15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
London
D ay unknown
Sometime in April
Something’s happening. Our time on this island is ending. I’ve been held captive and betrayed by the person I trusted above all others. And the worst part is that I’m unsure if he is still alive. Ezra, Nigel, and I might be the only people left. If anyone reads this, things are not okay. Real evil exists in this world and comes in many hidden forms. It lingers in all of us. The signs were always there. Nigel needs to be punished for what he is and what he has done. For the world’s sake, I hope this pretty little island kills him. If I can manage to stay alive long enough, I won’t let him survive this. I will find a way to end him because he doesn’t deserve to live through this.
I shut my leather-bound journal and rest my head against the rock. I unwrap the bandage around my wounded hand and attempt to move my fingers. The skin on my hand is scabbing and starting to heal to the point where I’m not worried about infection anymore. However, it’s the lack of pain that scares me the most. By the time I’m done, I’m nearly sweating. I am unable to move a single finger, not even my pinky. Focusing on something other than my hunger or the fact that I have no idea where Ezra has gone helps pass the time, at least. He left an hour ago and said he would be back.
I’m much better today, my body no longer weighed down by extreme fatigue. My fever broke, and Ezra did what he could to keep my hand clean and my fever down. I think he saved my life last night by keeping me hydrated, letting me sip on water from the pools of what’s left of the melting snow. It’s not ideal, and he knows it. It’s only a matter of time—days, if not hours—before we have to find somewhere else to go. That pooled water will start to rot; it’s already turning black with mold. Yesterday, I slept the day away, trying not to cry or draw too much attention to the fact that I was there, in his space, sleeping in Naomi’s spot.
He left on a few occasions without uttering a word, effortlessly vaulting over the edge of the cave wall and vanishing in a manner reminiscent of Micah. I kept the fire going while he was gone, staring at those embers, which mesmerized me so much that time had no rhythm. When he came back, he handed me my leather-bound journal, which I stared at in awe, and went about his business, engrossed in whatever he does to keep himself occupied.
I took it as a peace offering since I had lost the book when he slammed ice over my head. I assumed I had dropped it and didn’t give it much thought. Ezra seems content with my presence now and hasn’t killed me, even though he had every opportunity to. There would have been no resistance from me; I would have willingly surrendered to that darkness.
I press the leather against my cheek, happy to have it back, even though the words written inside terrify me. My eyes grow heavy, so I rest them, and I’m not sure how much time goes by before Ezra jumps into the cave.
“It’s time to go, London. We have to meet Nigel.”
Tired. I’m so fucking tired of this island and the people on it.
Especially Nigel.
My eyes wearily open, and Ezra is scowling. I thought that at least Ezra didn’t want me dead, but forcing me to meet Nigel is basically a death sentence.
“I’d rather not,” I say flippantly.
He bends down and grabs me effortlessly, like I’m made of feathers. “We have to meet him. He’ll know you’re gone by now, and I don’t want to make him angry.”
“Why is that such a concern for you?” I ask, needles prickling my skin. Ezra lifts me up, placing me on the ground above the cave. My knees are weak, my body thin and broken, and under my baggy clothes, the grime on my body is melting into me.
He jerks his head for me to follow. “Because I don’t want him to find this place. I’ve managed to keep my location a secret from him, and I’d rather keep it that way. He left me a message, though. He wants me to bring you to him.”
I hitch a breath and follow him, keeping my eyes wide open. “Ezra, please let me stay with you,” I beg.
He doesn’t answer, or at least, he pretends he didn’t hear me, and I follow him through a few thickets of brush and over the barren rocks, plumes of mist hovering over the wet parts of the ground. The safety and warmth of his cave are replaced by an icy chill cutting through my clothes. I stay near him, almost touching him but not quite. After a few minutes, he reaches back and grabs my good hand, which I hadn’t realized was trembling.
“Let me handle this. Don’t fucking say anything,” Ezra says quietly as we approach wherever their hidden meeting spot is. He holds a hockey skate spear in one hand and hangs onto me with the other. I step back behind him, half expecting Nigel to jump out of the woods and slice me open.
