Eden (17 page)

His words stir so many emotions inside me, I don't know
where to begin to respond.  I'm still torn about the whole matter of the
Sentries, and, the more it sinks in, frightened at the prospect of allowing someone
to cut open my head.  But this idea, spoken like a promise, that when it's all
done, we'll be together....  No.  I'm over-interpreting.  Hearing what I want
to.  Or what
Lily
wants to.  Or—arg, it's all too much.  I could really
just rip my own head off and toss it away.  But my eyes fall on Jonas' lips, so
close to mine, and I can't think of anything else but the taste of them.

When I look, again, into his eyes, he's seen where my gaze
was.  There are a few heartbeats with blood rushing in my head, where I'm
certain he's about to lean in and give me what I want, but then his eyes shift
away, his chin ducking ever-so-slightly in the wrong direction. 
"Eden..." he says.  His breath is warm and moist on my cheek. 
"Apollon spent a good deal of breath trying to convince me that he's not
interested in you—"

I brace my feet against the floor to shove away, but he
anticipates the move, simultaneously jerking my chair toward him.  I end up in
the same place, mouth open in protest, shaking my head at what he's implying,
even though it might be true.

He lets go of my chair and cups my face in his hands,
quieting me.  "I know you, Eden."  His voice is so incredibly
tender.  "You're confused.  I don't want you to be confused."

I go completely still in his hands, staring into his eyes. 
Then I shove away from him with one strong kick, climbing to my feet. 
"Well you're not helping!"

He looks up at me from his seat, shaking his head
helplessly.

I take a deep breath and step away, turning to look out the
window.  He doesn't move.  He doesn't stand up and slip his arms around me,
though it's all I want in the entire world.

Instead, his voice comes from his chair, level and
unaffected, though it might be gentle.  "What Lily did... it's hardly
fair.  Maybe if you'd come back right away, like she expected, it would have
been easier.  But you didn't.  All the brain games... the journal... all the
reminders.  This place.  It's not good for you.  It's got you so messed up,
you've hardly even noticed what's going on around you."

"This place
isn't
good for me," I agree. 
"I don't want to be here anymore."  Even as I say it, I question its
truth.

Now Jonas gets up and comes to me, but he takes me by the
arm, turning me to face him.  "We can't leave yet."

"They don't even want us here."  I gesture to the
side to encompass the 'they' of Wynwood.

"That's not true.  And anyway, we're here for a
reason.  Don't you see it?"  He gathers both my hands in his, turning me
fully toward him.  "All this time, we've talked about Fate.  This is our
Fate, Eden.  This is what we were meant to do.  It may have all started as
something else, but it's brought us here, given us the opportunity to change
the entire world."  His voice is full of the awe of the idea, soft, and
high, and dreamy.  "We can take this world back.  Our children, our
grandchildren... they can play in open forests.  They can have plenty to
eat—all of them.  They can live in a world that is so... much... better... than
this one."

I'm captivated by his vision, pulled into the heart of it
until it makes me want to cry.  But I remember the roaches.

I reach out and tousle his hair on one side of his head.  I
feel suddenly relaxed, though I'm sad, though I feel all the world spinning
away from me.  "You really believe we can touch something without spoiling
it?"

He laughs softly and pulls me into a sudden hug.  "I
don't know," he whispers.  "Apollon and I talked about that today,
too.  But I think we have to try."

The warmth of the moment dissipates into a deep, quiet
sorrow.  My face falls.  I pull away, turn back toward the window.  "I
don't know."

He stays where he is.  When I look at him, I see his eyes
scanning over me.

"It's
my
head," I remind him, though
there's no bite to the statement.

He takes a single step toward me and turns to follow my gaze
out the window.  His voice is dark, serious.  "It's going to have to come
out."

"You don't know that."

But his eyes, turning to my face, insist that he does.

Chapter 16:  Water
Guide

I sit on the terrace, twisting, twisting, twisting the otter
ring.  I
am
confused.  I kick all the thoughts around.  Conflicting
emotions.  Fractured dreams.  Matt, and Sentries, and sometimes Oscar—always
far away where I can't get to him.  I haven't dreamed anything useful when it
comes to finding Lily's other book—not that it's really important.  But it is. 
It's so important to me to find it, though it frightens me, though part of me
protests.  Maybe if I could just read the stupid thing, I could reconcile these
two opposing sides of me.  Maybe I could know what's me, what's her, what's
both of us.  Understand my own thoughts.  Trust myself again.

