5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
London
W inter
I’ve let the days get away from me, but we estimate from the position of the sun that it’s February. That, and the notches on the wall when I bother to make them. The days are getting longer, but the nights are excruciating. I’m starting to forget things, like details of my life. I keep wondering… Is that all? Is this my life forever now? Maybe it’s not a bad thing, being here forever… But what if this isn’t how it’s supposed to end? We haven’t seen anyone, and there is no sign of life anywhere. No one is around but us.
Micah is quieter than he has ever been. His silence mirrors the world around us. He disappears for hours at a time, even though he’s right beside me. He’s running out of wood to carve, and I’m not sure what he will do with himself then. There are only so many bruises I can endure. We often lie in a still silence, drowning in our own thoughts. We don’t talk about Maison, even though weeks have gone by. We seem to lack the ability to mourn, and the isolation of winter… it’s starting to get to us.
I can usually bring Micah back to me by kneeling in front of him and forcing him to feel me. It usually works, and when I wake up that part of him, we fuck for hours, if not days. Then we slip back into our eerie silence. But we are still here, and we are still breathing, so I suppose that means something. And in the short moments when Micah isn’t looking, I swear I see Maison watching me from the window.
As I pull my hood over my head and run, I can’t help but feel a shortage of oxygen in the air—as if Alaska doesn’t have enough of it. Unseen enemies chase me, lurking and laughing, while I navigate through the thick mist and snow. The air is suffocating, and my lungs feel as if they are full of blood and ash, crushing my heart as I seek out anything to help me decipher where I am. The bones of my hand are breaking into pieces beneath my skin.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
“Maison?” I sputter, calling out in the forest.
Concealed among the branches and leaves, he silently waits for me, his whispers calling for me through the wind and pushing me forward.
“Where are you going, London?” A hooded monster blocks my path, the tip of his crooked bow tie sticking out from under his neck. I stop dead in my tracks, catching my breath as I behold him smirking at me, a silent scream on the tip of my tongue.
“Away from you,” I spit, and my spear appears in my hand, or perhaps I was holding it the entire time. My knuckles are white as I grip it.
A dark chuckle. “There’s no getting away from me. I’m coming for you, London King .” He says my name as if he’s a serpent.
The pain in my hand intensifies, and I fall to my knees. Black spirals form in my veins as I watch in horror as the sepsis begins to take over, like shadows eating my hand. Nigel steps toward me, my heart beating violently in my chest.
“Go away,” I beg him. I repeat those words as the wind picks up and the ash falls all around me, grasping my hand as I watch the flesh further decay every second.
When I peer up, he’s gone, and a new hooded figure replaces him.
“Maison,” I whisper, and his smile instantly warms me.
“I’ll protect you, baby,” he says, kneeling. His eyes shift in the night as he blinks at me, his sexy hair falling in his face. A calm and steady aura surrounds him. “Don’t worry about your hand, I’ll fix it.” A flash in his hand gives me pause, striking terror deep within my core. He’s holding a knife, I realize. For a moment, I meet his steady, dark gaze, and my hand finds his face.
It can’t be Maison.
“Micah.” I let out a shaky breath. “Don’t do this.”
His smile turns into a pained frown. “I have to, London. You’ll die if I don’t.”
“Micah… no!” I scream, although no sound comes out, as he grabs my wrist and pushes it to the cold, hard ground, his eyes bound and set on his mission.
I suffocate on my breath, and he begins sawing metal on flesh, giving me no reprieve.
Wake up!
My eyes shoot open, and I wake up from one hell, only to be met with the inky darkness of another. Still stranded, still hungry, still broken. Micah’s wrapped around me, pulling me into him, and his hand goes directly to my heart, trying to calm my shaking body, which is drenched in sweat.
“Calm down, London,” he whispers, his breath grounding me to this dimension. “I’m right here, baby.”
As I regain my composure, I realize he was the center of my nightmare, not the hero I know him to be. I turn to him, straining to see his dark features, and he gently takes hold of my injured hand, the one he’s been tirelessly trying to rehabilitate. He places our hands against his chest, reassuring me.
Overwhelmed with emotion, I can only sob, unable to find the words to express my anguish, bile hitting my throat.
“You need to distract yourself. Try to think about something else,” he whispers in a soothing voice. His thumb finds its way to my brow, and he wipes the pool of sweat and tears from my cheeks with his fingers. “It’s all in your mind. You need to master it, or it’s what’s going to end up killing you. Turn it off, baby. Focus on me.”