“Why are we even doing this?” I ask him. The last couple of days have been peaceful. Just existing for once, with no intense energy from Micah, no Nigel. Just a peaceful co-existence with Ezra, who seems just as sad and empty as I am.
His sandy blond dreads fall in his face as he turns to face me. What’s left of him—which is very little—is reflected in his eyes. “We meet every three days. I think he has more food, and he gives me some if I cooperate with him.”
My blood freezes. So his plan is to trade me to Nigel for food?
“Ezra, you’re not thinking straight,” I whisper. “There is another way.”
What I’ve learned from Ezra is that he gives information in small spurts, but if I push him too much, he will shut down. So, instead, I don’t push him and stand by his side. “We can find more food… Nigel isn’t the answer.”
We approach a small clearing. The ground is dead and muddy, as is everything else in this godforsaken spot. Ezra pauses in front of me. “Quiet, we’re here.”
I’m not sure where here is, exactly. I notice small remnants of a cooking site, with empty cans strewn around and a circle of ash sitting between two fallen logs. My skin crawls as Nigel joins us, emerging from the trees as if he’s been watching us for some time. His hair hangs in his face, and his stalky body is withered beneath his clothes.
“I see you’ve let the bitch out of her pen,” he mutters, otherwise dismissing me. A flash of anger flickers in his eyes. In fact, he’s seething. He must have gone to check on me—to torment me—only to find me missing. I wish I could have seen his reaction.
Ezra bristles, and because I haven’t let go of him, the fingers of my good hand move from his wrist to his muscled back. My body is silently shaking as Nigel carves his deadly eyes over me, his gaze lingering for a moment before his eyebrow twitches.
His wicked presence is so thick in the air that I could choke on it.
“She would have died otherwise,” Ezra barks back at him, “and that wasn’t part of the plan.”
This plan of theirs.
The plan I will derail once I dig my claws further into Ezra. He’s already mine, and Nigel senses my hold over him. That’s why Nigel’s proceeding with caution as Ezra flexes his body in a protective stance. Nigel circles me with his usual snake-like smile like he just captured a mouse.
“You don’t get to keep her,” he says with finality .
Clearly, Ezra and Nigel can’t stand each other. I can’t comprehend how Ezra can stand to be around him after what he did to Maison. However, it’s not like Ezra has other options. Unless… I’m slowly becoming one.
“Just kill him,” I whisper. “You don’t need him, Ezra. We’ll find his food; it has to be around here.”
My heart nearly stops when Nigel steps toward me, keeping his eyes on me the entire time. He pulls something from behind his back and waves it in front of us.
A can of Heinz beans.
My mouth salivates.
Such a simple thing, yet it wields so much power over us all. I understand why Ezra is bound to him. Ezra and Naomi have two mouths to feed, while Nigel has only one. It makes sense that Nigel would still have some food, but they don’t.
Nigel merely raises a brow and smiles as Ezra eyes that food like a rabid dog.
Asshole. Vile, despicable asshole.
So humiliating.
“You mean, this food?” Nigel merely shrugs and grins. “Hand her over, and it’s yours. And I can forgive you for taking her to begin with,” he says, his tone so casual—as if he owns me. As if I’m merely a possession to barter. This is likely why, I’m realizing, Ezra saved me to begin with.
Would Ezra actually hand me over to Nigel, knowing what he’s capable of?
Ezra runs his hands through his hair, contemplating. And I can’t blame him. I’m nobody to him. He peers at me, then back at Nigel. The pain in his eyes is evident as he grapples with the weight of this seemingly simple choice. I guess that hunger will do that to you.
I refrain from making any sort of facial expression, especially when I can sense Ezra coiling up with tension beside me.
Finally, he says with a shrug, “No, man. I think I’m going to keep her. London is officially off-limits to you.”
I suppress a smile, and Nigel’s stare hardens as he takes me in, hiding behind Ezra’s tall frame .
Nigel takes a careful step back and studies me. “You truly possess a remarkable vagina with extraordinary powers, don’t you, London King? Maybe you will let me have a go.”
