Even If We Break

by Marieke Nijkamp

  I am too, and I brace myself. “Hold on. Please, hold on.”

  I pull against the tumbling boulders.

  Finn claws at my hand, and it’s hard to keep the balance. But I am strong. Years of holding the world together and tensing myself against the judgment of others means I have quite a bit of upper body strength.

  I pull Finn to a safe spot, while the boulders around us keep falling.

  Rocks fall, everyone dies.

  Shut up, brain.

  To our left, Maddy is struggling to keep Liva down. She’s stronger than she looks. Shaken but not defeated. They roll over and over, and the cloak that’s halfway wrapped itself around Liva’s head loosens. It still obscures her vision a little, but there are gaps enough that her eyes find mine.

  She is nothing like the smiling, caring girl I once knew.

  Finn scrambles to his feet, and without any of his early misgivings, though with trembling hands, he takes a crutch and slams it into the inside of her knee.

  At the same moment the crutch lands against Liva’s knee, she turns to Maddy, her dagger out. The blade runs down Maddy’s forearm, leaving an angry red cut. But because Liva crumples, she cannot push through, and the blade slips from her grasp. It tumbles to the ground in the same slow manner that she does.

  When her knees hit the rock, she cries out.

  Maddy leaps to straighten the cloak. It arcs through the air, the sides of it billowing. It covers Liva, ever so slowly.

  Immediately, I step in with the belt and try to wrap it around her shoulders, as tight as humanly possible.

  Finn kicks the dagger away.

  Both Maddy and I lie half on top of Liva, trying to keep her down until we can restrain her. But the belt struggles to cooperate—I wish we had a length of rope instead—and Liva keeps struggling. She tears at the fabric, tries to break through.

  I brace myself.

  One knee on her back, the other on the rocky ground. I lean over to secure the belt. And maybe my balance shifts. Maybe Maddy’s grip isn’t as steady as we thought it was either. But the moment I reach over, Liva twists and turns.

  She lashes out at me—

  And everything goes white.

  * * *

  When the world blinks into existence again, the first thing I’m aware of is searing hot pain.

  I’m lying on the ground, and around me, people are screaming.

  A second hunting knife sticks in my hand, almost straight through it.

  I’m going to faint again.

  Without thinking, I reach out and pull it—and realize a second too late it’s the absolute worst thing I could do, because blood immediately gushes out. I’m not as savvy as any of the characters I play.

  Just desperate.

  I take a piece of tunic and push it into my hand, to stop the bleeding, and foolishly try to scramble to my feet. The pain is so intense, the whole world turns upside down, and I drop to my knees again, heaving.

  In front of me, Maddy has managed to hold onto the belt around Liva, and she’s dragged back and forward by Liva’s frantic movement. Maddy has no way to brace herself. She barely has anywhere to stand and hold her footing. She’s pulled into a violent storm, closer and closer to the cliff.

  The boulders have slowed to a halt again, but I don’t know if that matters now.

  Finn tries to push Liva down with his crutches, but she dances out of reach.

  That was the flaw in our plan. We never thought we’d have to keep fighting.

  Everything slows down and speeds up, slows down and speeds up, as if to form a heartbeat.

  Liva flings Maddy to the side, and Maddy swings perilously close to the cliff’s edge. She almost loses the ground beneath her and she screams.

  “Maddy, let her go!” My voice carries.

  Liva falls back again and tries to shake the belt off. She says something to Maddy that I can’t make out, but Finn flinches. Liva’s a whirlwind, a tornado, and she’s willing to destruct everything around her to get free. And with the cloak still partially covering her face, it’s hard to know how much of her direct surroundings she can see.

  Meanwhile, Maddy clings to the belt like a lifeline. “I can’t! I wrapped it around my hand!”

  “Untie yourself!” Finn shouts in despair.

  “I can’t.”

  Liva flings all her weight to the side, and something snaps.

  At first, I think it’s the belt. Then Maddy screams.

  And that’s it.

  When Liva rears up and tries to pull Maddy off balance again, Finn leaps toward her, the bread knife out. His knees twist and his ankles sprain, and he lets himself fall on top of Maddy.

  With more determination than force, he pushes the bread knife against the leather belt and thanks to the constant strain of the two girls tied to each other, it cuts clean through.

