8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
London
S pring
We are still alive and have officially survived winter. I think it might be early spring—or, at least, there are hints of it in the air. Subtle changes at first, things I hardly noticed, but that Micah picked up on immediately, like the sunlight lasting longer and pushing the darkness away. Some days are agonizing, and ever since the day Micah tied me up, the days have blurred together. Just wind and winter. Micah was there through the darkest part of it, always making me feel better.
When I’m alone, and in the odd times when I’m awake and Micah is sleeping beside me, with my hand placed over his beating heart, I hear the voices. It’s as if they are lingering on the surface of my psyche, waiting to torment me. The other day, they came while it was light outside. Micah had only left for a few minutes, but I saw someone hidden in the shadows. When he came back, I was curled up in a ball, shaking. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him why. When it happens, I usually seduce him, then submit to him in the ways that hurt the most. It’s easier to get lost in him than to deal with what these voices might mean.
The night when he tied me up was only a couple of weeks ago, and somehow, I fell even more in love with him since then. He continues to feed me, fuck me, worship me, and he helps me get over my fear of dying here. We are still in the dark about the state of the others, and Micah still doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t believe they are still alive, and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t given them a second thought. Micah is still fragile and still hasn’t properly dealt with Maison’s death, although his temperament has settled. He thrives out here, in the wild, in this wicked place—with me.
So I try to forget them, just as Micah has trained me to forget Maison. It’s only the two of us now, and even if somehow the others are still alive, no one else matters.
“Get ready, London. Pay attention; they aren’t far ahead,” Micah calls over his shoulder. He’s standing with his back to me but doesn’t turn to face me, keeping his focus on the paw prints of his prey.
I drop the wood in my hands, grab my spear, and crouch, trailing a few feet behind him. My long dark hair falls over my face, and my heartbeat picks up as it always does before a kill. I can only imagine how untamed we look. We’re hungry, and Micah’s hunting. He’s so sexy in his natural state—like an apex predator—that watching him move makes me want to jump him right here.
It’s April now; at least, that’s what we think. The snow has melted to nothing but slush as the temperatures rise, and what was once a white and barren land now has hints of a lush forest terrain. I can’t wait to see how pretty it is at the height of summer. The trees here are plentiful and diverse, with fir trees surrounding us. Fresh buds and muted greenery tease the bushes and ground. I’ve fallen in love with it here, away from the rest of the world.
And I’ve fallen so deeply for him.
I watch him move with grace as he crouches and crawls with his back to me, stalking a deer. His body is tense as he grips his bone weapon. His hood covers his face, and he’s wearing his usual gray sweats. I can’t see his expression, but I know his eyebrows are pinched in deep focus. I enjoy the heat from the blazing sun on my skin and the view of his fit, strong frame a few feet ahead of me.
He gives me a hand signal to stay put and jumps out of view, leaping almost wolflike into the thick woods. He thinks a deer is nearby, similar to the large doe I let get away all those months ago. We only ever catch one type of animal other than fish. A hare of sorts, larger than the rabbits we used to catch in the fall. On special occasions, or on the days when I don’t think I can handle game meat anymore, he lets me have some of the canned food.
Micah and I haven’t talked about that night we had spaghetti. He smiles more, as if he’s aware he owns my soul. He knows I could never leave him—I haven’t left his side since. It’s easier that way, not having the tension of our past ruining our present, giving him the control he needs as well as my full attention. At least, this way, we can focus only on our survival.
I’ve been dreaming a lot lately, both while asleep and awake, my mind drifting off to the dark spaces in the forest, which lead to darker spaces in my mind. It’s as if the forest likes to play tricks on me and knows we don’t truly belong here. Sometimes, I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m really awake and not follow it. And unfortunately, even after I pinch myself, the laughter continues. I hear it every fucking night, and I have since the night I walked into the woods when I shouldn’t have. The sound of Micah’s breathing brings me back—he keeps my sanity from completely shattering.
Over the past weeks, on the days when the sun was shining, he would bundle me up and take me outside to help me clear my head and give me fresh air. He teaches me everything, every intimate detail about every northern animal, like which droppings are which, what types of animals we can find during winter, which birds to expect in the spring, and what I have to do to survive without him—which I never plan on doing anyway.
Right now, he’s been gone longer than I anticipated, and he never leaves me alone like this. I twitch, trying to keep still and quiet like he told me to. I resist the urge to call out to him since it’s incredibly important to be quiet while hunting. If somehow the doe gets past Micah, I’ll aim for the heart or an eyeball because my stomach is shredding and I’m not currently feeling humane. In the meantime, I sit and wait, trying to blend into the earth .