Ezra doesn’t respond or react to that insinuation or disgusting threat, and I do my best to stay hidden behind him. I hate Nigel, but he scares the fuck out of me. He killed Maison with zero hesitation in front of everyone. Who knows what he will try to do to me? Ezra is protecting me right now, even though he has no good reason to. This means he has some sort of ulterior motive with me as well.
Nigel scoffs and flicks his wrist. “Do you really want to eat rodents for the rest of your miserable life?”
Speaking of said rodents, one crosses the clearing as if on cue. A muskrat. My instinct is to catch it… Kill it. Eat it.
My stomach twists at the primal urge, and I lunge forward on instinct.
Wild.
It crawls toward Nigel, slow and steady, and we all stare as it squeaks. Ezra takes his spear and throws it. It severs the rat in the heart, a mere foot from Nigel’s feet, causing Nigel to stumble back. Ezra steps over to the rat and stares down at it, then pulls the spear from its fat, furry body and rises.
“Yeah,” he says, looking at Nigel, and flexes his jaw. “I do.”
I could kiss him—I won’t because it’s Ezra and that’s just gross , but I could.
Nigel holds his spear, gripping it tightly as if realizing now that he should be scared of Ezra. He steps back, keeping his distance as he walks backward, and finally says, with an acidic lace in his voice, “I’ll be seeing you very soon, London. It will be only you and I left on this island. Ezra can only protect you for so long.”
That threat will forever haunt my dreams.
Ezra grabs our meal, then my good hand, and pulls me away from the clearing.
I turn to face Nigel, sensing his cold stare piercing my back .
When we are out of earshot, Ezra turns to me. “Quit staring at him, or you’ll piss him off more. If it were up to him, he would kill you right here, right now.”
My heart stills at that thought and at Ezra’s confirmation of what I have long suspected.
Nigel is a stone-cold killer.
When I turn back, Nigel has disappeared into the shadows and mist, and I can breathe again. If only for the moment.
We don’t talk on the way back, but I watch him. For whatever reason, Ezra just chose me over food, and I’m not sure why. We make eye contact, and he doesn’t smile. He shows nothing, barely blinking.
He’s supposed to loathe me, and it’s clearly paining him not to. I’m not sure if he likes me, but I don’t think he harbors any animosity toward me, either. He’s certainly not acting like he hates me. Eventually, I pull my hand away from his and stop walking. I need answers, and he needs to start talking to me. “Why don’t you just let him kill me, Ezra? What’s your endgame with me?”
He grimaces and shrugs. “I’m bored, and you’re better than nothing. And you’re definitely better than him.”
I cross my arms and cock a brow. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me what headspace you’re in. What’s going on in that mind of yours? What’s your plan for me, Ezra?”
Stalking forward, he ignores my question. His hood is up, and his sandy hair sticks out at the bottom, reminding me of a scarecrow. It makes me smile, although none of this is funny.
“Fine, stay here with Nigel, then. Suit your fucking self,” he says, calling over his shoulder.
The mere thought of that sends a shiver down my spine .
“Wait,” I call out and run after him, eager to leave the cold, malevolent energy behind me.
After a few minutes, I can barely keep up with him, and I start crying, the tears pouring out of me. He turns his head at me and grunts, but I offer to hold the muskrat. So he sweeps me into his arms, and I let out a sigh from not having to put pressure on my legs anymore. He carries me the rest of the way, probably because he doesn’t want to hear me whine.
Relaxing to the rhythmic sway of his arms, I stare down at the lifeless eyes of the rodent I once would have gagged at.
Sweet victory.
What we need to survive is protein, but primarily fat. It could put life back into us for a few days until we consider our next move. Micah showed me how to render it, cook the fat, and consume it with liquids. Even a flat rock can be used to pool it. That’s what’s truly kept us going all these months. I wonder if Ezra knows how to do that, though somehow I doubt he does.
When we finally arrive at his camp, he carefully helps me into the shelter, lifting me by my hips and gently setting me down. He lights a fire with a bit of fuel he has in a water bottle—he stole it from our collective supplies. Fuel is yet another resource that is becoming quite limited. The flames flare up, casting a warm glow around us. I stare up at Ezra, who still hasn’t spoken since we left Nigel.
