6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Micah
“ H ow many girls do you think I can screw before I graduate?” Maison jokes and takes a swig of whatever dark liquor he poured into his flask before we left for fishing. “I figure that if I shoot for a girl a week, I can probably sleep with the entire class by the end of our senior year and maybe even some of the younger ones.”
I roll my eyes, even though I can’t help but smirk, wishing I had such simplistic thoughts and life goals. I also laugh because, while he’s joking, it’s possible he might achieve it. I wouldn’t put it past him. Most of the cheer squad has fallen for his charm at one point or another, and somehow, none of them are aware he slept with their best friend the week before. They all just sit back, bat their eyes, and wait for their turn.
A tug on my line has me ignoring Maison, his stupid grin, and his adolescent obsession with sex. Not that I’m much better. I just haven’t had the energy to actually talk to any of them.
“What about you?” he asks. “Naomi Wilson seems super into you.”
I shrug, keeping my focus on the glass-like water of the lake and the three ripples where my line sits a few feet away, the sun slowly setting in the distance. “Yeah, she’s alright, I guess. I may wait until Ezra fucks her first, though, then just take her from him. I don’t need any clingy bullshit right now. Virgins are the worst after they finally get fucked… I learned that the hard way last year.”
“Hold on, I’ve got something.” I pull the reel nice and slow, and it comes up empty… I lost my fucking fish. “Damn it.” Tensing my jaw, I immediately bait the hook and try again.
Maison senses my frustration.
“Micah, it’s almost dusk, man. We should head home.” Maison pulls out his fishing line and starts packing up. “The fish aren’t biting, and I want to be good for our game tomorrow. You should rest up, too. It’s really your game.”
The sun. That determines when we have to leave. Our mom always threatens that if we aren’t back before dark and she has to send a search and rescue party out for us, she will chain us in our bedrooms until we graduate high school.
The regional finals are tomorrow, and the scouts are coming… My future could be determined this week if I play to win. I have an opportunity to play for an NHL field team, which is the only outcome I will be okay with for my life.
“Ten more minutes,” I say without looking at him. Catching a fish is the only thing that matters at this moment. “I don’t want to go home and fight with Mom again about my medication.” I overheard her and my dad talking about my mental health issues, and it triggered me. Maison overheard them fighting about it, too. He gave me a knowing stare and started packing to come out here.
He shrugs and casts his line deep into the lake, then sits down and cracks open another beer from our cooler without a fucking care in the world. “Fine,” he says, staring off into the sunset, “but you can deal with Mom’s wrath. I’ll tell her it was your idea.”
Usually, Mom couldn’t give two shits about where I am, but if the two of us are at the lake alone, she has an absolute meltdown. She relives the trauma of almost losing us when we were eleven, but it’s not my problem. It certainly won’t stop me from living my life.
Because I relive it every minute of every day anyway.
Despite my trauma, I still love fishing. Unlike normal people who probably would avoid the place or activity that fucked them up, I attacked it, and fishing became one of my favorite activities. It must take a special kind of fucked-up person to cope with trauma by learning to master it. Because I have a weird fascination with death, like how close to it I can get before I tip over the edge.
Maison only comes fishing with me because he doesn’t want me to go alone. He worries about me constantly—he understands the depth of the thoughts I have, even if he won’t admit it. And I usually only go fishing when something shitty is happening in my life. I don’t invite him—he invites himself—and I suppose it’s become our thing over the years, even if I would prefer to do it alone. I swear, he talks too damn much and scares the fish away.
Like now.
Maison presses his lips together as his fishing line goes buck wild. He looks at me, arches his eyebrows, and smiles. “I got something.”
Fucking Maison. Of course, he would catch something before me.
“Damn, it’s something big, too,” he boasts, pulling the line and pretending to struggle with it for dramatic effect. He pauses and looks at me. His face grows serious and darkens. “Don’t fucking hurt her, man… Deal with your shit.”
My head whips up to nothing, just the same trees and the same searing and sparkling wintery sky. “What the fuck did you just say?” A deep chill runs through my bones, much colder than the Arctic air around me.
