I reach in front of me while I walk, a little more careful this time. It feels as though the furniture has moved again while I had my back to it, but that’s impossible. I bruise my knee against a chair, hit my elbow against a cabinet.
“Is this how Liva and Carter felt too? Did you give them time to consider your motive before they died?” The only way I can keep moving is if I make light of this situation.
I walk into Councilwoman Yester’s “body” and the mess of blankets that have slid off the table and onto the floor. I try to kick out, and immediately my foot gets tangled in the fabric. It’s heavy to move. Too heavy, almost.
As if there’s a real body underneath my carefully placed bundle. If I kick loose too hard, it’ll be uncovered.
Hands might reach out to grab me.
Empty eyes. A gaping mouth.
I scream my anger and my fear, and I kick.
The blankets fall loose on the floor, letting go of my feet. Fabric again, nothing more.
This is not how it was supposed to be. This is not how it was supposed to end.
Silence.
I realize the constant hammering sound has stopped, and when I look toward the window, it’s empty. Finn is gone. Finn is gone.
No.
I dash toward it. He can’t be gone. What happened?
Finn is my home. Outside of Elle and my dad, he’s the closest thing I have to family. He understands me in ways they never could, even with all the secrets I’ve kept.
The cabin grows colder around me, and I don’t know whether it’s the actual temperature or my fear that chills me to the bone—and deeper.
I should’ve told Finn my secrets, both the ones that I was afraid of and the ones I was ashamed of. I should’ve held him more often.
I should’ve held Elle more often too. I should’ve protected her from the world whenever I could, and done a better job preparing her for life, even if it wasn’t necessarily my job to do so. I could have. I should have.
I don’t want to die with that regret in my heart. And I don’t want Finn to be gone without having told him everything that haunts my heart and my head.
There’s a magnificent crash.
I leap back, my heart hammering.
A hand grabs hold of the window frame. Then another. It’s red and raw.
I take a step back—not that that’ll do me any good while I’m trapped here.
Then Finn reappears. His light hair shines silver in the moonlight, as he pulls himself to his feet. A bruise forms on his head and his hands are trembling. If he goes any paler, he might become translucent—or phosphorescent.
I fell, he mouths.
Oh. I don’t know what to say. Fear and relief surge through me with equal strength. Enough that when I try to draw breath, my voice catches and I tear up instead.
Finn is there, and his eyes are trained on me, and he presses his palm against the glass.
It’s not warded then. Not electrified.
In my absurd relief, somehow that’s what my brain snags on.
I kick a puzzle box out of the way. It breaks with a sharp crash, and I push closer to Finn. Until I’m close enough to also reach the window, to press my hand against it from this side and try to hold him.
It’s not comforting to have him so near and not to be able to feel him, but it helps to be able to look into his eyes and know he’s still standing, know he’s still breathing, know he’s still trying to get me out.
There’s so much I want to tell him.
I move away from the window and look around for the crutch I’d dropped by the door. My brain runs wild. Every time I kick against something, I’m equal parts sure it’s the crutch or a trap.
“We’ll figure out a way out of here,” I tell the darkness in my game-master voice. “I won’t let you win. We’ve faced down the world before and didn’t let it break us, and we won’t let you break us either.” My poker face is on. I may be lying, but at this point, does that matter?
It takes me the better part of an eternity before I stumble across a lone metallic something. When I accidentally kick it, it clatters.
I crouch down and reach for it, until I have a hold. The crutch is a bit battered from being tossed, the edges of the hand grips sharper than before, but I can make do.
I hold it up to Finn. “Okay if I smash it?” I shout.
He tilts his head, then nods. “Please.”
We set to work, hammering at the window with the crutches, like we’re Snow White’s dwarves or goblins in a mine. There’s a methodical rhythm to it. Finn, then me. Finn, then me. I’ve never been more grateful for all those hours lugging boxes full of books around at the store, because while the work is hard, and I’m shivering, I can keep it up.
But the cabin grows colder and outside the shadows lengthen. In order to focus on breaking the window, I have to stop talking to the darkness. The silence and emptiness is yawning, threatening to swallow me whole. The smashing of the crutches doesn’t change that.
It sounds like someone behind me is laughing.
A breath of air dances across my neck and sets my hair on end.
Ever, I’m not feeling well. I’m scared.
I don’t want to be alone, Ever.
Worthless.
Worthless.
Worthless.
The crutch slips under my fingers. I have to keep my head in the game. It’s only a cabin, there’s nothing here. It’s only a collection of logs and memories. That’s all this place is and nothing more.
And it is said all the cabins are haunted by the killed—or the killers. The mountain is hungry. The night has teeth.
Raise the crutch, I tell myself. Keep hitting the window.
Keep the rhythm. Finn, me, Finn, me.
But no matter what we do, nothing changes.
Maybe I should stay here.