“I’ll be back,” he says.
My skin turns clammy as a wall of terror slams into me. I stare over the cave lip, half expecting to see argyle hovering over it. I look at Ezra with pleading eyes. “Please don’t leave me. He’s going to come for me, isn’t he?”
Ezra pulls his spear into his hand, prepping to leave me. “Yeah, I wouldn’t put it past him. I’m going to check the area and make sure he didn’t follow us.”
“You’re scared of him, aren’t you?”
His beady eyes flash. “I’m not scared of anything anymore. But I can understand why you are. Naomi didn’t like being around him, either. She said he was suspicious. But he helped me hunt; he saved my life when your fucking boyfriend decided to mutilate me. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be dead.” He presses his stubby hand to my chest. “And you serve as a reminder of what Micah did to me, so I’m sorry if I’m a bit conflicted on what to do with you.”
“He killed Maison in cold blood,” I remind him. “Or are you blocking it out because it’s inconvenient for you?”
His eyes shoot daggers at me, his lips turning down. “There isn’t a fucking day that goes by when I don’t think about it, London.” He jumps out of the cave with ease.
Shit. I pressed him too hard.
Still, Maison is the only topic that fires him back to life. Maison is the key to winning him over; I know it.
I curl up in a ball, enjoying the flames on my face, and start to daydream about Micah. My tall athlete in his dark hoodie, with his dark eyes and equally dark soul, each of which sets alight my fire.
Five days of nothing but my own haunting thoughts after spending months with him, through which he was my entire existence.
Five days…
Micah hasn’t come for me.
Five days…
I haven’t even heard a whisper from him. It’s as if he never existed at all.
Eventually, and I have no idea how long I waited, Ezra returns, and the muskrat we caught is skinned and cooked. He watches me with disgust as I curl into a ball. He’s obviously still pouting from when I called him out. However, he still hands me a hunk of it and some fresh water. I carefully scan the liquid for mold but end up drinking anyway.
“Nigel’s not around. I checked everywhere,” he tells me. “But stay close to me, no matter what. He doesn’t like you, London.”
I scoff. “Evidently.” I have a feeling in my gut that this is not the last I’ll see of Nigel.
Ezra sits with his lanky legs out in front of him, chewing on his meat. “Do you want to know the real reason why I want to keep you around?” he asks me with his mouth full .
My heart stops at the way he says it, as if he has no plans to let me go.
He plans to keep me… like I’m a possession.
I tilt my head and run my hand over my matted hair, which I was able to pull into a braid earlier. I don’t respond, keeping my eyes focused on my dinner instead.
“You’re the last reminder I have of him,” he says.
My eyes shoot up.
He leans his head back against the stone. “He looked happy with you—more than he had in a long time—before Micah fucked it up for him. He’d want me to look after you and protect you in the way he would.” A swell of emotions run through me at the thought of Maison still protecting me from the other side. But this is Ezra, and he’s been an ass since the moment I met him, even when Maison and I were together and happy. “But mainly, it’s because when Micah finds out I have you, he will fucking hate it.”
That’s it, then. Revenge on Micah.
However, I suppose it could be both.
“Why do you and Micah hate each other so much? And please don’t say it’s because of Naomi unless you want me to vomit.”
He tilts his head up and scoffs, but a smile hints at his lips. He’s loosening up…
“Maison and I were always close—he was my best friend growing up. Micah was always there, but…” He casts his gaze downward, a fleeting moment of hatred before it’s gone.
I rest my hand on his leg. He twitches but doesn’t move it. It’s not sexual but comforting. I want him to know I’m open to his friendship, should he want it.
“But what, Ezra? Help me understand your dynamic with Micah.” My eyes draw down to his hand. It always seems to provoke his anger when my gaze lingers there. I move my hand to his and run my fingers over his scars. He lets me inspect his impaired hand before slowly pulling it away and tucking it into the cuff of his sweater.
