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    Run – Chapter 3

    Story written on June 26, 2014 by dinahwas.
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    Number of Comments: 1
    Words: 4325
    Story Shortlink: https://lesfan.com/?p=85966
    Author Notes:

    Kenzi propelled herself back and forth against the wall of books. Lauren returned to reading, comforted by the rhythmic squeaking of the wheels on the tracks. ”I think,” Lauren leaned back in her chair, ”that the better question is which takes longer to heal? A fractured leg, all things being equal, will heal eventually. A

    Kenzi propelled herself back and forth against the wall of books. Lauren returned to reading, comforted by the rhythmic squeaking of the wheels on the tracks. ”I think,” Lauren leaned back in her chair, ”that the better question is which takes longer to heal? A fractured leg, all things being equal, will heal eventually. A heart? With all the science and smarts in the world, I don’t think a broken heart ever does.”

    The squeaking stopped. Kenzi felt betrayed, not by Lauren’s words but by the beating in her chest, her pulse an insidious reminder that life went on in spite of the horrors one has seen, the bliss one had tasted. Only Lauren understood this with equal intensity. She had lost Nadia and Kenzi had lost Hale. Together, they mourned the loss of Bo—her presence palpable and thick as the dust on the walls.

    Lauren heard her friend whisper, ”It’s like I’m being punished.” Kenzi catapulted herself back down the track, palming the spines of books as she orbited the room. ”This place reminds me of Trick’s study but without all the creepy creepiness.”

    ”Vodka reminds me of Trick with all the creepy creepiness,” Lauren sensed a bit of nostalgia in Kenzi’s voice and returned it in kind, lifting her eyes to see Kenzi pushing herself to and fro, end to end in the library’s expanse, the ladder squeaking and creaking like The Cyclone at Coney Island.

    ”Hey now, no need to hurt vodka’s feelings.” Kenzi laid a boot heel on a shelf, bringing the ladder to a halt. She rocked back and forth, flexing her foot against the bookshelf, humming at first softly to herself until her humming became a not-so-subtle message for Lauren to pay attention.

    Lauren slammed the book shut emitting a small puff of dust. ”Okay, what?” she acquiesced. ”What do you need?”

    ”I want to go out,” Kenzi whined.

    ”Where? Seriously, where? And while we both have plenty to be sad about, I need a night off from drinking my troubles away.”

    ”It’s called therapy.”

    ”No, it’s called cirrhosis of the liver.” Lauren shook her head and started to walk towards her friend who had by now abandoned the ladder for the comfort of the couch. Lauren joined her there. The couch faced the window and the two of them silently watched the rain spill across the glass—silvery, fat, relentless stripes. The beat of their sadness, the symbol of their gloom.

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