“Aw. You two are so cute; I could vomit.” Courtney skips back down the steps and walks straight up to my oldest brother. “Here, you sexy, sparkly tower of a man. Hold my cock.” She shoves the disgruntled chicken into Abram’s arms, and he’s too shocked to do anything other than accept it. A wild grin splits her face, and she gives him a hearty slap on the shoulder. “Just kidding! It’s a hen. Now, where is that big dog I’ve heard about? I need to introduce him to Queen Omelet so he doesn’t eat her.”

42

ZOEY

I’m suffocating.

The glitter only mildly defused the tension between Warner and the Gunner boys, so I asked him to give me some time with them. But now, even asleep, my brothers fill the tiny cabin. Carver’s snores sneak through the gap between the floor and my door. All four of them must give off a furnace’s worth of heat because the air around me is heavy and warm. But not a comforting warmth. More like the warmth of a blanket being held over my face until I pass out.

The thought has me crawling out of my bed, feet quiet on the hardwood floor as I try to catch my breath.

Having my own room shouldn’t feel this claustrophobic.

I need air. Fresh mountain air, not made stale by too many bodies exhaling in the same space. Bruce doesn’t stir in his dog bed as I cross to the window, prying it open despite its old, warped frame. Every inch it rises pairs with the reluctant squeak of old wood against old wood. Still, I keep at the thing until it’s close to fully open.

Cold air swirls around me, brushing against my exposed arms and making goose bumps prickle in its wake.

I pause to listen, both to the soothing sounds of the woods at night, but also to check if my efforts woke my brothers. If even one has stirred, he’ll come to check on me. The Gunner boys can’t help themselves. They treat me like I’m a baby bird, fallen from its nest. If left alone too long, I’ll surely perish, too weak to deal with the cruel world.

Of course, my past has given them a reason to worry. I’m not entirely blameless.

But that doesn’t mean I approve of how close they hover.

The thought makes me want to escape. For the past few weeks, this cabin has felt like a refuge. Now, it smells like a stale box, one that my brothers want to stick me in after cocooning me securely in bubble wrap.

One of my legs is over the low sill before I consider what I’m doing. Splinters catch at my flannel pajama pants, but I don’t let that hold me back.

Jailbreak. I’m pulling a Shawshank Redemption.