“Micah’s an ass,” he mutters. “He’s always had it out for me. There is something seriously wrong with that guy. He was jealous of me. He can’t stand when he’s not the center of everyone’s attention. His jealousy of my friendship with Maison is the real reason why he cut off my fingers. He saw an opportunity to hurt me and jumped on it.”
I can’t say I disagree with him right now.
The more I think about it, the more I realize that Micah could have let Ezra go. Perhaps I disagree with his decision to cut off Ezra’s fingers, even if it was in the heat of the moment. Sure, Ezra had a knife to Micah’s throat, but it’s not like Ezra was the one who stabbed Maison.
“I’m sorry, Ezra,” I say to him, “if I had any part in it.”
My eyes draw to my shattered hand, and I internally laugh at the irony that Micah indirectly caused this injury, too.
However, Micah has also been my savior in more ways than I can count.
Ezra continues, and I watch him. It’s as if he’s replaying something in his mind. “It’s like Micah doesn’t have a soul. Like maybe he wasn’t supposed to be born… Like it was always supposed to be Maison, and Micah was a fucking accident. A freak of fucking nature that never should have existed.”
I never really stopped to think which of the two was older. I just assumed Micah was… not that it really matters.
“What else did he do to you?” I ask him, genuinely curious. What did Micah do to Ezra that makes him look so tortured whenever he’s around him?
His jaw tenses. “He fucked me up when we were kids. And I mean, he was obsessed with making my life hell. My mom said I had to put up with him because of my parents’ business dealings, not to mention that the whole town fucking caters to anyone with the last name Matei. But she didn’t know what he was really like. Maison did, though. He saw it, too, and he turned a blind eye to it. That is, until Micah raped his girlfriend, then killed her.”
Jesus.
I blow out a breath. “Ezra, you know Maison was the one who killed Olivia.”
“Yeah, well, Micah still fucking raped her.”
Christ… I can’t dispute that, either.
I scoff. “So, who cares? That’s his business with Maison. Everyone gets bullied once in a while, Ezra. But you grow up and grow out of it, or you stand up for yourself.”
His pupils flare. “You don’t fucking understand. You think this island is the first time he has crushed my neck? He did that to me behind closed doors for years. I swear, he has almost killed me at least three times when we were younger and I was smaller than him. He was obsessed with torturing me—it’s like he got off on it or something. Something is not fucking right about him.” He pauses for a moment. “And he’d get this glazed look in his eye… like he was there but not really there. His pupils went all black and shit.”
My heart pounds as he describes Micah’s eyes because I’ve witnessed what he’s talking about, although I’ve only seen it once. The night he called me Olivia when he went all unhinged and hurt me, and not sexually.
The bruises he left on Olivia.
The bruises he leaves on me…
The particular style of how he likes to pleasure.
I bite my lip and listen, hanging my head down and letting him continue, my lower belly filling with heat. Because I know what he is saying is true. I hope he can’t see it… can’t see that I like that side of Micah.
It’s why I was so drawn to him.
“You know what I mean, don’t you?” he finally asks me. “You’ve seen it.”
I sniff and look up at him. “I’ve seen that side of him, yes. But he has a good side, too, Ezra. You have to have seen it. He takes care of people he genuinely loves. He’s not soulless; he’s just damaged.”
No one’s ever made me feel as alive as Micah has. How could someone who’s supposedly soulless do that to me?
“Tell me one good memory about him. One redemption moment, Ezra. He’s got to have one. It couldn’t have been all bad growing up.”
“Why the fuck should I?” he snipes.
I soften my gaze. “Because holding onto toxic memories will hurt you more than it will hurt him. You have to live your life differently now, and when the pain of what he did to you overwhelms you, hold on to something pleasant in your mind about him. That way, it will hurt less.”
Ezra grabs a bone from the muskrat he’s been drying on the fire and starts to pick his teeth with it, his face scrunched in a scowl as if it pains him to even come up with one happy thought about Micah.
“Just one, Ezra,” I encourage him. “One pleasant memory. It won’t kill you.”