I turn my head as the wind whistles through the trees. I can sense Micah hidden from my view in the shadows of the dense forest, so I keep my head locked in front of me. I glance upward, and my heart stills a single beat at the soft whispers in the woods.
It’s Maison.
Soft, caring… concerned. His presence is like a soft feather on my skin. He says my name, calling out to me, and I search for him. He’s there in his usual gray hoodie, outside my field of vision, watching over me. I’ve never seen him this clear.
“Micah?” I call out, and only stillness answers me. Too quiet.
I close my eyes, and when I look again, Maison’s gone, although his whispers linger. Every memory—his crooked smile and his comforting presence—lingers around. It’s pleasant knowing he’s still with me, and I wish he would come closer so I could feel him. My heart flutters, and my breath catches.
It was Maison—I know it in my heart—and this fleeting moment I had with him wasn’t long enough. “Come back…” I sob. Tears sting my eyes as the emotions of my stilted grief flood through me. “Maison, come back to me,” I call out again, my voice breaking.
“London.” Micah’s voice snaps me back to reality, and for a moment, I recoil. “What are you looking at?
The whispers disappear, Maison’s presence vanishes, and I pull back. Micah approaches me, and I find his gaze, making sure he knows I’m still with him. His eyes are like dark clouds as he studies me.
I swallow hard, the vision of Maison still stuck in my mind. Did Micah hear that? Did he hear me call out for Maison? I keep my voice steady, but inside, the cracks are forming, ready to shatter. “Nothing. I was just checking the forest. I was waiting like you told me to.” I point to the spot where the barren forest floor peeks through, in the opposite direction of where I saw Maison. “You can see the ground over there. It looks like grass is coming in. I haven’t seen the ground in months. ”
It’s the place where I saw that footprint a few weeks ago in the snow. The one I still have not told Micah about. The one I think belongs to Nigel.
His eyes narrow as if not believing me, and he parts his lips like he wants to say something but holds back. Luckily, he doesn’t press the subject as he walks through the slush with an animal in his hand. He tosses it aside and walks up to me, pressing his lips to the back of my head. His body is a steady, warming presence behind me as I gaze into the glistening forest beyond.
“Did the deer get away?” I ask, leaning into him, enjoying his warmth as a chilly spring breeze cuts through the trees.
He shrugs and tightens his fingers around my arm. “I saw droppings, so it can’t be far. We’ll have to get it another day, but I caught us lunch.” The rabbit he threw a few feet away from me is still bleeding from its neck, where Micah likely sliced it. He leans in so his mouth tickles my cheek. “I caught this for you, baby. For your birthday.” I decided it was my birthday this morning since my birthday is in late March, and he promised to make me something good. Food hasn’t been as plentiful as I’d hoped. Every day is a struggle not to dip into our reserves.
I lick my lips and gaze at him as heat pools inside me at his words. He knows his way to my heart.
“Who were you just talking to?” he asks, with an edge in his voice that wasn’t there earlier.
I scan the forest where I just saw Maison and draw a long blink. “No one. Nobody is here. I was just… talking. Thinking out loud.”
“Liar,” he says, and I wince. “Come on, let’s head back.”
He lets go of me, turns, and heads back to the cabin. I follow him, keeping my gaze steady on him as we make our way back. I don’t want to ruffle his feathers, and I certainly don’t want to admit to him the thoughts circling in my head. That perhaps, Maison is really here with us, or that I was calling out for him again. Micah didn’t react so well last time.
Once we arrive at the cabin, he immediately sets to work on the rabbit. Opting not to go inside right away, I settle on a blanket outside with my knees up and my chin in my hands. He cleared the snow in this spot for us. I observe him as he skillfully preps the rabbit for skinning. With each precise cut, the fur is peeled away in chunks, leaving behind a disfigured creature that bears no resemblance to the adorable, furry animal of my childhood memories. Easter will never be quite the same for me after this.
He looks at me with cold, silent eyes, as if he’s furious with me. I think it’s more than that; he’s in his head about something. Since the warmer weather arrived, Micah has been more paranoid than usual, and I don’t think it has anything to do with Maison. He constantly checks around for animal tracks or any sign of anything out of the ordinary. He won’t admit it, but he thinks the others may be alive and looking for us. He does this pacing thing where he circles without really doing anything. He’s nervous, as he should be. Because if I were the others and I were still alive, I would come looking for us, too. Although we love the warmer weather, spring brings certain realities back—like whether we are still alone here.
