Chapter 64
Conin
I’ve always envisioned Ezra in a field of green, white roses dotting the landscape in a perpetual horizon.
He’d stand there, still as a painting, watching the sun dip below the stretch of land.
His hair billowing in a wind I could not feel.
Once the sun fell, he’d turn to me with a smile etched on his face and his blue and green eyes piercing into my soul.
But this time when he turns, the night doesn’t fill to the brim with stars.
The sky is a soulless black and Ezra’s irises have darkened with it.
Around us, the roses change from white to a bloodened crimson.
The flowers exude a blushing scarlet that spills until it drowns the land in its horror.
Ezra slumps into the blood, cuts and lacerations racing across his skin.
I wasn’t there to witness his relapse, but I can imagine it in my head as clear as day.
It’s why I can write stories so well; the way I envision images scares even me.
“I don’t know why I did it . . . why I kept doing it. When Thax tired of doing it himself, I’d take the blade and continue his work,” Ezra mutters, so low I have to strain to hear.
“I think I understand,” I say. “You did what felt normal to you . . . what took away the pain Lukeman and Thax caused. I’m so sorry, Ez.”
He nods but doesn’t tell me it’s okay. Because it’s not. None of this is.
“In that moment, when I found out what happened to you, I felt . . . I knew, that all of this was my fault,” he says.
I refuse to let him believe this. He didn’t choose to be discovered, for Thax to turn him in, and for the Barclay mercenaries to pursue him relentlessly. And it was I who decided to go along with him. I chose him. Ezra. I would do it again in a heartbeat.
“You’d be home with your mom writing your books, preparing for college . . . maybe even you and Melissa could have been . . . a thing. And I took that all away from you.”
I cringe at the mention of Melissa, feeling guilty for not having thought of her since the start of all this.
The same can be said for Tommy, who we abandoned all those weeks ago .
. . who may not even be alive now. Worst of all, I feel guilt that Ezra believes he stripped me of my entire life.
If I’m being truthful, a life without him would be pointless.
“Ez, I want to make this clear,” I say firmly.
His sad gaze finds mine. We stare at each other before I find the proper words to speak.
“First of all, Melissa and I were only ever friends. She knew how badly I was crushing on you. And second, you didn’t take away anything from me.
This world’s cruel . . . it stripped us of everything—you above all.
Yes, it’s not fair, but that’s not because of you.
I would’ve followed you no matter what. I made that decision.
Me. It was mine alone. And I decided that I couldn’t live in a world without you.
That I didn’t want to live in a world without you. You are everything to me.”
He blinks away the tears that fall no matter how hard he tries. I curve my finger around his chin and press up so he can look at me. He averts his eyes, but I keep my finger placed there for as long as it takes. With my other thumb, I wipe away the stream that’s slid down his cheek.
“I love you,” I say, “and that’s not going to change.”
“I love you too,” he whispers.
I pull him in. He stands awkwardly at the side of the bed, but he stays there as I rake fingers down his hair.
“You and Atlas have helped me so much in seeing my worth, so I want to fight. I want to protect you now, Conin. And . . . before I can do that, I need to get better. Cutting myself then was a relapse and I know things may get worse before they get better, but I’m going to do my best. With the drinking and my . . . eating disorder, too.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“Atlas helped me through one of my episodes that one time. I think that’s when it clicked.”
Anyone who treats Ezra like a king is someone I want in my life. I just didn’t know it’d be such a turn-on for me.
“And you will get better. I believe in you.”
“Thanks,” he says.
I pull out of our embrace, kissing him gently on the forehead.
His smile is weak, but he chuckles, which makes the entire gesture worth it.
He keeps his lips sealed, pursed together, and watches me for what seems a very long time.
It’s not uncomfortable and I reciprocate his looks, drinking him in, admiring one of the boys I have deep, deep feelings for. The boy that I love.
“Admittedly, I should seek out therapy, too,” I confess after a while.
“You think so?” Ezra asks.
“Yeah,” I say. I take a deep breath and hold it. Ezra’s been so honest with me, I feel I should respond in kind. It’s only fair, to lay bare my emotions. “I . . . I’ve bottled all these feelings for so long, I don’t know what to do with them. I . . . don’t know how to let them go.”
