10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
London
“ I hate him. I hate him. I hate him,” I whisper to myself, over and over again, as the sun drifts across the sky and the day turns into night. If I say the words enough times, maybe it will become true. Maybe I’ll believe it.
I shift to my knees to give my wrist a break, but the weight of my body might as well be a ton of bricks with how sharp this wire is. My skin is raw as the edged restraint grazes the bones of my hand like a steak knife. The skin on the rest of my body is crawling, tingling, and burning, all the sensations blurring together.
I shiver as I have kicked off my blankets in foolish frustration, and despite how well-insulated the cabin is, it’s not immune to the Arctic freeze, even if it is spring. I’m not sure how much longer I can endure this.
Where are you, Micah?
I stare longingly outside, waiting for Micah to come back. He said he was going to come back by dusk. And after managing to sleep for a few fitful, nightmare-induced hours this afternoon, it’s now well past nightfall, the long shadows in the room causing my mind to play tricks on me. The buildup of worry inside me intensifies with each passing moment, like at any minute, my body might explode.
I have no choice but to put aside the throbbing pain and focus on what I can control, which is turning my mind off and numbing myself to the pain, like Micah taught me .
The problem is that I have to pee so badly that it stings, and I’m not sure what kind of robot I’d have to be to ignore that kind of discomfort. I clench my legs together in a desperate attempt to hold it until he comes back.
I refuse to piss myself or endure that kind of humiliation. He’d come back to his girlfriend lying in a puddle of her own piss. But worse? I’d be lying in it and smelling like it. I underestimated how kinky he was, but I doubt he’s into that. He would never look at me the same again.
I let out an audible chuckle… or maybe it’s more like a psychotic laugh. After everything he’s done to me—the manipulation, the control, the possessiveness—all I care about is whether he will fuck me again.
That is how good Micah Matei is.
As I sit pining over him, I twist and contemplate a dark thought…
What if he doesn’t come back?
The way the wire is positioned on my wrist, I could easily keep digging it into my skin and sever the vein until I bleed out. It would be a quick death and has to be better than this.
I blow out an icy breath.
He will come back; he promised he would.
A gust of wind sends a chill through the room, and the door shutters. Micah didn’t leave me with any heat or bother to light a fire, like the fucking gentleman he is.
I shiver, sweat, and cry, realizing that he isn’t coming back. Because he’d be here by now if he were—I can now only assume he’s dead.
He wouldn’t just not come back to me.
After a while, laughter chimes in my ears, and I welcome it after a long, long day of excruciating silence. I keep my eyes closed. Not that it matters since tonight is dark, with no hint of moonlight in the sky.
It is a memory, I’ve decided. The laughter. A different memory for each person. Everyone laughing at me on the airplane, then Ezra and Naomi laughing at me when they were going through my stuff after we crashed.
And Nigel …
Not that he laughed much, but it’s the moment when he found me alone, right before he killed Maison—that dark, sinister laugh. When I hear it, it’s the anger from that night I cling to that keeps me from completely breaking.
None of the laughter belongs to Micah because he never fucking laughs. No one is here, or near, watching me. I’m hallucinating all of it and have been for months.
The laughter lasts most of the night until a streak of light finally appears in the sky and I can make out the shadows of the room.
Nearly twenty-four hours have passed since Micah left me like this.
My stomach grumbles. I’ve grown accustomed to eating regularly due to how well Micah takes care of me.
I ignore it.
My hunger is the least of my concerns, and I can deal with going without food for days on end. It’s the pit in my stomach that hurts from the grief and the fear he won’t ever come back. It’s my dry lips and cracked skin from the lack of water.
A loud bang startles me, as if someone threw something on the side of the cabin.
A rock.
Then another, a soft bang this time, from the other side of the house.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the walls start to close in on me. The laughter begins again, and I realize I am not hallucinating this time.
Someone’s here.
More than one person, from the sounds of it, and they are fucking with me. They keep throwing them, one after another, before the rocks bang into the siding like a drum. Every time one hits, I flinch until my body clenches so hard I have no choice but to collapse.
I let out a whimper, knowing there is nothing I can do because Micah left me helpless to them. I sway slowly and bite the inside of my cheek, waiting for them to stop, and eventually, the banging stops. But it’s the whispers of my name that make every hair on my skin stand on end. I wish they would come in here and do whatever it is they have planned for me instead of taunting me like this… I’d much prefer the physical pain to the mental anguish of knowing I can’t fight back.
My bladder lets loose, providing me with instant, blissful relief. I’m able to shift my body so most of it drips onto the floor, though there isn’t much that comes out.