“I can’t,” I sob between jagged breaths. I still feel the knife slide through my skin. I still taste the copper of blood as it stings my mouth from when I bit my tongue in my sleep.
His lips eventually find mine, and I resist his kiss by hitching a breath.
“Open your mouth, baby. Let me in.”
His lips are like silk and instantly make me feel better. I moan as I open my mouth and lose myself in him as he teases my tongue with his. Eventually, I give in and deepen the kiss, pouring all my agony into him.
My heart slows, and I find my breath, but I still can’t seem to find my voice.
“What did you dream about?” he asks, pulling his lips from mine.
How can I possibly answer?
“ I dreamt about you.” I manage a whisper. It’s not exactly a lie…
His fingers find the hem of my pants, teasing my skin and causing me to press my body against his. The distance between us feels like an eternity. I want him… and I need him to know how badly.
My lips find his neck, and I kiss him softly for a few seconds before my hand finds his hard bulge pressing against my abdomen. I pull it out and wrap my fingers around the length of it.
This will help me forget. I moisten my lips and lower myself beneath the covers, where I spend the remainder of the night letting go of everything.
The laughter wakes me again.
The same laughter I’ve heard the last few weeks in my dreams. Micah’s breath is heavy beside me, which tells me I may not even be awake, although my hand painfully throbs. My hand is better, much better than before, and Micah says the throbbing is a good thing .
I nudge him slightly, but he doesn’t move. Micah barely sleeps, but when he does, he’s impenetrable, which means I am fully conscious and aware of him. If I were dreaming, would I have such practical thoughts?
This means the laughter is real.
Micah doesn’t stir as I slip out of bed, throw on an extra sweater, and grab my spear. I tiptoe to the door and step outside into the frigid temperatures, which now slap me in the face. The thin layer of clouds deep in the sky parts, allowing the Artic moon and stars to shine their light on the snow, providing me with the light I need to see.
I’m so aware of my surroundings that my senses are fired up. And somehow, despite the air burning my face and numbing my fingers and toes, I don’t consider myself truly conscious. Because this is the laughter I only hear in my nightmares.
And right now, I hear it clear as day.
I drag my fingers up my sleeve, giving me access to my exposed skin, and pinch myself, digging my long nails into my arm until three little drops of blood seep out. The pain is real, very real. I smear the blood to make sure that it’s real, too.
Someone’s out there. And they are taunting me.
I curl my toes and step into the deep snow, dragging myself toward the thick woods that surround our cabin. I instantly regret my decision as my foot sinks at least two feet. I trudge through it anyway, willing myself through it, ignoring the dull ache in my legs and the numbness in my toes. I pull my hood over my eyes to block the icy wind from penetrating my skull, and the laughter continues. I follow it, pausing a moment to listen… to truly listen.
It shifts from male to female. A dull ache simmers inside me. I dig my nails into my palms and continue. I need to end this before it begins.
I look back at the cabin, knowing Micah is there and I’ve broken his rule. I have two options. Tell him I hear voices and have him freak out and possibly kill someone tonight. Or admit to myself that the laughter probably isn’t real, and therefore, I should go back inside. I don’t want Micah worrying that I’m going crazy .
The laughter doesn’t stop. Someone is there just beyond the tree line; I can sense them.
I scan the woods, waiting for someone to show themselves. Gripping my spear tightly, I cautiously decide to explore, just to be safe. If it is the others, I can scream, and Micah will come running immediately. There’s a good chance it’s nothing and that I am sleepwalking. I’m probably not even really outside. My dreams are so vivid that I often cannot tell them apart from reality.
As I take each step, the laughter dissipates, replaced by the comforting stillness of the snow I have grown accustomed to. In certain areas where the snow is too heavy, the occasional crack of a branch breaks the silence. A gentle wind teases the bare branches as if calling me, trying to suck me deeper into the depths of the forest.
It is as if I’m not in control, and my feet root into the icy ground. In my stillness, I hear it again… the dark laughter. Images of sharp knives and bow ties flash through my mind. The laughter surrounds me now, their laughter… Naomi, Ezra, and Nigel. It has to be them.
However, what catches my attention is a figure in a dark hoodie standing completely still in the trees beyond. A dark hoodie with argyle sticking out of it.
I breathe. I calm my trembling heart and close my eyes. When I open them, Nigel’s gone. I still can’t shake the laughter, and now I’m positive I must be losing my mind. I pull up my spear and inspect it. Micah’s kept it sharp, although I haven’t needed to use it over these past few icy weeks.