Maison’s talking to me. His voice is clear and unyielding, the same tone he took when our relationship turned sour and he started hating me. “Don’t fucking kill her, Micah. Don’t fucking kill her like you killed Olivia, like you killed me. Got it? Don’t fucking kill her, man. I’ll never forgive you.”
Jesus, fuck.
My eyes shoot to the sky and find the position of the sun hovering westward.
Shit.
I’ve been gone for hours, sitting silently in my fishing spot. I must have fallen asleep, and the last thing I remember is my eyes growing heavy since I refuse to sleep at night. I must have passed out or fallen into one of my trances. The weather warmed to balmy after a two-week-long deep freeze, and I had to try to get us some food.
“Get the fuck out of my head, Maison,” I say out loud to myself.
Earthly silence
I sense him beside me—through the twin bond we’ve had from birth. His presence is thick in the frosty air.
I recall every word we said to each other that day we went fishing. It was also the last time Maison and I had a normal conversation. It was the night before we met Olivia and everything changed between us. My parents mistakenly thought I was heartbroken, but I wasn’t. And I wasn’t fucking jealous, like Maison assumed. He couldn’t have been more wrong, and his jealousy almost destroyed us. Now I understand how he felt because I am jealous of him when I should be mourning him. I’m jealous of a fucking ghost to the point of insanity. Because, no matter what, he’s still the better twin.
“Maison?” I say again, swallowing all the emotions built up in my throat. For the first time since he died, a nagging desperation to see him sits in my core—to hear his voice one more time. When I close my eyes, he is right fucking here. I see him, every memory of him leaving me stiff, senseless, and numb. Now that I’m alone and away from London, it’s Maison who consumes my thoughts.
Fuck. I won’t do this. I refuse to lose my mind. I can’t mourn him because that would mean his death was real. Mourning him will end him, and I’m not ready to lose him yet.
I shake my head to snap out of it, pulling my hood over my head. Maybe the isolation is finally getting to me, like London keeps saying. Either that, or the lack of sleep. I try not to sleep while she’s sleeping since I almost lost her the last time I let myself relax. Since she risked her life to go and chase a ghost in the dark woods, there has been a noticeable shift in her I can’t ignore. That was a couple of weeks ago, and things have been off between us ever since.
Every day, she slips further away from me. Her mind is shattering, causing me to doubt her ability to rely on her own judgment .
I lean down and pull on my fishing line, hoping I don’t come up empty. London’s hungry, and I can’t seem to keep her content anymore. She longs for something more than what I can give her right now.
I can tell by her eyes, by how vacant they are when I fuck her—not that I’ve had much to give her, either. The darkness is swallowing us whole, and she’s asked a few times about the others. If, maybe, we should go check on them. Yeah, not fucking likely.
Maybe not today, but eventually, she will realize how fucked up I am and leave. Perhaps she’s already come to that conclusion—it would explain her behavior, distance, and constant pandering.
She doesn’t speak to me about it, but I can see the spark of life fading in her eyes the longer she stays here. I’m killing her, or the island’s killing her, but I’m losing her either way. And if I don’t have her, I just don’t see the point in living anymore.
I pack up, knowing we will go hungry tonight. The fish aren’t biting, and I’m not in the right headspace to stay here. I’ve been gone too long, but at least it will be a good test to see what she does when left to her own devices.
I head back through the thicket toward the ice-covered cabin.
As I approach the cabin, I freeze when I notice a set of footprints heading away from it. Smaller, dainty footsteps, unlike mine, leading in a completely different direction.
“Goddammit, London,” I mutter as I pick up my pace, realizing the footsteps only go in one direction.
She fucking left.
“London?” I call out aggressively.
Nothing.
“London,” I call out again, my voice trembling. She better be taking a piss or something and call out to me so I at least know she’s okay.
Icy silence.
My fingers flexing is the only external sign of anger, but inside, I’m bursting. At the first chance she gets, she leaves. And I only have one fucking rule: don’t go outside without me. It’s not that fucking hard .