He stokes the fire with a nearby stick. “He taught me how to shoot a puck properly.”
My eyes whip up, pulling my gaze away from the mesmerizing embers. “Keep going,” I urge him, giving him all my attention. “Tell me all about it.”
“I always struggled with the execution of shooting, and it was holding my game back. He spent a summer with me at the rink and taught me how to do it. Now I have the best shot on the entire team. He said if I was going to play on the same team as him, then I had to step it up because he doesn’t play with losers.”
I snicker. Such a Micah thing to say, and the image of them working together on something brings a smile to my face. I need to focus on my happy memories of him, too, because right now, my anger might destroy me. “See, he’s not all terrible.”
He merely scoffs. “You may be right, but he gets bored easily. And that’s why you’re here with me right now. Naomi gets bored, too, which is why she’s not here with me.”
My stomach turns. I hate thinking about Micah this way or about the possibility he’s with Naomi.
“So, are you going to try to move on from her, or are you just going to sulk?” I try to change the subject.
He sneers and jerks his head toward my wrist. “Are you going to tell me what happened to your hand, or should I just assume? You look like hell, London.”
I have no flippant response to that. Closing my eyes, I imagine the sensation of my hand gliding through those restraints. In a single instant, every bone that Micah had painstakingly mended for me shattered into fragments. It’s as if being broken is my destined state .
When I open my eyes, he’s studying me, then crosses his arms. “Like you, maybe I’m not over her yet, so sulking seems like the right thing to do.”
“You’re too good for her,” I tell him. “When we get out of here, I bet you’ll find a new girlfriend within a week. You’ll be the star hockey player in college and meet new girls. I bet they will throw themselves at you.”
He stares down at his missing fingers and shakes his head. “No, I won’t. Because Micah fucked that up for me, too. Plus, it’s always been Naomi. I can’t imagine being with anyone else.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re what, like nineteen now? You really think she is the one you are meant to be with? Just cut your damn hair, and you will have girls flocking to you, I promise. Hockey or no hockey. You’re a catch, Ezra. You just need to see your worth.” And get rid of this blind loyalty to Naomi, who doesn’t deserve it.
He scowls at me. “What do you mean, cut my hair? What’s wrong with my fucking hair?”
I arch a brow. “Well… I don’t know. It doesn’t really suit you. It makes your eyes look small and beady.”
“Fuck you. Naomi likes my long hair.”
I place my hand on his leg again. “Naomi’s not here, as you pointed out.”
His body bristles, but he’s not the only one who can remind me the one we really want isn’t here.
We sit in silence while he broods, my thoughts now consumed with Micah and how much I miss him. I watch Ezra, and I desperately want to know what’s going on in that brain of his, but I don’t dare ask. He’s calm right now and almost pleasant. I don’t want to ruin the moment by speaking.
Every time I push him, he responds aggressively and we digress, and I’m finally getting through to him. Eventually, he reaches over to his pile of things and grabs a black bag, then pulls something small and sharp out of it.
Scissors. A whole shaving kit, actually. He leans over and hands me the pair of tiny silver scissors.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
“I want you to fucking cut it. ”
I blink at him a couple of times and shake my head. “I thought Naomi liked your hair?”
“She does,” he snaps at me. “That’s the point.”
I scoff at the tiny scissors hanging off my pinky and stare at his thick, dread-like hair. “I can’t cut your hair with these. It will take forever. It’s too long and thick. What you are asking me will literally take me hours. Plus, your hair is dirty, and it stinks. I don’t particularly want to touch it.”
He sits in front of me, stretching his legs out. “Good thing we have tons of time. Now, get to cutting.”
Fucking hell.
I suck in a breath as he pulls his hood down, revealing just how much hair he has. It nearly hangs down to his shoulders.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Sit closer so I don’t have to lean in. And remember, I only have one working hand.” I sink back into the rough texture of the rock face, appreciating its solid support against my back. I rest my hurt arm on his shoulder and start to take tiny snips, working my way from the bottom. He fidgets, clearly uncomfortable to be sitting so close to me.