Still, it’s so humiliating.
“Micah,” I moan out, calling for him, hoping that, somehow, he will appear.
“Micah’s not here, baby,” a soft, deep voice whispers in my ear.
I startle. My eyes open and scan the limited scope of my vision. My heart tightens, not in fear but in relief. The familiar voice has my body instantly softening.
“Maison,” I manage a small whisper. The laughter outside disappears, and a stillness fills the air. “Is that you?”
He appears to me in the corner of my eye. I want to reach out and touch him so badly. He crouches beside me, just out of reach, but I can see him. He’s wearing his gray hoodie, the one he died in. He looks so real, so tangible—nothing like a ghost.
“It’s really me, baby.” It even sounds like him.
I let out an uncontrollable sob and lay my head down, staring at his pretty dark eyes and soft face. “I miss you, Maison. I miss you so much. You have no idea how much I miss you.”
I see his face, the one I have not let myself picture during these past few months with Micah. I never used to notice the subtle differences between them, but they are so clearly etched in his expression now. He lets out an adorable grin, one I hadn’t realized I longed for since Micah still prefers to scowl. He peers down at me. “I’ve missed you, too, but I’m not gone, not really. I’m still here with you, baby.”
“He won’t let me think about you, Maison. I’m sorry I’ve blocked you out. I wish he had died instead of you.”
He tilts his head. “You don’t mean that, London. But Micah’s like that, baby. I warned you before you fell in love with him. ”
I stare at him. He doesn’t move or disappear, not like during the fleeting moments I’ve seen him before. He’s still as a statue beside me.
Not leaving me.
He looks at peace.
His soul isn’t tormented like Micah’s and mine because Maison’s soul was never tormented to begin with. I think tormented souls in death were tormented in life, too. Either you’re tormented or not, and being dead or alive simply doesn’t matter.
“Can you help me?” I ask in a whisper, still aware someone might be lurking outside, wondering now if that was a hallucination, too. As if, somehow, whispering will make them go away.
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t work that way, London.”
I blow out a breath, but not because he can’t help me. Of course, he can’t help me. He’s not real. But because I desperately want to touch him.
He leans forward, even closer but still out of reach. He smells the same, that heady scent I fell in love with. Sometimes, you can hear music while dreaming, and you can smell using your memories… This is the most powerful memory I’ve had so far.
“I think someone’s out there,” I finally say after a few moments of peaceful stillness, taking my time just to watch him, to appreciate him, even if I can’t have him.
He nods and looks at the door, his hair a tousled, sexy mess. “Sounds like it, doesn’t it? They are coming for you. They are still alive and out there somewhere. Can you free yourself, London, and get away from here?”
I sniffle, aware of how cold I am, tied up and shivering alone. I laugh because this is hilarious to me right now. The level of crazy in these four walls is unmatched.
My lungs struggle to expand. “I can’t go anywhere, Maison. And even if I could get free of this wire, I have nowhere to go.”
He leans down and grazes his hands over my knotted hair, his fingers causing a light tickle to my senses. Or is it the draft that always hits me in this spot? Regardless, the thought of Maison’s fingers is much better .
I close my eyes and appreciate his touch on my skin. “You need to get away from him, London,” he whispers. “He isn’t well. You know that, right? I’ve kept telling you this. I’ve warned you so many times.”
Tears well up in my eyes. “I don’t think I’m well either, Maison. I’m hallucinating right now, and the worst part is that I like it. I don’t want you to leave. Will you stay with me?”
He tilts his head. “I told you I’d love you forever, London King, and I meant it. I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”
My breath grows heavy, my eyelids even heavier. Before I slip into unconsciousness and he vanishes, I steal one final glance at him. The tightness in my stomach cripples me. It’s like losing him all over again. He’s watching me like he used to when we spent countless hours gazing into each other’s eyes. Micah and I don’t gaze. Our chemistry is different; we fuse our bodies as if we are one. But I miss gazing, and Maison was so good at it.
“Maison,” I whisper.
“Yeah, baby?”
“I love you.”
He sits next to me, out of reach. “Rest now, London.” His hand rests on my back, then slides up to my cheek. The pressure of him kisses my skin. How am I able to feel him?
“He isn’t a terrible person,” I say as my eyelids grow droopy. “And he’s taking care of me. He’s doing this to protect me because he’s afraid to lose me. He’ll be back soon.”
The lies I tell myself to validate Micah’s actions… Saying it out loud makes me sound even more pathetic, and I’m not sure if I believe it anymore.
