Authors: Kate Wrath
Eden (27 page)
It's the end of the night. The end of a sad and quiet night
on an island that was never meant to be sad or quiet. I've reigned in the
emotion and tried to take comfort in Jonas' arms, but something prevails over
me, deep and hollow and incomplete.
I push all those feelings down as we walk to our boat, but I
can't help the feeling of being inside myself. Things are around me, that's
all. I'm in a place that can't connect. Jonas guides me, his arm around my
shoulders, then his fingers in my hair. We step onto the boat and wait for the
others, who are not far behind.
I'm looking at the water, and I think my face is blank,
expressionless, but from Celine's glance between me and Jonas, it's not.
Apollon is not far behind. He takes one look at me and his
brow creases. He moves to my side, his hand on my arm. "What's
wrong?"
I blink slowly, trying to formulate an answer that will not
come out in tears.
Too slow. Apollon's darkening gaze moves to Jonas, his
voice gaining an edge, "What happened?"
Jonas opens his mouth and shakes his head. The words are
almost out, but he looks at me and puts them away. He grabs Apollon and drags
him to the other end of the boat where they put their heads together in
whispers that break off suddenly. Their eyes turn to me. I look at them, and
I look away. I'm not going to cry anymore. I'm not. Instead, I let out a
shaky little sigh through my nose, clamping my jaw against the emotion.
Apollon comes to my side. We sit together, and we say
nothing.
But Jonas gets off the boat. We turn to look at him as he
strides up the shore to meet Spec and Kobee, on their way down. They engage in
an intense conversation with head-shakes, pinched nose-bridges, and gestures
toward me and toward the dock. Spec and Kobee don't like what he's saying,
clearly. There's a lot of stressful looks flying around. At the end of it,
Jonas puts his foot down, literally, and then marches back toward us. Spec and
Kobee stay where they are, exchanging a look.
"Let's go," Jonas says as he climbs back into the
boat.
Celine raises one eyebrow, looking toward Spec and Kobee.
Everyone else is on board. "What about them?"
"Let's go," Jonas growls, and this time, no one
argues. Dingle unties the boat to let it loose, and Moses gets the motor
going.
Apollon eyes Jonas as he drops in at my other side and
strokes my hair away from my cheek. I let my face sink against Jonas' hand.
He pulls me close and I rest my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes, trying
to forget about everything except the smell of him. The boat hums through the
water, and everything is so familiar, painfully familiar. Painful in a way I
want to forget but am sure I never will. None of it is me. None of it.
That's the logical side of it. I should be happy in this moment. But instead,
Lily's corpse is hanging on to me like a leech, sucking away life that could be
beautiful. I want to shake her free. But she's so entwined with every part of
me that I can't begin to separate us without killing myself in the process.
For now, I'm tired. Drained. I just need sleep. I'm going
to sleep this off, I decide, and tomorrow I'll be able to think again.
Tomorrow none of this will seem so bad, but all the good things will still be
here. Tomorrow, just me and Jonas. No more Lily. No more Jason. Just Eden
and Jonas, moving forward.
There's so much joy in that thought. But as we cross the
water, I have to bite off a sob. I cling to him in the darkness as though he
might evaporate from between my very fingers.
***
Morning leaves me to wake alone and question everything that
has happened. I sit in the half-lit apartment soaking up the soothing,
filtered glow of the sun. I remember everything—too good and too horrible to
be anything but a dream. I dwell on Lily's journal, feeling a long, dull
sorrow, and a course of regret. I should have been more careful. After all my
hunting, I caused my own failure, and that breeds anger inside me, directed at
myself. Maybe, subconsciously, I wanted to lose it. Maybe I was afraid of
what I would find. Maybe I was afraid of Lily.
For a moment, I consider her purpose—
why
she has put
me through this game, what she wanted from me. Who knows why she made
something that could have been simple so damned complicated? Or what she meant
by it all—what she expected to accomplish by making my life more difficult?
But it's not her call anymore. I'm taking this life back.
