26. Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
London
Four Months Later
“ L ondon, honey. Are you almost ready to go?”
I pull on a pair of loose-fitting jeans and stare at myself in the mirror, running my hands down my hips. Finally, I’m coming alive after months of looking like a zombie. Day by day, I’m slowly getting better—at least on the outside. The shine of my hair has returned, the natural blush to my skin is back on my cheeks, and my lips are a natural cherry red. I’ve gained thirty pounds, and my breasts are almost the size they once were. My womanly curves have returned.
However, it still takes every ounce of energy to breathe. I close my eyes and try not to think about Micah—which is nearly impossible.
He consumes my dreams, my thoughts, and every corner of my mind. And when I’m not thinking about him, Nigel haunts me. I’m honestly not sure which one is worse.
I fuss with my hair, trying to style it so it doesn’t look completely disheveled. I should try harder, but I hardly feel like there’s a point anymore. I might not look like a zombie, but I sure feel like one. So, instead, I pull on a baseball cap and rush out to meet my mom so we can walk to the beach, hoping no one will recognize me today.
We moved to California a month ago, and I’m still getting used to it here. I was going to move here alone, but my mom insisted on coming with me. So she sold most of our things, and we are starting over in a gorgeous two-bedroom condo by the beach. It’s small and simple, but I can’t imagine having anything bigger. I haven’t stepped foot in New Ocean since we left four months ago.
Strangely, my favorite part about this place is the people. No one knows me here. I blend in much easier than in Portland and definitely more than I did in New Ocean, although sometimes I get hushes and stares as people recognize me from the news.
“It’s that girl from the plane crash. She’s one of the New Ocean survivors. The one that won’t speak.”
A spectacle who won’t give the world their story.
The cool ocean breeze hits my lungs as we walk the three minutes to the public beach and stroll down the boardwalk. Eventually, we find a nice spot on the beach, and I sit back and stare at the ocean before bringing out my book. Since getting rescued, I don’t know what scares me more: wide open spaces or tight confinement. Both chill me to my core, making every living moment a struggle.
I’m constantly looking for ways to escape.
I barely left my room for three months, crying and shaking in my sleep, refusing to speak about what happened out there. My mom finally shut herself in my room and refused to leave until I talked.
It all poured out of me, and I opened up to her.
The plane crash, our bullshit society, who really killed Olivia, my relationships with Maison and Micah, the death, the pain, the anguish, my hallucinations…
I couldn’t, however, bring myself to tell her about Nigel—what he did to me, or in turn, what I did to him. I also didn’t tell her the real reason I no longer have feeling in my hand.
My instinct is still to protect Micah .
She sat and listened and tried not to have a horrified look on her face. When I was done, she made a phone call to the police and forced me to tell them everything I told her. I was admitted to the hospital for the psychiatric care I desperately needed and also received two reconstructive surgeries to save my hand. I still have no feeling in it, but I can move it and use it reasonably well.
Out of the group, two of us were charged with criminal offenses. One simply cannot mutilate a hand and get away with it. Ezra and Naomi were charged with bodily harm resulting in loss of limb, and they are currently awaiting trial. Thomas’s parents demanded justice when they found out what happened to him.
I refuse to testify against Ezra—he knows my secrets and keeps them to himself. I told him I’ll stand by him through the trial, but I think he understands he will have to face the consequences of his decisions, regardless of whether I testify for or against him. It would mean standing in a courtroom and rehashing everything, and I simply don’t think I can do it.
Some secrets are better left unsaid.
Naomi denies her involvement, saying Ezra and Nigel made her do everything. She can rot in jail for all I care. Me not testifying has nothing to do with her, even if she ends up benefiting from it. Due to the circumstances and heated emotions from all the families, it will likely be a long, drawn-out trial. I told the others all along we weren’t above the law, and since Naomi was eighteen, they have to charge her as an adult.
Ezra’s parents insist on pressing charges against Micah for the same offense he committed against Ezra. You can’t, however, charge someone who is legally declared dead. They searched for him for months and found no sign of him out there.