I can hear Maison breathe. Somehow, I can hear the air pass through his lungs, the same sound I listened to for weeks when I was with him. It’s calming, dulling my senses.
“He isn’t coming back to you, London. You have to get out of here. Because if you don’t, you will die. You need water to survive, baby, and he didn’t leave you any. ”
He didn’t leave me any water… Why didn’t he leave me any water? He wasn’t supposed to be gone this long. He wasn’t planning on leaving me like this.
“Something happened to him, Maison. He loves me.”
He shrugs. “Maybe, but look at how he left you, London. Would someone who isn’t sick in the head leave someone like this? I would never leave you like this, not in a million years.”
He’s right. He was always right about his twin. After all, Maison would know him best. He’s also right about the fact that he would never, ever leave me in this condition.
Bile seeps into my throat at the thought of what he’s insinuating. “I’m so tired, Maison. I just want to sleep. Can I sleep?”
He sits at the end of the bed. His presence is so real that the bed shutters beneath him.
“Take a nap, baby. We can figure it out afterward. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I want you to lie down with me.”
He wipes his nose and crawls in beside me. So close, but he doesn’t touch me. It’s enough, though… He suffuses the air around me. I let out a huge breath, the kind when you settle for the night and shift from a state of alert to a sense of peace.
I doze. I’m not sure how long I sleep, but the laughter is gone, and it’s the first time I’ve truly slept since Micah left.
It’s just Maison now.
I let sleep take me, and it’s glorious.
When I wake up, it’s late afternoon, and the shimmering snow is reflecting outside as it usually does.
My wrists are raw, burning from the wire hitting my flesh. But I’m rested and ready to face the challenge awaiting me.
“It’s time to get up, baby.”
I lift my head to see him and smile. Maison’s still here, just as he promised he would.
He cautiously raises a brow. “Are you ready?”
I swallow hard and nod. “Yeah, I think so, but I can’t get out of this bind. ”
His firm hand sends a warm shudder down my spine. He gives me an adorable, faint smile. “You know exactly what you have to do, London. Your hand isn’t fully healed, is it? Micah never really made it better. You still feel the broken bones, don’t you?”
I wiggle my fingers. The tightness in my hand sends a shooting pain up my wrist.
Micah didn’t tie the wire completely. A sliver of space exists between the wire and my wrist. I’m conscious of what I need to do, but there is no fucking way I can do it.
I sob, painfully aware I’m not strong enough. “I can’t do that, Maison. I can’t re-break my hand.”
He pauses for only a moment. “You have to, London, or you will die. I don’t want you to die yet because you’re not meant to die here. You’re meant to survive this.”
I shake my head. “He’ll be back. I trust him with my life and my whole heart.”
Maison bites his lip as I shift to relieve my leg, which has gone numb from the awkward position I’m lying in. “You heard them outside earlier throwing stones at you,” he says. “They will get to you before he gets back. They will kill you, and if they don’t, you will die the way you’re positioned right now. I can’t see you die like that, baby. I refuse to watch Micah kill another one of my girlfriends.”
I shake my head as if only realizing how fucked up I am right now. What am I even contemplating doing to myself? Perhaps Maison being here isn’t as good for me as I thought it was. He’s poisoning my mind against itself.
“Do it, London,” he begs. “Please, do it for me.”
“I can’t, Maison,” I breathe.
“You have to, baby.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Bite onto the mattress. Otherwise, you will hurt your jaw when you do it.”
“Stay with me,” I demand, knowing he could be out of my grasp within a second.
“I will, London. I promise, okay? When you get out of here, make your way back to the others and find Jade. That’s the only way you will live through this. ”
South. I’m positive about that. At least, I’m fairly sure. It’s a partial guess, and I really have no concept of how big this island actually is.
A feral noise fills the room, like a wounded animal getting killed. And only after a few agonizing seconds do I realize the noise is coming out of me as I pull on the wire binding my hand with every ounce of strength left in me.
Maison’s voice keeps me going. “Come on, London. You’re almost there. You’re so fucking strong and beautiful. You can do this.” His encouragement is all I need.
Sweat drips down the bridge of my nose despite how cold I am, but I continue because it’s either a broken hand, dying of thirst, or being torn apart by whoever or whatever is out there watching me. Or being killed by those wolves that I fear so much.
I don’t want to die. I’ve gone through too much.
Eventually, my hand slips through, each bone fragmented and each ligament torn apart, almost like they never healed at all.
An audible snap.
My limp, frozen bones and flesh slide right through the wire and my body is free. For a few agonizing seconds, I can’t breathe, my body in utter shock before it all comes crashing in on me.