Anyway, there's a lingering certainty inside me that what
Lily really wants—wanted—is Jason. And as much as it is possible, as much as
he still exists—be it in body only—I have him. That's one thing we can agree
on. I close my eyes and remember the warmth of him against me, the feel of his
hands stroking up my thighs. My heart hits my throat, my breath escaping me.
Blood swirls inside of me, making me ache, making my lips hunger to be
touched. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and find my clothes, cursing
under my breath that he couldn't sleep in—he couldn't stay just this once. I
use the bathroom, dress in a hurry, and run my fingers through my tangled hair
before bounding down the stairs. I can hear voices outside—his voice—before I
even make it to the door. I throw the door open to emerge onto the terrace and
the Miami sun hits me straight in the eyes, straight in the brain. I blink and
stagger, turning my face away, clinging to the doorframe as the world swirls
around me. I curse softly, regaining my steadiness, blinking away the
wooziness. By the time Jonas turns his face to me, I'm steady, though
subdued. I push away from the doorframe and walk toward him, flopping down on
the chair next to him.
His arm goes around me, pulling me close. Our heads
together, he whispers, "Hey, you," and kisses me on the forehead.
"Did you sleep well?" Everything about his voice is soothing, like
he thinks I'm fragile, like he thinks I might break.
Something in that soothing tone brings back the pain, and I
have to push away from it, put on strength. I don't need that book. I don't.
It's only a curiosity, really. What I have, right here, is real. And if maybe
there were some answers in the book about how Lily manipulated the Sentries, it
doesn't matter, anyway. I can't reuse that path, but I've figured out my own.
Mine is better. It doesn't involve sacrificing myself.
I draw away enough to give Jonas a big smile, and his face
immediately reflects the expression. I can hardly breathe seeing it—that
unchecked smile on his normally so-serious face. It's like all the walls fall
away in a single instant, and there he is. A different person than I've ever
seen before. But no. I remember him.
That sensation, too, is unnerving, sending a strange
nostalgia and a wash of confusion surging through me. I look away from him,
squinting to look up at Harlan's massive form, framed by the sun. He looks
like a dark angel, towering over us, glowing. His details are blurred by the
burst of light around him, obscuring his expression, highlighting his form.
"You coming, too, then, Lily?" he asks, looking
down at me.
I glance at Jonas for a cue.
"No," he says for me. "There's no need for
both of us to go. Lily will hold things down, here." He gives me a look
that says that holding things down means resting. Then he leans his shoulder
into mine, speaking softly. "Tomorrow night. A meeting with a few of the
tribes in our alliance. Predicted to be boring." He shrugs.
"Celine and Kobee will stay as well, so if you need anything, make
them
do it."
I nod, studying my toes. As curious as I am, I have little
desire to involve myself in Wynwood's politics. Maybe I don't feel invested
because I know I'm leaving. My eyes flick to Jonas, wondering how difficult it
will be for him to leave this all behind. He will, won't he? He said he'd do
anything. So why does the question leave the pit of my stomach feeling so
hollow?
"Right now," Jonas says, "there are a few things
I need to see to in the marketplace. Some sort of squabble over territories or
such. Wanna come?"
"Not really."
He smiles. "Don't blame you." Then he kisses me
softly and rises to his feet.
"Jonas," I say as he steps away.
He turns back.
"I need to talk to you later. About personal
stuff."
His frown is heavy with concern. "Everything OK?"
I nod, waving him off, giving him an easy smile.
"Fine. It's nothing to worry about."
His smile has returned and he's nodding in relief.
"Just don't forget, OK?"
He squints at me, ever so briefly, studying my expression.
"I won't." Then he turns and heads for the stairs. As I watch him
and Harlan disappear, I wonder if it really is OK. What if he refuses to go
with me? Will I go without him? Leave him? Could I really leave him behind?
I stand up and pace the terrace, taking deep breaths. OK.