He shoves the spear into the hare and roasts it over the flames, cooking it, focusing precisely on his task. When he’s done and the site is clean, he adds a log to the fire and finally comes and sits next to me on the blanket, peering out into the woods again. He feeds me most of the rabbit, and I lie against him as he places small pieces in my mouth.
“London, I need to talk to you about something…” The way he says it makes my blood freeze, and I stop chewing. He must be considering venturing out, and I want to go with him when he does.
It doesn’t take long before he pulls me on top of him, and I press myself into him on instinct. Nothing is really stopping us from fucking right here; we did it the other day. I feel him grow hard as I position my hips on him. But something tells me that he doesn’t merely want to have sex. He has a look in his eyes.
“We can talk later,” I murmur, biting his bottom lip, and he momentarily returns my kiss. Micah is not exactly a talker , so I know this won’ t be good.
I sit straddled over him, with my legs on either side of his torso, and he runs his hand up my back. I pull my sweats down and grind on him, giving myself a very satisfying orgasm as he grips my waist. I lean into a kiss, wondering why he’s not giving anything back to me.
Something’s very wrong.
“What’s going on, Micah?” I finally ask him, breaking the silence and pressing my lips on his face, loving how his facial hair tickles me.
He doesn’t mince his words. “I have to go explore and see what’s going on out there. You’re not coming with me.”
My body goes rigid against him. It’s as if he sensed what my reaction would be and knew how much this would upset me. He keeps me tight in his hold.
I wiggle beneath him. “No. No. No. Fuck you, Micah!” I scream at him, knowing my struggle is futile. I squeeze my knees together as if that would make any sort of impact. He planned this. He waited until he fed and fucked me and made sure I peed. I walked right into it.
I should have known.
“Calm the fuck down, London,” he grits, grabbing my hands and interlacing his fingers with mine. “I’m not going for long. I just want to see if anyone’s out there. I’ll be back later tonight.”
I squeeze his hands harder, to the point where my nails dig into his flesh. “So take me with you, then. Don’t leave me here alone.”
He shakes his head, grabbing my hands and moving them behind his back so I’m wrapped around him. “No. It’s not safe. I don’t know what’s out there or who is out there. It’s time to go and check; I need to see who’s still alive.”
He chooses now to finally give a shit .
My head becomes dizzy. A deep ache hits my belly as his hard body presses against mine, worried this is the last time I will ever feel him. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me,” I whimper. “You said we would do this together. Remember, you said that to me when Maison died. ”
He frowns at me, cupping my cheek. “I need to go check on Thomas and Jade. You’re safest here until, at the very least, I know where Nigel and Ezra are.” My head falls to his chest, and tiny sobs come out of me. Because he’s already decided, and I know no amount of begging on my part will change that. He plays with my hair to try to make me feel better and attempts to explain himself. “I don’t want them finding this place, or you. It’s the same reason I refuse to tell you where we are, London. You’re mine. I don’t want to lose you, baby, and I definitely don’t want you getting hurt out there.”
I consider telling him about the footprint—that there is a tiny chance they are already here, already know exactly where we are, and have been spying on us.
“I’ll follow you,” I threaten. “If you leave me, I will get up and follow you. You know I will.” After all this time, he still thinks that given the chance, I will leave him, that I will choose to stay with them over him. That’s what this is truly about.
My body shakes as I hear a nearby nip in the woods—a growl of some sort, one of the many predators that stalk these woods.
He tweaks a brow and runs his hand over the back of his neck with a pained expression while I still sit straddled on him, half-naked, in my pleading, broken state. His eyes mirror my own madness, and it scares me to my very core.
He wraps his arms around my waist and squeezes, pulling me up with him as he rises, cradling me in his arms like a child. “No, sweetheart,” he says with a razor’s edge, “unfortunately, you won’t.”
What he doesn’t realize is that he is my only lifeline, and I don’t just mean food, water, or shelter. He is the only thing keeping me from going utterly fucking insane. He doesn’t know how close to the edge I am or about the laughter I keep hearing. I’ve kept that part of myself hidden from him. Without him, I am nothing. I don’t stand a chance out here alone.
A surge of panic burns through my heart. “Don’t fucking do it, Micah,” I scream, flailing beneath him. “I swear to god, if you do what you’re thinking of doing, I will never forgive you.”
I wiggle in his arms, not submitting to him on this matter. This isn’t a fantasy anymore or some sex game to help us relieve our twisted urges of pleasure by intertwining our grief with love. This is life and death. And what he is about to do is fucked up .
