Chapter 21
Conin
Ezra’s passed out next to me on the bed.
I lie on my side, arm denting the pillow, hand propped up to support my head and watch him.
The faint movement of his body rises, then lowers—an endless flow of hair masks his face from view.
He’s so peaceful-looking that I’m envious of his ability not to be bothered by sharing the same mattress as me.
Meanwhile, I’m losing my mind. It was the same deal as the night before and it’s much worse now.
Does he really feel nothing for me? Does this truly not bother him?
I want to rip my fucking hair out.
Carefully, without rustling the sheets, I remove my hand from under the duvet.
It stays suspended in the space that separates me from Ezra.
Raising a hesitant index finger, I wait with a trembling wrist. I want this more than ever; the comfort and solace from Ezra’s touch is a pang of hunger in need of satiation.
Ezra, and only Ezra, can satisfy it. My skin grazes the fabric and lingers on the small of his back.
I breathe deeply, a scream lodged in my throat, a desperate plea to stop—stop before I do something I’ll regret.
Ezra shuffles, then positions himself on his back.
His eyelids are shut, his mouth is parted slightly, and I hear his small inhale.
Relief washes over the storm brewing in my chest. He’s still asleep.
I turned over, away from him, and let the tears well—the shuddering sob suppressed long enough for me to abscond to the bathroom.
Once inside, I quiet my cries, but they burst out anyway. Tears stain the linoleum floor.
Loneliness is a double-edged sword. And I’m bone-deep pierced to the heart because even as I’m here with Ezra, I feel so alone.
These ruthless feelings for him have nowhere to go, and no place to call home.
What happens at the end of this road? What happens once we’ve found safety and there’s nothing left but to exist?
I’m not like Ezra. I don’t possess any special abilities of my own.
It’s selfish of me to think that despite having Ezra’s friendship, I may never have more.
There may always be this rift between us, and knowing this makes every inch of me ache.
I’m so lonely and that reality only digs deeper, made worse by the realization that I may never get to see the second-most important person in my life.
And she has no idea what’s become of me.
I left for a boy who may never want me . . .
. . .leaving a mother who can’t live without me.
But Ezra must be protected, no matter how much it tears me apart.
Crying silently in the bathroom reminds me of all those long nights of countless, unrelenting arguments. My father’s booming voice. Mom’s silent pleas.
I peer in the mirror, my grip tight on the counter. There’s a crack at the top corner, alongside some spots and smudges with a story to tell. With one good look at myself, a spike of rage ignites. The slap to my cheek was brutal. And the mark it left is a hot, stinging red.
“Conin?”
Ezra’s voice is soft. At first, I thought I imagined it, if not for him repeating my name. It sounds like salvation. It drives me insane.
I open the bathroom door, hoping he won’t see my tear-streaked face.
“Yeah?”
“Is everything alright?”
No.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just stubbed my toe . . .”
He’s quiet—assessing.
“Okay. You should try to get some sleep,” he whispers.
I can’t read his face.
I want to ask . . .
Where are you? What are you thinking?
I know I’m your friend . . .
But I love you. I love you so much.
If you knew how I felt, could our friendship remain the same?
Do you reciprocate these feelings?
Do you feel the same?
I join him under the sheets. His smile is sad, worried, fake.
“We’re safe,” he says. It’s a lie, though it’s somewhat comforting. Maybe that’s why he told me.
“Good night.”
“Good night,” I whisper back.
An hour later, I’m asleep.
We’re up very early the next morning. When Ezra shakes me awake, I jolt upright, head pulsing with a ridiculous migraine, and reach for the handgun on the side table.
I see skull mask thud onto the road, bullets tearing into skin. Whether or not this last detail is a figment of my imagination, the panic it instills clutches me.
“Jesus, Co’! It’s me! Ezra!”
“Sorry,” I gasp and see that it is indeed him.
“It’s alright,” Ezra says, gauging my sorry state. “We should get going.”
“Let’s map out a course first.”
I’m drenched in sweat again from the nightmare. Before Ezra can say anything else, I shower and dress. After I’m finished, we unfold the map on the bed to chart a route from Wendover. Ezra is attentive as I run a dragging finger along the highway.
“It might be a safe bet to avoid the area where we had the encounter with the mercenary,” I say.
“Right. How about Skull Valley Road past Lakeside? It’s a much longer route, but it avoids Tooele entirely. We’ll need to make sure we’re filled up on gas and check again once we hit Dugway,” Ezra tells me.
His face is scrunched in concentration and the determination in his eyes evokes a genuine grin out of me. He looks up, notices my smile, and grins too.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I say.
I fold up the map and we’re out in a matter of minutes.
Once back on the highway, we fall into silence—Ezra at the wheel and me trying to navigate the map.
Time slows into an endless hour. The mercenary’s vehicle feels taboo to drive in.
It’s about a half tank full, so Ezra and I decide to refill and head directly to Eureka afterward.
A skull mask falls to the ground in front of my eyes.
They were going to kill Ezra.
I did the right thing.
This is something I must remind myself of, over and over. I suppress the urge to panic because I don’t want to worry Ezra. Besides, there’s a chance the mercenary is still alive. There’s a chance I’m not a killer. And no matter how evil the person, that hope is there, and bright.
“Are you okay?” Ezra asks.
I break from my stupor and focus on the road ahead.
“Yeah,” I lie.