Reality.
Maison’s gone. My hallucination’s over. Just a faint wind left where he was sitting on the bed. Nothing but particles of dust because my living and breathing boyfriend is missing and needs me, and apparently, I cannot bear to think about both of them at the same time.
Micah might have tied me up, but he wouldn’t have left me this long. Maison’s wrong. I know in every part of my soul that Micah would never abandon me.
I’m angry… pissed off at him, but I love him.
And right now, he needs me.
I wipe the sweat off my brow and pull on Maison’s hockey sweater, which is conveniently close by. I barely manage to change out of my pee-soaked pants, whipping them across the room .
Enough is enough. I need to grieve him, and in order to grieve him, I need to remember him. His sweater still smells like him, which is probably what I was smelling when I was hallucinating.
I spend a moment basking in the scent of his sweater before I fully comprehend the pain in my hand.
I’m bleeding… badly.
Blood wells from the flaps of skin where the wire cut my wrist as I refractured it to pull it through. Tiny droplets of blood soak the bed and create a trail across the floor as I crawl over it. I hate looking at it—the crimson. It’s a reminder of how much blood has been spilled already and of the terror building up from the nightmares of losing my hand.
I find the little compartment where Micah hid the medical kit, opening a trapdoor in the ground. Micah dug to hide it, should anyone come looking for it, and it’s a clever hiding place.
I do what I can to clean my wounds and wrap my hand in a bandage the best I can before hiding the kit again and setting my sights on the door. Hopefully, the bandage and tight wrap will stave off any infection. I’ll come back for the medical kit. I don’t dare take it out yet, remembering all the strife it caused on this island.
Micah left a bit of food on the table, which sets off my senses as if I were a feral dog. I push myself toward it, ripping it to shreds with my teeth and devouring it. It’s enough. I find what little water we have, made of melted snow, and chug it. My energy comes soaring back, although it doesn’t take much to satiate my hunger, which is still a constant tug in my belly.
Instead of leaving, I pull myself back to the bed and lie down, completely exhausted from what I just did to myself but relieved I am no longer tied and bound.
I stretch my legs and arms and twist my torso, relieving all the kinks in my back, neck, and shoulders. The door shutters in the wind and I watch it, hoping that, at any second, Micah will walk back through the door and see me sitting here, unbound. Being the obedient girl he likes so much, not leaving him like I had promised.
The sun’s rays are shining through the window, and I stare at them for what seems like hours, in a trance, as they shift across the room. I should have stayed tied up because it’s not like I’m moving anyway. I want to leave, but I am unable to muster the courage to do so.
“Go, baby. You can’t stay here with him.”
I seek out Maison, but he isn’t here. Only his voice in my head. I sway back and forth and bring my hands to my knees, careful not to agitate my broken hand.
I whisper out to him. “He’ll be so mad at me if I leave him, Maison. I’ll lose him…”
“You’ve already lost him.” His words echo in my ears and create a sharp ache in my belly.
He appears now in my peripheral vision, out of reach and out of sight, his ghostly presence disappearing as I come to my senses.
I sniffle and wipe the tears stinging my face. Then I will myself to grab my pack and move toward the door before I overthink my decision to leave.
I’ll head south and hope for the best. I’ll see if I can find him. If I follow the stream, it should eventually take me to the others’ site.
The mid-afternoon light blinds me. My head shifts around, and I blink a few times, not truly understanding what I am seeing. Large pieces of ice layer the ground—hail. It looks like it hailed. The voices, the laughter… they were probably from the thunder. I scratch my head, but my hairs stand on end like I am being watched.
I could very well be the last living soul on this island.
My head is heavy as I slowly walk southward, trudging through the wet mud. My feet and legs are completely drenched after only a minute. But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop until I find the others.
Or Micah… whoever comes first.
Ten minutes go by, maybe more. I’ve lost track of time on this island a long time ago. I stick near the creek so I won’t get lost.
An unusual noise causes me to freeze. I glance around, half-expecting to see Maison. Instead, I spot a footprint, and my blood curdles .
He’s smiling, as if he were there all along, watching me through the trees, throwing stones at me. He looks thin and haggard, and his blond hair is long and stringy. For a fleeting moment, I question his existence. Then he clicks his tongue, and a deep panic settles in. The irony of my broken hand throbbing is not lost on me as I stare at the guy who caused the injury, walking toward me with a hockey stick spear in his hand.
His approach is slow and deliberate, and the mere thought of his name sends a chill down my spine. Out of nowhere, strong, rough hands firmly grab me from behind.
Argyle.