From below the terrace I hear familiar voices, familiar
laughter.  It's Jonas and Celine.  Jealousy burns in the pit of my stomach, but
it’s nothing compared to the feeling in my chest... the hollow, scooped-out
space where my heart should be.  I try to shut it all out, turn my thoughts
inward.  I focus on the finely worked golden ring, turning, turning.  I
remember Matt's face, how there was something incredible in his hazel eyes when
he smiled.  I remember his words.  Maybe sometimes he thinks about me, too. 
Maybe if we were together, our laughter would carry away on the wind, and other
people would hear how happy we were.

I close my eyes and think of his face.  The sun warms me,
and I see his smile.  It's that same image, though.  He raises his hand and
waves.  In the other hand, he holds the wooden cross that controls his
puppet-Sentry.  I gasp.

A shadow falls over me.  "Nice ring.  Can I see?"

I turn my face up to Celine.  She's alone.

"Did I scare you?"  She sits next to me, her
shoulder against mine.  "You look startled."  But her eyes fall away
from my expression and move to my ring as she takes up my hand and lifts it
closer to her face.  "This is quite pretty.  Where'd you get it?"

The words come out like a sigh as I look away.  "It was
given to me by a semi-evil overlord."

She lowers my hand, but doesn't let go, and looks at my
face.  "A
semi
-evil overlord?"  She cracks a smile, and I hate
how brilliantly beautiful her face is.  "You won it in a poker game,
didn't you?"

I take my hand back.  "Yep."

Her eyes narrow, the smile falling away.  For a moment, we
look at each other like that.

"You're mad at me," she finally says, the words
rolling lightly off the end of her tongue like they're a mere observation.

"Why would I be mad at you?" I pick a speck of
dirt off the chair on my other side and flick it into the air.  "I don't
even know you."

"I know
you
," she counters.  "And
you're mad."

"No you don't.  I'm not her."

A few heartbeats of silence pass.

She takes up my hand, twines her fingers into mine,
simultaneously clasping it with her other hand.  She draws my fingers to her
lips and kisses them.  The questions in my eyes are answered with a simple
smile.  "Some things don't change."

"Did I
always
hate the way you hang on
him?" I snap.  No thought.  The words are out there, the
tone
is
out there.  I can't take them back.  I'm still glaring at her, though I don't
want to be.  I don't want to feel like this.  She was my friend, wasn't she?

Celine's smile turns sympathetic.  Don't tell me she's
pitying me. 
Was
it always like this?  I look away.  She won't let go of
my hand, though.

"He was my lover once," she says, her words coming
out easily.  "Before he was yours.   I mean, we never loved each other. 
Not like that.  We trusted each other, though.  And he was fun, and
beautiful."

I'm cringing.  I don't want to hear any of this, but I can't
seem to shut my ears to it.

"Then you came along," she says, and I can feel her
little shrug, though I'm not looking at her.  She falls quiet for a while—for
too long.  I find myself turning to her, needing to hear the rest.  The corners
of her mouth turn into the softest of smiles as she regards me.

I wait, but she doesn't tell me.  Growing impatient, I
finally raise my eyebrows.

She laughs and leans in like she's spreading conspiracies. 
"He'd never share you.  And we were so close, it seemed unfair."  She
looks off into the distance and sighs.  "No.  Jason was the jealous one. 
Sometimes I thought he was actually afraid I'd steal you."

My mouth is left open, a cave empty of words.  When she
turns to me, my cheeks color red.  I can't break her gaze.

She smiles merrily, lovely little wrinkles forming under her
almond eyes.  "Don't worry," she laughs.  "We've always had our
comfortable place.  I know exactly who you belong to.  And I’ve always
respected that, as archaic as you two are, keeping to each other like in the
old stories."  But my awkwardness amuses her to no end.

I manage to clear my throat, and casting about for
something, I ask, "Will you tell me about us?"  Once the words come
out, I realize how I long to hear the answer.

Celine sighs once again, looking away.  It's a contented
little sigh, and wistful.  "No," she says after a while.  "I
would.  But I can't."

We look at each other, me searching her gaze, her looking
lazily apologetic.

"Why not?"

This time her sigh is heavier.  Her eyes fall to her lap. 
"You didn't want that."

"Why not?" I ask again, frowning.

She shakes her head, looking away.  "Who knows?" 
Something in her voice compels me to question her further, but she's already
getting up.  She takes a step away and turns back, but she's still moving away
from me, just walking backward.  "I'm helping Jason," she says, quite
effectively changing the subject.  "I'm good at that.  He needs it.  And
you have absolutely nothing to worry about from me."  She flashes me a
tentative smile, then turns on her heel and strides away.

I'm left with my thoughts.  With more questions.  My eyes
fall to my lap... to my hands... to the ring.  My mind spins back to my
interrupted realization.  I'm on my feet, running for the stairs.  The guards
hurry to catch up behind me.