I don’t believe he’s dead. There’s something in my bones that tells me he’s discovered the place that brings him joy, and I can’t blame him for wanting to remain there. All I ever wanted was for him to find happiness.
My mom sits beside me on the beach and throws her head back, enjoying the heat of the summer sun, a bored expression on her face. I draw my gaze from my book to the hordes of people trying to cool themselves from the summer heat. Everyone looks innocent enough as they walk by with their upscale clothes, shiny purses, and fake smiles. Sometimes, I make eye contact with someone, and I see through the facade. The glimmer in their eyes is something different— something sinister.
A guy in his late twenties walks by us and smiles at me as we make eye contact. It makes me shudder.
“He’s cute,” my mom offers, and I shoot her a glare.
“Mom… No.” I shake my head and glance down at my book.
After witnessing first-hand the depths of human depravity, I grapple with the idea of ever fully trusting anyone again. Beneath their seemingly innocent smiles lie their true psychotic selves. People terrify me now that I have witnessed their frightening transformation when they are pushed to their limits.
She bites her lips together and mouths an apology she thinks I can’t hear. She grabs my hand, and I flinch. She pulls away as if I’m a delicate flower. “I understand it’s hard right now,” she says softly, “but eventually, you will heal, honey. You will find someone else if you open your heart.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” I say with more emotion than I’ve expressed in months. “No one will ever replace Micah. He’s not someone you can just get over.”
I will settle… That is all I can do.
I let out a sigh, watching all the Californian muscled surfer guys, trying to imagine myself with any of them. One guy, with a similar build and frame to the twins, cruises by me on a longboard and trips, nearly falling as he rolls by us, checking me out.
I roll my eyes. If that were Micah, he never would have tripped. Mom’s forehead crinkles before she says, “Honey, he’s gone. And you’re so young and have your whole life ahead of you.” Those words eat at my soul.
Sometimes, I wonder what it would have been like if I had stayed with Micah. With the others gone, we could have been at peace. It was the life Micah dreamed for us. If I had managed to find a way to confront the demons in my mind, would I have experienced more happiness if I had stayed the day I broke free from his chains?
I’m not sure I’m capable of the emotion, at least not in the way that indicates happiness is a destination. However, perhaps I have experienced true happiness, even if I didn’t recognize it at the time…
Twice.
After about an hour of sweltering in the sun on the beach, my mom shifts. I was just getting to the first kiss in my small-town romance book, and my stomach had started to swoon. Because, even after all I’ve been through, I still believe in true love.
“Come on, honey. I’m hungry. Let’s go get some lunch.”
We trail along the boardwalk and choose a cute coffee shop to stop and sit. The television is playing some soccer match in the background.
I order a half sandwich and a salad and sit near an open-air window. The television flashes on the wall beside me with no sound on. The server comes out and plops my food in front of me.
Hungry… So fucking hungry.
I rip my teeth into that sandwich as my stomach starts to eat itself. The sound of my mom’s breath hitching is the only reason I pause and notice a few people staring at me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, hanging my head as heat blooms on my face. This happens every time I eat. For a fleeting moment, food is scarce, and I eat as if it’s my last chance. Usually, I can control it better, reminding myself to take careful, slow bites.
My mom frowns, her dark hair curled to her shoulders. “Don’t ever apologize for what you went through. I just wish there was something I could do to take your pain away.” There is only one thing that works to take my pain away. And unfortunately, Micah’s lips are in the Arctic, and bruising myself doesn’t seem to cut it.
A news alert goes off, and unsurprisingly, my face shows up. I let out a sigh…
I have become accustomed to seeing my face like that. It was one of those sensational stories that people will continue to follow for years. It’s always the same picture of me, disembarking from the rescue plane. I appear emaciated and haggard, and it always pains me to see it. The photo has gone viral, forever marking my existence. I’ve learned to cope with it by pretending it’s someone else.
Today, however, my face is short-lived on the screen, and it’s the person they cut to that has me nearly falling off my chair. A live reporter is on-air in the small airport of New Ocean, and a breaking national news banner is at the bottom of the screen.