Although the temperature has improved, it’s far from warm. She won’t last long out there without me. Ice crystals hover in the air. The air is still so cold that I cough whenever I take a deep breath. I follow the footsteps to find her, but they lead to a dead end. Almost like she disappeared mid-air.
She hid her tracks, and she did a fantastic fucking job of it, too. I scan the forest, trying to find even the slightest sign of her. I taught her this trick the last time we were out. It never occurred to me that she would use it to hide from me.
Smart girl.
“Fine. Suit yourself, sweetheart,” I mutter, hoping she’s within earshot and can hear me.
Two hours go by, and the sun’s about to set. I’ve paced the cabin a thousand times and put a dent in the creaky floor. I debate if I’ve made the right decision by not going after her—not wanting to admit to myself that I had no clue where to search for her and that she bested me.
The pressure on my shoulders mounts and my vision blurs when I realize she isn’t coming back.
“Fuck,” I cry out. I’m not sure why I bother standing here, all fucking composed. I grab a can of food and whip it against the wall so hard that it smashes open, and her precious beans splatter all over the place. Immediately, a layer of tension releases from my body. I grab the bedding and start tearing at that, too, throwing all her things around the room.
It’s then that I realize it’s her things I’m chucking. She didn’t take her backpack. Her journal, her clothes, her precious fucking book are all here.
Which means…
She’s probably lost, and with how cold it is outside… And I’ve been sitting here having a tantrum, testing her.
I run my hands through my hair, preparing to go into the forest to find her, ripping my hair out.
Breathe.
If someone was in front of me right now, I’d fuck them up. It wouldn’t matter who the fuck it was.
A meek voice comes from the door. “Micah? ”
My head snaps to her, and a fierce, animalistic sensation washes over me. Just the person I’d like to rip up. My despair turns into anger, my face seething, then full-on relief. I’m not even trying to hide it. I flex my jaw and take her in, ice crystals hanging over her hair, hanging off her eyelashes. The fabric of her sweater is frozen. I wipe all the snow off her and grab her freezing, icy hand.
Fucking helpless .
I close the distance between us and grab her shoulders, not sure whether I want to pin her down or hug her. She gasps initially, but then she wraps her arms around me and submits as I lift her up and press her against the wall.
Pinning her it is.
“London. London. London,” I whisper into her ear, closing my eyes.
She’s small, fragile, and perfect, like I could snap her in two. Her heart is pounding erratically, and she shivers uncontrollably from the cold.
Don’t fucking leave me, then, sweetheart. Then, you won’t be so fucking cold.
She peers up at me, her dark eyes wide as I grip her waist, thrusting my hips, and shove my lips on hers, my tongue dominating her mouth. I have so much I want to say, but all I can do is kiss her because her mouth tastes so fucking sweet and the urgency to consume her takes over. I inspect her with my hands—every part of her deliciously frosty body—while keeping my tongue inside her mouth.
I grab her face, then her chin, before I run my hands down her arms, her stomach, and the hand I’m desperately trying to fix. I keep my lips on hers, and she bites my bottom lip, kissing me with more vigor than I’ve gotten from her in weeks.
“Micah, I can’t breathe,” she finally gasps. “Let me talk for a second.”
She wants it… She wants me more than she has in days. It’s as if the fury simmering inside me has sparked her fire again. Witnessing her helplessness and how dependent she really is on me has also sparked mine .
My nostrils flare. “Where the fuck were you?” I grit, ripping my lips from hers, and arch my brow as she tilts her head toward me.
She blows out a breath. “Micah, I went out. Just like you, I needed space and fresh air. I’ve been cooped up here for six weeks.”
I grab her chin and force her to look at me. Only at me, surrounded by silence and the sound of my teeth as they grind together. “I had one rule, London. One fucking rule. You could have gotten lost, you could have…”
I don’t finish the thought.
She sighs as if realizing the anguish she caused me by leaving. “You thought I died?” She grabs my hand, running it over her chest and the swell of her breasts. I keep my head low so she can’t see how fucking distraught I am or how fucking turned on I am. “Feel this, Micah,” she whispers.