***

I stop at the entrance to Apollon's tent, panting.  Leaning
my hands on my knees, I peer into the shade within.  "Jack.  Where's
Apollon?"

Jack shrugs, loses count of his coconuts, and starts over in
frustration.

I spin, take a step, and run smack into Apollon.  It's a lot
like running into a wall.  I curse and clutch at my nose while his hands on my
arms steady me.

"Shit," he says.  "Sorry.  I didn't expect
you to do that."

I shake it off and beam a smile up at him.  "I figured
it out," I gush, gripping his arm.  "Apollon, I—"  I bite off my
own words as I catch a glimpse of my guards just past him.  I throw them a
glare that says 'stay put', then pull my friend into his tent.  My voice is
pitched low, though my words are fervent.  "Matt can find Oscar.  That's
why I've been dreaming of him.  He has control of the Sentries and he can see
through them.  Remember Baton Rouge?  And maybe what happened in the No Man’s. 
We can search for Oscar that same way.  We have to go back to the
Outpost."

Apollon's smile falls.  His eyes are filled with concern as
he pulls me down onto one of the crates and kicks up the other in front of it. 
He sits quietly, gripping my hands.  Looking for words.  Rubbing the backs of
my hands with his thumbs.  I didn't expect this reaction.  I feel everything
inside myself falling.

"Eden," he finally begins, gentle as can be.  His
eyes move up to mine.  The joy that should be there—it isn't. 
"Oscar."  The very name chokes up his throat.  He continues in a
whisper.  "I would do anything to find him.  I would."

"But?"  My voice is rising already.  This isn't
how he was supposed to react.

He shakes his head, looking immensely sad.  "Jonas told
me about before.  What you were willing to do—"

I thrust to my feet.  "You just said you would do
anything!"

"I would," he insists, standing as well.  "I
just don't want you to get hurt.  I don't want you to do this to
yourself."

"
Do this
to myself!" I cry, flinging out
one hand.  "We can find him!  I know how to do it now.  Matt can do
it."

"Eden—"

"I can't believe you don't want to!"  My voice
cracks on the words.  I'm glaring at him through tears.

"Of course I want to," he protests, his eyes
pleading.  "I just don't—"

"You're scared to go back!" I accuse, heedless of
hurting him.  "You never wanted to leave in the first place, and now you
don't want to go back!"

He grabs my arms.  "We can't leave here." 
Emphasized with a little shake.  "You.  You
can't
leave here."

I'm staring up at him with an open mouth.  "You've been
listening to Jonas too much," I whisper.

Apollon shakes his head.  "Celine said—"

"Celine!"  I break away from his grip.  "You
don't even know her.  How can you trust her with
my
head?"

He just looks at me, brow furrowed, startled blue eyes.

I close my eyes and shake my head slowly.  "Never
mind," I say, and start to move past him.

"Eden," he whispers, touching my arm.

I hold up one hand to silence him.  Then I step by and walk
away.

***

I'm still crying when Jonas comes in.  Stretched on my side,
facing away from the door.  I hold my breath—or try to—hoping he won't notice,
won't realize.

But he drops something with a thud and moves quickly to the
bed.  The mattress gives beneath me as his weight goes onto his knee.  His hand
touches my shoulder.  "Eden?"

I attempt some sort of answer, some assurance that I'm
alright, but what comes out is a quick trill of consecutive sobs, my chest
seizing up as I inhale.  I shut my mouth in protest, but that becomes a pitiful
little noise.  Clamping my eyes against the tears, I shake my head.

Jonas scoots up behind me, tucks his arm over me, and holds
me close.  "It's OK," he whispers.  "It'll be OK."

If I could believe anybody, I believe him.  The peace of his
presence wars with the grief of fighting with Apollon.  I can't believe how
strongly it's affected me, how wrong it feels to be at odds with my friend.  It
cuts me to think I've hurt him.  I sink into that pain, sinking, sinking.  But
Jonas' whisper lifts me up.  "It's OK."  He strokes my face. 
"It's OK."  He lets me cry, and he whispers to me. 
It's OK.  It's
OK.  It's OK.
  Funny, how time passes.  How pain passes.  For a while, I
pour myself out, but the comfort is so deep.  I'm tired, I'm exhausted, I'm
drifting. 
It's OK
, Jonas whispers.  His face is in front of me and his
eyes are full of such affection.  He reaches out and strokes my cheek. 
It's
OK
.  He smiles and gestures me toward him. 
Same place as always
, he
whispers, his smile touching his green eyes.  Those green alligator eyes.  The
green alligator's eyes.  The alligator smiles and slithers away through the
buildings.