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THAT NIGHT, I wake up at three in the morning with a single thought on my mind: wondering what Ted Cruz's been up to these days.
Oh. Wait. No. Not Ted Cruz. Nothing too political. That was just some weird dream. What I wake up thinking about is some good old-fashioned American values: revenge.
No. Not revenge. Justice. Justice for Thea and all the hell her mom put her through for the sake of some fucked up experiment. Justice for me and all of the other hosts forced into something they wanted no part in. Justice for my dad and the fact that he was pulled into this mess just because he had me for a son.
Mainly, though, justice for Thea.
It should be noted that three-in-the-morning minds are often not the sharpest, and I am no exception.
I roll out of bed, stretching, and carefully creep over my friends — considering that Meredith and Atlas were both drunk from last night and my dad's more lenient than Atlas's mom and Meredith's grandparents combined and the fact that Silas didn't want to be left out, they all slept over here last night, not giving me any choice in the matter. After I pull a shirt on, I sneak downstairs, being extra careful to avoid all of the creaky steps. However, despite all of my precautions, Cerberus greets me at the bottom of the stairs, yapping his head off.
"Shut up!" I whisper, shoving past him.
He responds with a particularly shrill yap, following me and snapping at my ankles as I grab a quick thermos full of coffee from the kitchen before heading out.
It's very satisfying to imagine cutting his throat open and ripping out his vocal cords.
Despite all of his yapping, I manage to sneak outside without someone waking up. Relieved, I get into my car, only to realize that I forgot my keys. And my pants.
I curse, heading back inside. Cerberus greets me at the doorway, but so does somebody else — Atlas, in his pajamas, his glasses nowhere in sight, who looks like he's having a heart attack.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. That little fucker did wake someone up, after all.
Atlas stares at me for a solid minute. "Um, why aren't you wearing pants?"
I shrug. "I forgot them."
He looks over my shoulder (which he has to stand on his tiptoes to do) at the door, then down at Cerberus, who's thankfully silent. He has to squint due to his distinct lack of glasses. "What're you doing?"
"Heroin," I casually reply.
"Oh, well, of course." Atlas takes a staggering step forwards, his hands flying to his head. "Jesus. My head's like, actually killing me. I think I'm dying. I'm never drinking again."