I pause and let her have her brief moment of control… because I plan on taking it back soon enough. “What the fuck for?”
She leans in and moves her mouth to my cheek. “Because it’s beating, and it’s yours. I just went for a walk, that’s it. I was only thirty feet away in the woods; I didn’t go far. This place is suffocating me. I just needed some time outside these walls.”
The sensation of her lips against my skin ignites a fiery rush through my veins, intensifying my frustration. I may pretend I’m in charge, but this girl owns me. I slam both hands beside her head, and she winces. “So I suffocate you?”
Her gorgeous eyes flash. “I didn’t say that,” she responds carefully.
My hands trace up her back as I notice the sweater she’s wearing. It looks like I’m not the only one thinking about Maison today. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
“Micah, don’t be like that.”
I’m being childish, but I don’t give a shit. “Take it off.”
“Micah…”
“Take it off, now. ”
Her pupils flare as she pulls the sweater off, wincing when she tries to use her injured hand. This time, I don’t help her dress like I usually do. Her hand is yet another example of something I can’t fix or change.
Just like I can’t change the fact that Maison is dead.
Her real boyfriend is dead.
My fucking brother is dead… My twin, my best friend, my lifeline is fucking gone.
The pain of that thought hits me so hard in this moment. It’s like the last two months of feeling absolutely nothing culminated into this very moment where I feel everything.
I run my fingers down her cheek. “Were you thinking about him today while you were away from me?” I keep my voice soft, even though I’m screaming inside. “Is that why you left?”
Tears form in her eyes as she stares at me with pity, and all my emotions reflect in her eyes back to me. She doesn’t answer me. My jaw clenches as I watch her. The flicker in her eyes tells me everything I need to know. I keep my hands positioned so she can’t move. She can’t avoid my questions.
If words can slice, I want mine to make her bleed. “When you dream at night, do you dream about me… or him?” My breath hits her cheek. I already know the answer since she cries out for him almost every night, the memory of his death replaying in her mind as it does in mine. I’m not the only guy in her world and never will be.
A beat of silence goes by. Her body is shaking, and not from the cold.
Not anymore.
“I love you so much, Micah,” she says, trembling but holding my stare. “But he was my first love. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but that’s how it is. I can’t change it. He was there for me at the beginning of all this. All I had was him, but that does not change how I feel about you now.”
He was all I had, too. My whole goddamn life.
I try to breathe, but the tightness in my chest takes over, completely paralyzing me. She shifts, and her sweater hits the floor. She’s wearing her sexy, tight-ribbed tank top, the one that makes her tits look amazing. I run my hand down her stomach and slip that off, too, so her tits pop out. Her naked body helps me breathe again.
My jaw flexes. My whole body is more rigid than my bone weapon. She runs her hand down her torso to the band of her sweatpants, and my cock is now a painful bulge against my boxers. “This too, Micah?” she breathes. “Is this what you want me to do?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “It’s a good start,” I growl.
She grabs my erection, tickling it with her fingers through the fabric. “Will fucking me non-stop help you get over losing your brother instead of actually talking about him?” She pulls down the band of her pants. She’s still so thin that they fall to the floor as soon as she loosens the drawstring. I loosen my drawstring and pull out my cock, cradling her up so her back is pressed against the wall.
Her pussy is ready for me, as it always is.
“Yes, it’s what I fucking want.” I slide right into her and begin sucking on her neck, mumbling into her skin, “You are all I ever want.”
I rock inside her, and she keeps her head hung low to try to hide the fact that she’s crying. I bury myself deep inside her, and already, the sex is better than it has been in days. I wipe her tears away with my thumb.
Maison’s warning from the grave echoes in my ears. He doesn’t like what I’m doing to London. He knows I’m going to destroy her.
But I am so in love with her that it hurts.
So he can fuck right off.
“Is this what you need, Micah? For me to show how much I love you?” Her voice breaks as she says it, and she grinds onto my cock. Her sniffles turn to moans as she fills herself up with the length of my cock.