Something is happening .
I jump up and call to the server. “Can you turn the volume up on the television, please?”
The entire restaurant is glued to the screen as breaking news on the New Ocean survivors is about to be released.
A stunning blonde reporter speaks to the camera, the entire world likely watching. I recognize her; she’s covered this story since it broke four months ago. She’s the poster child for the New Ocean survivors.
Her voice cuts into me like glass. “This is live. After months of search and speculation, they’ve found the last suspected survivor of the New Ocean tragedy. Micah Matei was officially pronounced dead after numerous attempts at search and rescue in the area. I’m not sure how he evaded them for so long, but we have just received word that he has finally been found.”
Or he allowed himself to be found.
“He’s about to walk through these doors,” she continues. “It’s like he’s risen from the dead.”
My stomach nearly hollows out as he steps off the airplane, refusing to look at the swarm of cameras flashing around him.
His hair is long and wild, which puts a smile on my face. He’s amazingly sexy and strong, as I knew he would be. His facial hair makes him look closer to thirty than twenty.
My heart fills as I stare at him, longing for him. I’m holding so much tension that I don’t even realize tears are streaming down my face until a teardrop falls into my mouth .
With determination, the reporter moves closer and forcefully places a microphone an inch from his face. His eyes are cold and unyielding, staring directly into the camera as if piercing through the screen and into my soul. As if saying, “I see you, London.”
The butterflies in my belly flap their silent wings, making my body sing. The physical reaction I have to this man, even after my vow to never let anyone touch me again, is unsurprising.
My mom wraps her arm around my back as we stare at the screen. I flinch at her touch like I always do. “Jesus, is that him, honey?”
My breath hitches, and I dare not to take my eyes off him for even a moment, should this be another one of my dreams.
“How did he manage to survive out there for so long by himself?” she asks incredulously. She’s heard so much about Micah and Maison that she feels like she knows them.
I laugh to myself, thinking of Micah out there all alone, thriving. “Because it’s Micah, Mom. Everything he does is a miracle.”
The camera zooms on him again as he pushes through the crowd, and the weight of the world drops off my shoulders. It’s as if seeing him again was the trigger I needed to heal. The warmth he brings me is my cure, despite the chills in my bones from when he wrecked me.
The icy absence of feeling in my fingers.
“Well, I’ll give it to you, honey. He’s incredibly cute. I get what you see in him.”
The world might be watching him, and everyone will want a piece of him, but he’s mine.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
At least, I think he is…
“I have something for you back at the house,” she whispers, watching the melting pot of emotion pour out of me.
My brows narrow. “What is it?”
She bites her lip, looking suspicious. “Don’t be mad at me… I really didn’t think you would want to go. ”
I shake my head. “What are you talking about?”
“The town is finally hosting a wake for the deceased. They started planning it when Micah was declared dead.” I heard about this—the lack of closure and open wounds. The town didn’t feel it was right to hold one until Micah was found. I guess it’s time to grieve.
“Your father sent me the invitation. London, with the way you’ve been acting, I didn’t want to upset you.”
Leave it to Micah Matei to return in time to crash his own funeral.
“What if he doesn’t want to see me?” I ask as we settle into our seats, the weight and darkness of my thoughts returning.
That would be incredibly painful. And realistically, what should I expect? For him to sweep me off my feet and marry me like he promised? We were out of our minds when he asked me. That was then, and this is now. Everything is different.
I’m broken…
“He will, sweetie. I promise you that he will. You’ll find a way back to each other.”
“When is the wake?” I ask.
She swallows hard, studying me like I’m a fragile flower ready to crumble in the wind. “It’s next weekend.”
She’s right. I wouldn’t have gone. I’m not ready to face that town. I never believed Micah was dead, and I’ve already come to terms with Maison’s death. In fact, I spent a good, solid month in therapy dealing with Maison. It’s Micah that I can’t seem to process.
“Let’s go home and get packed.”