Ezra sits on the forgotten chair and scoots it close to the bed. He takes my hand with both of his, waiting for me to say what’s been boiling inside me for far too long.
“Growing up . . . I always felt the need to suppress what I was feeling. It didn’t help that my parents were constantly fighting—getting at each other’s throats.
When my . . . when my dad would leave days at a time, I’d take those isolated periods to comfort Mom and do my best to make her proud—at school, with extracurriculars, with friends, and helping out around the church.
Which, you know, is why I never told her about wanting to change schools, for wanting to follow you wherever you decided to go or travel to in the future .
. . because I knew wherever you applied for, you’d get in.
You’re insanely talented and I wanted to prove to myself I was worthy of that. ”
“Conin—”
“It’s true, Ez.”
He leans into me. My heart flutters.
“But eventually, when they divorced, my mom and I put a lot more time and effort into church—attending every meeting and providing our due diligence in whatever act of service they assigned us to. Some women in the Relief Society started to passive-aggressively prod her over the divorce. Even the bishop expressed he wasn’t a fan of what they’d done and not-so-subtly told her she should’ve tried better, she should’ve forgiven my dad, and she should’ve prayed to God more so they could repair whatever had broken in their relationship.
“The thing is, my dad was a terrible person. And I know you know this. I can’t say he was as bad as Lukeman, but he was still extremely intolerable.
He cheated on Mom. He stole some of her money so he could spend it on nice things for whatever woman he was hooking up with at the moment.
And the LDS church said we should forgive him?
After he made mine and my mom’s life a living hell?
Fuck no! So, we left. I comforted Mom. I continued to suppress my feelings so she wouldn’t know how badly I was struggling inside.
“Eventually it became the easiest thing in the world—to lie, to forget, to bury my emotions so deep down that they could never see the light of day. All the guys on the football team started looking at me differently—all our friends did as well since, you know, so many of them were in our ward. I never told Mom, but . . . I started to go back to Tuesday youth activities again to convince everyone I hadn’t left, that I still believed in their fucked-up religion .
. . Through it all, Dan and Melissa helped me out the most. They understood when no one else would.
Melissa’s fine, but Dan . . . I’m sorry. What he said about you was screwed up.”
I pause, take a deep breath. Ezra’s listening attentively. He hasn’t interrupted to ruin my flow. I grin at him gratefully.
“While all of this was happening, my feelings for you were wild. And we both know how the church feels about queer people. The only people I told before you were Mom and Melissa. Melissa was finally the person to make me realize why the church was so screwed up. I’d tell her about you.
She made me understand that the way your family was treated, the way you were treated .
. . it wasn’t okay. That was only a part of my decision,” I tell him.
“Why didn’t you say anything to me?” Ezra questions and he appears genuinely hurt.
There goes that guilt again. Relentless.
“Because you were going through so much. I didn’t want to burden you with any of my troubles.
It didn’t seem fair, especially with . .
. how brutal Lukeman and Thax were. And then—then I discovered about your special abilities and the Barclay Network, and coming clean just didn’t feel right anymore.
It wasn’t the right time. Now that we’re here at Proctus, I feel safe enough to tell you.
I feel you deserve to hear it from me now,” I answer.
“Thank you for telling me,” he says.
A tear streaks down his face. He kisses the back of my hand and leans his chin on it, gazing at me with those brilliant eyes of his.
“And thank you, for everything,” Ezra whispers so only I can hear. “We’re going to get better, you and I.”
“We are,” I say.
Ezra’s being brave. I admire the hell out of him for coming this far.
He’s been through so much and the world was never kind, but he overcame the worst of his adversities.
I never thought I’d see the day he would put this much trust in other people.
I’ve seen his faith in the Angelics grow.
I believe that means something. It has to.
We’re going to be okay. I know we are.
“You miss your mom,” Ezra states.
“I do. So much,” I choke.
“I miss her, too. But I know she’s alright. She has to be. She’s a very strong woman.”
And for the first time in a very, very long time, I cry.