I pull out of her, and using both arms, I pick her up and move her to the bed, laying her down and looking at this gorgeous girl in my possession. All the little marks I’ve given her when she said or did something I didn’t like. She thought it was a game and I was teasing when I said I wanted to train her. But her training hasn’t even begun, and those marks were just the beginning. She needs to understand that she can’t leave me. Clearly, I’ve been too gentle with her.
I have to remind her how much pleasure I can give her.
I pull off her, the dim light of the fire making her skin sparkle beneath me. I run my thumb over the two bruises I left on her hips and press down.
Her breath hitches, and she shakes her head, pursing her adorable lips. “Micah, I don’t want to play this game right now. You’re scaring me, and I’m tired.”
She’s always fucking tired. All she does is sleep. But little does she know that it’s time for her awakening. She’s ready… so I press harder.
“Stop it, Micah.”
I press deeper, and she goes deathly still, but her breath deepens, her cheeks flush, and her eyes darken. Her body is responding how I hoped it would, arching into me.
“Be very careful when telling me to stop, sweetheart,” I whisper. “Because you only get to say it once, and I will stop. But I don’t think that’s what you really want me to do.”
Her little heart is beating super fast now. That got her attention.
“Do you still want me to stop, baby?”
Her naked body trembles slightly, but she bites her bottom lip and her eyes sparkle. More vitality than I’ve seen in weeks. “No. But I think we should talk about him, eventually. You can’t hide from him forever, Micah. You’re not doing well right now. What happened? Can we talk about it? We have to come to terms with what happened to him.”
I pause, and she waits for my reaction, which she must be aware will not be positive. I lean my forehead against hers, dominating her space because doing so gives me a slice of control I wouldn’t have otherwise. “I’m not hiding from him, London. I can’t get him out of my mind, but I’m not ready to deal with him. Because I’m worried that when I do, I won’t come back from the places it will bring me to. ”
She’s quiet, her breath causing her chest to rise and fall underneath me. “Micah…”
I press my fingers over her lips, quieting her. “The only person I want to think about right now, in what short time we have left, is you, baby.”
A hint of fear flashes in her eyes. “Have you thought about going to check on the others? I mean, we just left them in the night. They probably think we are dead.” She mindlessly plays with my fingers before grabbing my hand. “We can’t stay here forever, Micah.”
I nuzzle my nose into her neck, ignoring the clench in my stomach. “Yes, we fucking can,” I remind her. Her doubts about me have started. I knew this was coming. The bliss of having her to myself could never last. She’s quiet and contemplative now, scanning my face, looking for any sign of sanity, which I’m not sure either of us fully possesses right now.
I’ve got news for you, sweetheart… I’ve always been fucking crazy.
My body is pressed over hers, and I finally take off my sweater so I can feel her skin against mine. My finger finds her lips. “You really fucking pissed me off today.” All this talk about going back to the others. I can never go back there… That’s where it is—Maison’s grave—as if he doesn’t haunt my thoughts enough.
I kiss her, drawing it out, soft and sweet, before I pull up and look at her, my fingers reaching for her backside. “Do you want me to fuck you now, sweetheart? Like, really fuck you the way I think you want me to?”
She blinks twice, and her lips part. Her mind is on overdrive before she gives me the little nod of consent I was waiting for. It’s time to unleash the demons within me because I think that’s exactly what she needs to get the spark back she’s been missing.
She arches her hips beneath me, raising one leg so it wraps around me. “Are you going to hurt me?” she whispers.
I perch myself on my elbow and arch an eyebrow at her as a wicked grin crosses my face. “Who said anything about hurting you? I don’t plan on hurting you at all.” I reach over and grab an old crappy T-shirt, using all my strength to rip it in two as she shuffles to the edge of the bed, pulling her knees to her chest and watching me, her matted hair falling down to her breasts.
She’s never looked so fucking beautiful.
I grab my fishing wire and run my hand along her cheek as she parts her rosy lips for me. “Close your eyes, baby, and open your mouth.” She hesitates only for a second before her mouth falls open and her tongue slips out. I place a gag in her mouth, then rub my hand down her neck. “I want you to learn what suffocating really feels like…”