Wiping frozen tears from my face, I press it into my injured hand to feel something again.
“ Fuck ,” I cry out as pain radiates from my hand to my arm and up to my shoulder. Pain to acknowledge I’m alive, to keep me grounded, to keep me from dying in these dark woods. The pain I’ve come so dependent on to feel anything, as mundane and critical as the air I breathe.
I should go back; the cold wind is biting my exposed skin. I am utterly insane for following laughter out into these dense woods. I snap my head around, and the darkness has now completely taken over. The laughter returns—Naomi’s laugh this time, I realize—and I have no idea where to go from there. With the moon now behind a cloud, the direction back to the cabin isn’t clear. Panic settles into my chest as I realize I’m lost.
Naomi’s laughter echoes in my ears, mocking and relentless. My despair is humorous to her and has been since the moment we met. I remember that moment with her and Micah in the woods, the moment I stole from her.
It sickens me to think that there might be some unresolved emotions between them. What if she comes back for him?
A tiny whimper escapes me as I hunch down and sit in the snow, placing my head in my hands as tears flow from my eyes. I try to scream out for Micah, but no words—no sounds—come out of me.
Another shadow… another dark hood snaps me out of my thoughts.
A gray one shimmers in the night, but this time, the tension in my body immediately ceases.
“Maison,” I whisper, knowing how crazy I sound, but I’ve been waiting for this moment to see him again. He’s the real reason I came out here. I knew he’d appear to me. In the darkest part of my mind, that hallucinogenic part of my brain is so soothing. These visions have happened over the past few weeks, and I figured the isolation must be getting to me. I haven’t told Micah, although I wonder if he sees him, too.
The easier twin.
Maison peers over me, his cute, crooked smile instantly putting me at ease. I reach up to touch him. He isn’t too far away from me, only a few short feet, and he could be mine.
I sit in the snow and peer up at him. “Maison,” I call out to him again.
“London… what are you doing?”
His eyebrows pinch together in a very un-Maison-like manner. It’s the brooding face I love so much. I blink at him a few times and realize it is Micah. I’m not dreaming, and I’m cold, very, very cold.
I snap back to reality. What the fuck am I doing ?
He kneels in front of me, his face as stone cold as the snow surrounding us, but his hands still so warm. “It’s me, baby, it’s Micah.”
I blow out a breath. It’s Micah. Of course, it’s Micah.
“Micah…” I whisper his name as I gather myself, still confused about which twin I’m seeing.
Maison is fucking dead, London. Pull it together.
He pulls me out of the snow, and I lean into his warm arms and finally start shivering, as if my body only now registers how fucking cold it is outside. My fingers are blue, and I have no sensation in them. I touch his face, cupping his cheek, running my finger over the face I’ve now memorized.
He isn’t cold; he’s so warm, concerned, and perfect. What is wrong with me?
“Micah, I’m sorry…”
“Fucking hell, London.” He immediately grabs my hands in an attempt to warm me with his body heat. He pulls my hands to his lips. “You’re frozen, baby. You could have died out here.” He glides his hands over my entire body, making sure I’m not broken. His eyes are wild, panicked and scared in a way I’ve never seen before. I can’t respond; my teeth are chattering too hard, and my body is shaking. I am fully conscious now, and the laughter is gone.
And I just called him Maison. This won’t be good.
Finally, I find my voice. “Micah, I didn’t mean to leave. I thought…” I have to explain myself. Explain why I would leave the cabin at night like that, why I would leave him. I can’t find the words. I don’t know what I thought.
“Let’s get you home, baby,” he says without any anger in his voice.
Baby. Why does he have to call me that? It reminds me so much of Maison.
He carries me back to the cabin, but I keep my eyes planted on the space where I was sitting. My eyes catch onto something in the woods a short distance away, something I can’t seem to rip my gaze from. Something that makes my skin crawl… like a million tiny insects scuttling all over me. Something that terrifies me to the core .
I close my eyes and drown it out, hoping what I saw was nothing but a trick of the light and more of my hallucinations.
Once back in the cabin, Micah places me on the bed, rubbing his hands over each finger to warm them first. Then he takes off my snow-covered sweater and the tank top I’m wearing beneath until I am naked. He stokes the fire and crawls in with me, warming me with his hands. Skin-to-skin contact is best for warming, or so he says. Eventually, he takes off his sweater, and I lay my head on his bare, muscled chest.
