook them to find the door key. "But if everyone had known how bad things were before Ren let—" He stopped himself, looking pained. "We didn't know. We were so caught up with … things, and—"

Leslie turned away. She didn't—couldn't—say anything. She kept her back to him. The door creaked open but didn't slam closed, which meant he was standing there waiting.

She cleared her throat, but her voice sounded as tear-filled as it was. "I'll be in. I just need a sec."

She darted a glance his way, but he was staring into the empty air behind her.

"I'll be in," she repeated.

The only answer was the sound of the door closing gently.

She sat down on the ground outside Seth's train and let her gaze follow the murals that decorated it. They ranged from anime to abstract—dizzying, blurring as she tried to follow the lines, concentrate on the colors, the art, anything but the memories she didn't want to face.

I did survive. I still am. And it won't happen again.

It hurt, though, knowing that her friends, people she respected, knew about what they had done to her. Logic said not to be embarrassed, but she was.

It hurts. But she didn't want to let it. She stood up and ran a hand over one of the metalwork sculptures that sprouted like plants outside the train. She squeezed it until the sharp metal edges dug into her palm, until blood started to ooze between her fingers and drip onto the ground, until the pain in her hand made her think about now, not then, not other pains that left her curled into herself sobbing.

Think about this feeling, this place. She uncurled her hand, looking at the big cut in her palm, the smaller ones in her fingers. Think about now.

Right now she was safe. It was more than she could say some days.

She opened the door and went inside, fisting her hand again so the blood didn't drip on the floor. Seth was sitting in one of the weird curved chairs in the front of the train. His boa constrictor was coiled in his lap, one thick loop trailing toward the floor like the hem of a blanket.

"Be right out," she said as she walked past him to the second train car, where the tiny bathroom and his bedroom were. She almost believed he hadn't noticed the way she held her hand.

Then he called out, "There's bandages in the blue box on the floor if you need one. Should be some antibiotic junk too."

"Right." She rinsed her hand in the cold water and grabbed some toilet paper to hold. She didn't want to wipe her still-bleeding hand on Seth's towels. After she'd bandaged herself, she went back out.