Does It Hurt? (60)

More than anything, I want him to. And that scares me. Enzo can’t save me from my fate, and I will never ask him to. Whatever this is, it will never work. We’ve caused each other too much pain, and even still, I know he’s struggling to forgive me. Another thing I could never ask of him.

The familiar bone-deep urge to run arises. I have nowhere to go, so the only thing I can think to do is make him go.

“I will survive you, Enzo, just as I have survived him. And I will do no different than I’ve done before.” He’s silent as I exhale slowly, then whisper, “I will do what I must.”

He releases me but doesn’t retreat. Ice so cold descends over us, and I know I’ve accomplished what I set out to do.

And that’s just heartbreaking.

“I never found my mother,” he tells me quietly. “I did search for her, but I didn’t search for long. You know why?”

There’s a foreboding feeling replacing the electricity crackling in the air.

“Why?” I ask, though I don’t think I want to know.

“Because she let her sadness transform her into a miserable human being, capable of hurting others just to save herself. She wasn’t worthy of my forgiveness.”

Just like you.

He doesn’t say it, but the words slither over my skin and needle beneath like tiny little parasites. I bite my tongue while he pulls away.

I asked for that, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.

“Bring him to me, Sawyer. I’ll take care of him. I won’t let you get away as she did.”

I shake my head, frustrated that this man can’t let me go.

“She was lucky then,” I whisper, hoping my words were as sharp as his. He doesn’t deign to give me a response, but he does turn away, and I know they were. I can feel it.

Did that hurt, baby?





Chapter 19


Sawyer





There’s a boat outside.

It emerged from the dense fog surrounding the island as if it came from an entirely different dimension.

I stare out at the large ship, slowly drifting by, a longing feeling that sorrowfully bleeds into hopelessness.

They’ll never see us from there. Not with this fog that seems to drench this tiny little pocket of earth floating in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Sylvester says there’s going to be another storm tonight, and according to the radar, it could be worse than the one last week.

I swallow, my heart withering as it passes the island. Maybe if I could get to the light, I would’ve been able to figure out a way to turn it on and beckon the ship to us. I’m not entirely sure it would’ve cut through the fog, but it’s better than standing outside my cave, watching it drift by.

What-the-fuck-ever. We’ve been on the island for nineteen days now, but Sylvester had said the ship came by a few days before we wrecked. That leaves about eight before it comes by again, and we can get the hell off.

Do you even want to?

I bite my lip, turning away from the fucking tease that just passed by. Do I?

Is it really feasible to stay here with Sylvester? The man truly gives me the creeps, but I hardly see him as long as I make myself scarce.

Or are you just trading one prison for another?

I’m trapped in other people’s lives. Tangled in the web of names carefully selected by loving mothers and fathers. Or maybe they weren’t loved at all. Maybe they weren’t even wanted.

Just like Enzo.

I sniff, still put off from last week. I feel like my insides have been scraped raw, and every time I feel an emotion swelling, it rubs painfully against the open wound. I drank too much. Shared too much. Then caused more pain. And now I’m left with the tattered remains.

Enzo and I have barely spoken, and much to my dismay, Sylvester has used that opportunity to get me to spend time with him instead. But I tolerate it anyway because bad company is still better than being left alone with Kev in my head.

I don't like attachments, but I cling to those who offer something meaningless.

Until Enzo, at least.

Last night, the mounting tension finally broke me. So I whittled some vodka in a water bottle and stayed up all night sucking it down while Enzo slept beside me.

I came so close to reaching out to him, getting down on my knees, and begging for his forgiveness. I don’t know why or how, but I fucking miss him.

I prefer his fire over ice, his anger over silence, and his hate over indifference.

I would take the worst of him if it meant I never had to go without him.

Sighing, I stand and amble down into the cave, tripping over a loose rock that crumbles beneath my unstable feet. I’m still feeling the ramifications of that vodka, and every breath stokes the urge to empty the contents of my stomach onto the floor.

Never. Again.

Fuck alcohol. It never gets me anywhere good. It got me caught up in Enzo’s arms, to begin with, and seems to keep bringing me back—and every time, it’s a colossal mistake.

I stumble again, tripping over my toe and just scarcely catching myself. Jesus, I need a fucking walker. I’m pretty sure I’m still a little drunk.

When I heard the snick of the door unlocking this morning, I was out of the lighthouse within a few minutes, which means it’s just after seven AM now. My sleep was fitful and entirely frustrating. Even in a catatonic state, the tension is impenetrable and refuses to budge.