After a few minutes, and as my body begins to defrost, he finally whispers, “Are you going to explain yourself?”
I turn my head away from him. I don’t want him to see the guilt riddled on my face. “I… I heard something.”
His body goes rigid. “There’s nothing out there, London. It’s just a forest, and a really fucking cold one at that. What the hell did you hear that would make you go out there without me?”
He sounds so desperate and scared, and all I want to do is alleviate that. He doesn’t deserve what I just did. “You fucking scared me, London. When I saw you weren’t in the cabin…” He’s shaking in a way I haven’t seen him do before.
The beat of my heart is all I can focus on at this moment. My words get choked up in my throat as I try to explain myself. He’s interrogating me, as he should. The guilt overwhelms me for desperately wanting it to be Maison instead of Micah in the woods. I just wanted one fucking minute with Maison.
I finally find the will to face him. Micah’s so perfect in every way, and he’s alive, taking care of me, making sure I live through this. And all I’m doing is fantasizing about his dead brother.
His face is hard and concerned, and his eyes have a hint of something in them. That hint of emotion I can never quite grasp in him. Despite the many hours I’ve spent with him, I don’t truly understand him yet. I’ve spent more time with Micah now than I ever have with Maison, and yet there’s still a mystery to Micah I have not pieced together, a layer of him I still have not experienced. It lingers so close to the surface that sometimes I get a glimpse, and even then, it’s only when he chooses to show me. I can never guess how he will react to me.
Anger… He’s seething and trying to control it. I did something he had no control over. I snap my eyes shut. If it were Maison right now, his features would be soft. He wouldn’t push me for answers; he’d let me rest.
His voice comes out hard as steel. “Maison’s not here, London, if that is who you went out looking for.”
He always does that… reads my mind.
I slide my hand to my mouth, a gesture only a guilty person would do. “I wasn’t. I mean…” My voice sputters. “That’s not what I heard.”
He arches a brow, seeing right through me. “Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. You called me Maison . You’ve never done that before.”
A pit forms in my stomach, and I lay my head down on him and let a few minutes pass, listening to the rhythm of his heart. He’s quiet, letting me rest, and the heat begins to return to my body, although the chilliness lingers, and a blush hits my cheeks before it shifts to a bit of anger.
How dare he not let me grieve?
All these weeks, and he won’t even let me utter his name.
“I… I didn’t mean to,” I finally respond, hoping he will let this go. “I love you, Micah.” I lie rigid in his arm, a sign I’m not happy and not caring about the consequences. He wraps his arm around my head and pulls my chin toward him. His hands are soft, but his grip is firm, and a tightness forms in my chest.
“You could have died, London,” he says, his fingers and body softening as he runs his fingers down my arm and rests them on my shattered hand. “I can’t let you die. Because I love you too fucking much to let you die, especially like that. Do you understand what you just did to me?”
I pause as the weight of him crashes into me.
“Do you?” He can’t control the tremble of his lips.
I turn to face him, press my lips to his, and close my eyes. A swell of emotions pours through me. “I’m sorry,” I utter again, running my hands through his hair, then over his face. I’m angry with him, but I truly mean my apology. How would I feel if he suddenly left me? If I woke up, and he was gone? I’d be broken. My mind would shatter before my body.
His intense energy softens, but I can sense how hard he is against my torso, turned on as usual. Luckily, he shifts and pulls the wolf blanket tighter over me. I simply do not have the energy to please him right now, even though my body reacts to him as it always does.
“Get some sleep,” he whispers, tucking me in tight before pressing his lips to my forehead. He runs his fingers down my arm to my shattered hand. He pauses for a moment, and I think back to the woods, how easily those woods could have consumed me. Right before I drift off to sleep, I hear him. “If you leave like that again, London, I will have to tie you up at night. Do you understand that, baby?”
My eyes pop open, but I barely register the threat coming out of his mouth. I love him. I’ve never wavered in my love for him, and I’ll spend the next few days making sure he remembers that. I have to do better at hiding the fact that I might be slowly losing my mind. I need to do better at controlling whatever urge I have to put myself in jeopardy like that. And I have to explain to him that perhaps, this isolation and the way we are dealing with our pain and grief by completely ignoring it might be slowly killing us. It might be impacting us in ways we don’t understand yet.
But right now… right now, my thoughts are consumed by what I saw in the forest. The set of footprints I saw in the snow… because they weren’t mine.
And I think they belonged to Nigel.