OK. Even if I left—even if I had to go on my own to find Oscar—I could come
back, right? And there's no way Jonas could deny me that. He knows what Oscar
means to me. He might be a bit miffed about waiting to hack open my head and
all, but then, he damned-well better understand that I'm in no hurry to be
sliced into, anyway. So yes. Everything is OK. And in the end, whatever
round-about way this happens, it's me, Oscar, Jonas, Apollon. Jack. And maybe
even a reunion with Miranda and Neveah. And Matt—oh, god, where does Matt fit
into all this? I'm going to need him to find Oscar.
I pace faster, with my hands in my hair. None of this is
right. Going back to Outpost Three could jeopardize everything we have. It
took us forever to leave there, and we're lucky that Matt let us go in the
end. If we go back, we could get stuck there. And me and Jonas—Jonas and me—
I sink against a wall, wrapping my arms about myself,
closing my eyes.
None of this is right.
***
I'm with Apollon and Jack, who have just about convinced me,
in a calm and reasonable fashion, that we will all work things out.
Talk to
Jonas
, is Apollon's advice, and coming from his mouth, it makes perfect
sense. Of course. We'll just talk, and we'll figure everything out. We have
to. Because we're
us
.
Jack's advice: "Here. Give him this." He hands
me a coconut.
I sigh and smile wistfully. "Thanks, Jack."
As Jack nods, the slice of sunshine across his face shifts.
We all look toward the tent door.
Jonas, pushing the flap out of the way, ducks inside. His
face is grave as his eyes find mine.
I look down as he raises his hand, offering something to
me. "I'm so sorry." He stumbles on the words. "I hoped—I
thought—It was no good. It's... it's ruined."
I push off of my seat and snatch the warped, puffed-out book
from his hands. Blue, just like in my visions. The same blue as the deep
waters, when you look out from the shore. But the covers are bowed, the
lacings stretched and skewed. The pages are wavy, and damp, and splotched with
the vaguest of stains that used to be... that used to be...
Apollon's got me by the shoulders and is sitting me right
back down on my crate as I blink away the fuzziness, the dark swarm of panic
pressing against my brain. I close the book and hug it to my chest, rocking
with my eyes closed. OK, breathe. Breathe.
Jonas kneels at my feet, his hands on my legs. "I'm
sorry," he whispers. "I wanted to make it better."
I toss the book aside and fall off the crate into his arms,
throwing my own arms around his neck and burying my nose against his smooth
skin. His scent is comforting, delicious, agonizing. I have everything in his
arms, and I want everything, and I have nothing. The tighter I cling to him,
the more I'm sure I can't hang on.
He squeezes the air out of me, his arms constricting around
my ribcage until I can't breathe. Then he pushes me back and looks at my face,
brings his hands up to smooth down my hair. For a moment I think he's going to
offer some platitude of comfort, but he only says, "Do you want to just go
home?"
I manage a nod, already climbing to my feet. I glance at
Apollon, who now holds out the disheveled journal he has scooped off the floor.
He shakes his head softly, a companion to my despair.
"It doesn't matter," I whisper, taking the book.
He pats me on the back as I turn toward the tent opening.
Jonas slides his arm around my waist and we walk silently, slowly back to our
apartment.
The sun is sinking, and I'm sinking with it.
There are no words—not on the street, nor on the terrace,
nor on the stairs. Nor standing over the bed staring at the blank pages where
I've spread the journal open on top of our blankets. I let my vision fuzz out,
like the ink that was once focused is now a water-marked blur. There are
swirls and patterns. Something was once there. Now it is blank but not
blank. Now there is just enough to suggest what once was, but not enough to
find it. It's exactly like me.
Jonas is moving behind me—pacing I think. When I finally
look at him, the restlessness lies in his shoulders and jaw.
"It's OK," I say softly, though my voice holds
little conviction. Even I can hear that it's drenched in defeat. Even I can
see myself carelessly brushing off that thing that I can't have as if I never
wanted it at all.
He steps toward me, his face very serious. I like his face
serious, I realize. I like the weight of his soul. His fingers brush my
arms. "It's not," he says. "Of course it's not."
The sigh drains out of me. I shake my head a little,
turning half away, my eyes trailing across the floor. "But it's
done," I say. "Whatever Lily had for me—it's gone. OK or not
doesn't matter. It doesn't change it."