“Quit moving. If you want me to do this right, sit still. Otherwise, I will just shave it bald.”
He merely grunts. “Do a good job. Make it look good.”
“I will.”
A half an hour goes by as I focus on my task, the sun moving across the blistering blue sky. Cutting his hair is almost mesmerizing.
No voices, no worries, no fear—just cutting… I see why Micah spends all his time carving.
I’m about halfway through his haircut when he turns his head toward me. “What went on with that teacher and you, anyway?”
I pause momentarily before continuing my snipping. “I fucked him once in a hotel room. His wife found out about it because he was sloppy and left receipts. She was obviously suspicious of him. My entire school blacklisted me once it got out.”
He chuckles. “That’s actually pretty savage. ”
I slide the scissors down his neck, and he stiffens. “I don’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t matter. In fact, he’s irrelevant to me now. It was wrong, and I feel like I’ve been punished enough for it.”
“Sorry, I was just curious. I thought we were bonding,” he says cautiously as I work the scissors near the longer hairs by his ear.
“Don’t apologize. It is what it is, and it’s over now. I just don’t see a point in discussing my mistakes.”
He shifts forward. “Well, what do you want to talk about, then?”
I ponder for a moment and smile at the fact that Ezra Schwartz wants to talk to me at all. “Tell me about Maison. I want to hear everything, and I want to hear something about him I don’t know.”
I’ve spent the last three months with someone who would rather forget Maison, so it’s nice to be with someone who brings him alive in my head again.
“When he was in his junior year, he had a goal to fuck every girl in our graduating class.”
I poke him in the ribs. “Not funny.” But it’s likely true . “Tell me something else.”
“He was a poet.”
This catches my attention.
“He was good at it, too. He always had a way of seeing the bright side of everything.”
I smile at the thought, and it doesn’t surprise me, not with how well-read Maison was. He did, after all, switch personas with Micah in English class. He loved it when I read The Great Gatsby to him; he appreciated it in a way Micah doesn’t. “Tell me something else…”
I listen to him speak and reminisce about his years of friendship with Maison. I can’t help but question Ezra’s role as the villain despite all the terrible things he’s done. His parents got royally fucked by the Matei family, and his reactions were always centered on that.
I love hearing his stories about Maison—the imagery it creates in my mind. I could listen to Ezra talk about Maison for hours. It’s the perfect distraction for my duplicity and rebellious thoughts against Micah .
What I’m contemplating doing.
I cut Ezra’s hair to the point where I think it looks decent. I make careful snips, trying to make it perfectly even for him, then blow on his head. “There, you’re done. Turn around so I can see your face.”
He turns, and as he does, I barely recognize him. He still has beady eyes, but I’m taken aback. I forgot how cute he actually is. When he’s not being Ezra, he’s a pretty attractive guy. I thought so the first time I saw him, too. Until he scowled, and I was able to tell how mean he was.
He narrows his eyes at me. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I look horrible?”
I shake my head and smile. “Not at all. We will get you a new girlfriend in no time.” The best part is how much Naomi loves Ezra’s long hair and how good it felt to cut it all off knowing that.
He hoods his eyes for a second, and I realize how dry my mouth is—how little water and snow melt we have. “We can’t stay here much longer,” I tell him.
“I can’t go back to the other group, London. We could go to the lake site, but I can’t guarantee you’ll be safe there. Nigel will go there eventually because he has no other choice, either.”
I tilt my head. “You know, you could just apologize to Thomas and the others. All you have to do is be genuine and swallow your pride. You never know; people might surprise you. I think Micah chopping off your fingers was enough punishment, and they might feel the same way, too.”
I have to think there is a shred of goodness left on this island.
Forgiveness. Love. Hope.
Anything else than hatred.
His mouth twitches. “No fucking point. Plus, I doubt anyone left alive will want to share since we’ve already divided the food equally.”
My heart sinks. He has a point.
I bury any last traces of guilt for what I’m about to suggest. I stare down at my bruised and lifeless hand, then slowly raise my head to meet his gaze. “Ezra, I know where Micah is hiding the rest of the food. I can get us to the cabin.”