He holds his hand over my mouth so I can’t scream. Not that it would matter if I did. It’s not like anyone can hear me . He just doesn’t want to hear it.
He enters the cabin and drops me on the bed. I kick at him, but he keeps my torso firm in his hold. The way I’m positioned barely gives me room to move, and he already has the wire ready nearby. It doesn’t take much for him to bind my hand and tie me to the bedpost.
My injured hand, he’s tying my bad fucking hand…
I start to hyperventilate as the reality of the situation settles in.
“Please, Micah. Don’t do this… We’ve come so far. Don’t leave me again, please… Please !”
He runs his thumb along my hairline, then leans down and kisses me.
I don’t return the kiss.
“You’ll be fine, London. I’ll only be gone for a few hours. I’ll be back before dusk. Just try to sleep, and when I get back, I will make you spaghetti. You love spaghetti, don’t you, baby?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Please,” I whisper-sob one more time as my stomach tightens and starts to swirl. The last time I felt this sick, I was hurtling through the air in a toxic airplane about to crash.
Tears burn my eyes as I think of Maison… He wouldn’t do something so fucked up. Maison’s been warning me. All these months, his ghostly presence warned me of what his brother was capable of. Micah can’t leave me alone like this; I won’t survive the silence. Only a fraction of my grief is enough to swallow me whole and leave me drowning in its depths.
I realize with a sickening pit in my stomach that I’ve been captive for months. Ever since the first time he tied me up when I left him, he was signaling this. It’s apparent in how close he keeps me at all times, watching over me even as I relieve myself. I thought he was being protective, that it was what he liked. But he doesn’t trust me enough to bring me with him. The level of control he needs is diabolical, as Nigel once so elegantly called it. Those words have never rung so true.
Micah’s dominating presence hovers over me, and I glare at him with fire and ice in my eyes. “Why are you doing this?” I ask, resolved to my fate. Perhaps Nigel was right about Micah this entire time, and Nigel’s hatred runs so deep because he recognizes glimpses of his own malevolence in Micah. Evil begets evil, drawn to each other like a moth to a flame.
He squats so he’s at eye level with me, darkness flashing in his eyes again. “I can’t let you see that part of me again, London. And I can’t let you go yet.” He frowns, studying me, his eyes running up and down my body as I’m curled up beneath him in his favorite position.
“Micah, I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll stay right next to you, I promise. You don’t have to do this.”
His hand finds my cheek. “I don’t think you’re fine, London. You can pretend you are, but I notice everything about you. You muttering to yourself, staring off into space, being so fucking jittery all the time. You hear things, don’t you, sweetheart? This isn’t fine, London, and I’m fucking worried about you.”
I swallow bile down my throat. He knows… He always knows, as if my secrets are carved on my face.
Another flash in his eyes darkens his pupils as he rises and drapes my wolf blanket around me. I can’t tell what emotion just swallowed him whole, but I simply don’t recognize this version of Micah.
“Maison was right about you,” I say darkly, gazing toward the window. “When he said you were going to hurt me and that you’re sick.”
He pauses at the door, his black hood pulled over his face before he departs. “Don’t make this fucking harder than it needs to be. You’re the one who’s not well, baby. I’ll make it all better when I get back. I’m the one who’s here, London, and I’ll be the one to take care of you, not a fucking ghost.”
“I’m healing !” I unleash a scream at him, my voice carrying an unexpected force. The level of desperation pouring out of me is palpable. “That’s what normal people do when they grieve, Micah. They remember their loved ones who passed. I imagine Maison because I fucking miss him. And that is normal. I’m not the crazy one, Micah, you are. You’re a sociopath, completely and utterly psychotic and devoid of emotion. I’ll never forgive you for this. I fucking hate you!”
I regret the words as soon as I say them—because I don’t mean them—but I won’t let him try to validate his reasons for tying me up like a prisoner.
He doesn’t give me a chance to retract my words.
He’s gone.
No kiss, no hug, no words of reassurance. Just gone, leaving behind a hint of wind from the shuttering door as it opens and closes.
I’m completely alone for the first time in four months, and with no way to defend myself should I need to. My heart clenches at the thought that he won’t come back. That something will happen to him, and he will leave me tied up like this forever. I lower my head, allowing it to hang limply, as I desperately try to find a way to make myself comfortable. Thoughts swirl in my mind, wondering whether we can overcome this, if it’s possible for me to forgive him, and most importantly, contemplating who I will become while he’s gone.