The worst we can do to the glass, it seems, is create some hairline fractures. I pull the crutch away and pound my fist at it, but it still feels as whole and unbreakable as it did when we started. Why won’t it crack?
“Finn,” I say, resigned, “it isn’t going to work.”
He doesn’t hear me, or he pretends not to hear me. He keeps pulling himself upright, though his hands are trembling.
And I know: as long as we keep trying to get me out, he’s a target.
“Finn!”
He shakes his head, hard. “I can’t hear you, Ev.”
“You can.”
“No.”
I take a wavering breath. “I’m going to stop.”
“You can’t stop me. Try to come out and stop me.” There’s a hint of panic to his voice.
I love him for being here and I hate him for it, because I need him to save himself. He shouldn’t be here, not for me. “Finn, you have to leave. I don’t know what’s waiting for us in the woods, but you have to get down the mountain and go home.” I pull my cloak a little closer around me. I cradle the crutch closer too.
Finn keeps shaking his head. “No.”
I place my palm against the window, once more. And all the words I want to say, everything I want to tell him, coalesces in two words: “I’m sorry.”
Twenty-Three
Finn
No.
No.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. Not to Carter. Not to Liva. Not to Ever.
Especially not to Ever. Never to Ever. I want all my friends to be safe. I don’t know what I would do without them, but I don’t know how to breathe without Ever.
The two of us celebrated my admission to Drexel together. I picked Ever up from Paper Hearts to go clothes shopping for WyvernCon. Liva was already working on our costumes, of course, but with a three-day con, we usually spent at least one day in regular clothes. In Ever’s case that meant geeky hand-me-down
s and modified basics. For me, it was a chic variant of thrift-store goth. I wanted some more weird, quirky black clothes for my wardrobe and was keeping an eye out for lace and velvets.
Mrs. Akashi, who owns the thrift store, always keeps the best pieces aside for me. She knows my tastes exactly and has a good eye for my figure; she finds me clothes that are flattering regardless of whether or not I’m wearing my binder. Mrs. Akashi knows that clothes are a form of radical expression and dressing in all black isn’t scary, but creative. That I refuse to let the world push me into conforming, no matter how much being different occasionally hurts.
My goth style has never been just about the dark or the macabre or the makeup or the music I listen to. It is about discovering my taste and finding a piece of me. And it happens to have a small community built into it. Not so much at school, but definitely online and at cons.
That day, Ever convinced me to try on all the clothes Mrs. Akashi kept aside for me, even the ones I wasn’t immediately sure about. Meanwhile, they made their way through the store like an adventuring party looting a dungeon. They picked out suits and dresses, racer-back tops and the odd black-and-blue kilt. And every time I changed into a new outfit, they did so too. They took pictures of both of us to send to Damien, to show off my new looks before the con.
They didn’t care one bit about how they looked. And I found them gorgeous no matter what they were wearing. I was quite partial to the last option, though: a suit jacket, a blue graphic top, and a kilt, with a bow tie to top it off. The look was far more extreme than anything they’d worn before, but it was made for them. They were positively radiant.
But when I offered to buy the outfit for them as an early birthday present, they made a weird expression, took the clothes off, and handed them back to Mrs. Akashi. “No, thank you. I appreciate it, but…no.”
“This outfit was made for you.”
“I don’t think that’s how thrift stores work, Finn.”
“Ev—”
“No.” An unsteady breath. “No, thank you.”
Mrs. Akashi tried to convince them too, but to no avail.
After the thrift store, I insisted on buying both of us disgustingly sweet cookie dough lattes, and they told me why they’d refused.
Ever stared down at their coffee. “When you said that, I realized you won’t be in town anymore for my next birthday.”
“I…” Right.
“Yeah.” They stirred the drink listlessly.
“I didn’t even think—”
“And you shouldn’t have to.” They picked up the cup, set it down again, and looked at me. Straight on. “I’m sorry. I’m so proud of you, and I don’t want this to be about me. Let’s celebrate you right now, okay?”
“You could come hang out?” I offer.
They shot me a crooked smile. “I’d love that, but we both know that’s not going to happen. It’s not only about the money. I can’t abandon Elle.”
Suddenly, briefly, I hated the prospect of college. I hated the idea of leaving and not being able to fix things for them or make life fairer.
I hated the idea of never properly being able to try us.
“You’ll still be my best friend forever, right?” I asked, my stomach fluttering.
They reached out a hand and curled their fingers around mine. “Always.”
“And it’s only a year. You’ll finish high school soon enough, and then you can come hang out. We’ll take over the East Coast together. Both do internships for Damien, and you can get your game design degree, and I can develop everything you imagine.” They wanted to focus more on the tabletop gaming side of things, and maybe try their hand at writing. I could only see endless opportunities to work together.
They couldn’t meet my eye, but they attempted another smile. “You’re my favorite person in the whole wide world. And I’m happy for you. I truly am. Don’t think less of me for being selfish?”
I took a gigantic sip of my drink, because it was the only way to get rid of the sudden lump in my throat. “Never. And I will always try to be here for whatever you need. If not physically, then at least on here.” I tapped my phone.
“For now.”
I shook my head. “Forever.”
Later that night, I told them the thing I love most about games is how everything is malleable, and every story seems to have a happy ending. The idea of a neatly wrapped-up third act, a perfect bow on things, was always comforting. And for life to not be like that felt like a betrayal, even if we should perhaps know better.
It’s a betrayal. Especially now.
I never ever told them how I feel. I told Liva, over stolen drinks, once. I told Damien.
But I never told Ever.
And I refuse to have missed my chance.
I gulp in the scent of pine and the starlit air. I shake the splinters from my crutch, and push myself back on my feet. “Ever!” I don’t know how clearly my voice makes it through the window. “We’re not giving up. Stand back.”
They nod and when they look up with a tearstained face, it only spurs me on more.
I’ve never seen Ever cry before. They were always the strong and stoic one, able to bear anything, no matter how hard. But now they’re breaking, and it breaks me too. I want to be able to reach through the window and hold them, take what’s hurting them and shield them from it.
So I won’t accept this. I’m not accepting it.
“Finn, you need to go,” Ever says again, their voice faint through the glass. Or perhaps it’s because we’re both tired and afraid.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I need you to be safe. I can’t lose you too.”
“And I need us together.”
They push their hand against the glass and then they back away, still within my sights, but where they’ll be safe if I manage to break through.
I never told Ever how I felt, out of fear of rejection, fear of losing their friendship, fear of the two of us not being compatible. Out of fear. I forever thought, “I’ll tell them tomorrow.”
I still want that tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after.
“Ev, when we get out of here…” I angle my crutch again and slam it into the window. Once. Twice. Three times. Every time it connects, a dull shock echoes through my arms and shoulders, but the glass doesn’t budge.
“Yes?”
“Let’s do something fun, together.”
“Something fun?” Ever asks softly.
“We can go to the observatory, or we can go ghost hunting in the Monte Vista. We can go to one of the farmers’ markets or one of the summer festivals in the city. Even if it’s only an afternoon.”
I try my best not to ramble, and spectacularly fail. I glance around me for rocks or anything sharp enough to cut, to smash through the glass. Something that’s harder than the rubber tip of my crutch. But without a good light source, it would take too much time to find.
I don’t want to leave Ever on their own, without someone to look over their shoulder and make sure there’s no one else in the cabin with them.
A small part of me wants to rush the window like in the movies. It wouldn’t help. It would only make things worse. But I may not be thinking clearly right now.
The truth is, it terrifies me to stare into the empty void behind Ever. It’s like looking in a mirror when you’re home alone and you’re waiting for someone to appear in the reflection behind you.
And it does feel like that’s what we’re waiting for. And if someone doesn’t pop up inside, then they might somewhere behind me. I aggressively ignore any sounds around me. Rustling in the grove? Nah, not happening. The sound of birds overhead? Nature, nothing more. Calls and crushing leaves? Animals, surely.
There’s only Ever. Ever is the only one who matters right now.
They don’t respond to me, so I nudge, “Ev
?”
Their head lowers. “But after the summer, you’re still going to leave.”
I try slamming the crutch against the window again. “Yeah. But that doesn’t mean I won’t always be here for you.”
“Good. I want you to leave. I mean. That’s not what I mean. I want you to go to college.”
“But I also really want to take you out.”
“On a date?” Ever’s voice trips and breaks. “We only have so much time left.”
I can’t help it, I laugh. “Even if it’s only for the summer and nothing more. It seems to me we’ll never know how much time we have. Happiness for brief moments is worth it too.”
But instead of leaning closer to me, they push away. “I don’t know how I could handle that.”
I’m going to try to break that glass, even if it takes me until the sun rises, even if I make myself a target by staying here instead of running.
This will not be where it ends.
Twenty-Four
Maddy
I don’t know how I made it to the edge of the grove, but somehow I did. The very same spot where Ever and I talked…was it only a couple of hours ago? My once-upon-a-time favorite place.
I’m disconnected from the world, and not of my own volition.
In the dim light of the moon, I can see my feet amidst the undergrowth, but I don’t feel like I’m walking on solid ground. I can move my hands in front of my eyes, but I might as well be a puppet on a string.
All that’s left of us are the endless miles of mountain and the city on a distant horizon.
Something crashes through the trees, and I still, rooted in the ground. My hands stop flapping.
A branch snaps. A clean break through the night.
The leaves rustle on the other side of me.
I make myself smaller and slowly push my hands into my pockets, but the pills in them burn my hands like embers. They’re tempting me, and I’m sure that’s the point of it. I’m next on the list, aren’t I? Liar. Thief. Addict.
Someone giggles. It drifts on the wind, not far from me.
I try to look everywhere at once, and see nothing. “Who’s there?”
Even If We Break Page 15