  The belt goes slack.

  Liva’s angry roar turns to a scream when she breaks free, but momentum keeps her stumbling backward, until the ground ceases to be.

  Finn yells her name and reaches for her, but he’s too far away.

  She topples over, tears out of the cloak, not in slow motion but with determination. With the full force of gravity and inevitability.

  I don’t see her face when she falls. I don’t want to see it. But I also can’t look away, because once upon a time, only a few hours ago, she was one of my closest friends. And I don’t know what changed. I don’t know how she changed. Perhaps down the line, people will say there was something wrong with her, that there was a shadow inside of her.

  Call it fear. Anger. Hatred.

  But if that’s true, there’s a shadow inside of us all. The only difference is, she decided to feed hers, and we lit matches to feed the light.

  Was there a way to win this? Maybe losing is the same as loss.

  Thirty-One

  Maddy

  Silence.

  Pain.

  Betrayal.

  There’s an actual piece of bone sticking out of my arm, and I’m starting to crack at the edges. We all are.

  Ever reaches out with their good hand to support me to walk, but I’m all too aware of how uncomfortably close we are, well beyond my own personal boundaries. I shrug them off—and whimper.

  The world floods in with the waning moon, the shadows a bright reminder of the past… I wish I could say days, or weeks, but it’s only been hours. Strange how, when we climbed up this mountain, we thought the world looked so different.

  Now, there’s three of us left, and it feels like we’ve all gone to war in real life.

  “It doesn’t feel real, does it?” Ever says.

  Finn shakes his head. He almost hangs in his crutches, pushing himself upright through layers of exhaustion. We pull ourselves together and push across the boulders, and I don’t know how.

  “I wish it wasn’t,” I say.

  “Yeah.”

  I bite my lip until I taste the metal twang of blood. Then I’m crying. Big, heaving sobs, like my body doesn’t care that my brain is still struggling to keep up; it needs a way to get rid of the excess anxiety. The pain from my arm finally floods me, and it threatens to knock me off my feet. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so resolute in dumping all the painkillers, because right now, I wouldn’t mind them. Still, it’s probably a good thing. I need a clear head to get down the mountain. As clear as it gets through a haze of pain.

  With every step, I lose my balance. With every step, pain courses through me. With every step, I lose another piece of me.

  On somewhat stable ground, Ever kneels before me. They’ve taken a piece of their tunic and ripped it to shreds, and they’ve wrapped it tight around their hand. The cloth is bloody, and Ever’s jaw is set. With Finn’s assistance, they’re using another part of the tunic to tie a makeshift sling. “Hey, shh, it’s okay
,” they say. They pull the sling over my head and they motion toward my arm. “Can I help you put this on? C’mon, it’ll be fine. Don’t cry.”

  They say it with a hint of panic, and halfway through a sob, I start to laugh. “I thought I was the one who couldn’t deal with emotions in this group.”

  Ever shakes their head. “You’re not. I think we’ve all lost our footing a bit.”

  When I reach out my arm to them, Finn takes a careful hold of my elbow and wrist, almost as if he’s pulling at the bone, and he guides my arm through the sling. “This may help.”

  The sling doesn’t help. Which is to say, it keeps my arm in one place, but it doesn’t stop the pain that cascades through me. “Did either of you see this coming? Because I didn’t. Could we have done anything? What are we going to do once we make our way down? Do we think the police, our parents, Carter’s and Liva’s parents are just going to accept it when we tell them what happened? Why did this happen?” The pain is making me ramble.

  Ever looks around them. Picks up a stick and discards it again. There are beads of sweat on their forehead, the only evidence of how much pain they must be in too. “I don’t know.”

  “I think I do,” Finn says. “Liar. Thief.”

  Ever hesitates, then adds, “Worthless.”

  Addict.

  “I thought she cared about us.” I wince when I remember Liva’s exact words. The last thing she said to me before she fell.

  I could have cared about you. If only you’d been better.

  “I think she did. Once,” Ever manages.

  I don’t know. I really don’t. I don’t know if you can truly care about people if you don’t think of them as equals.

  “All we can do is keep moving, make our way down, and face whatever the consequences of this night are,” Finn says. “Are you okay to walk? We can try to splint your arm, if that makes it any better?”

  He’s barely holding on too. He flinches every time he bears weight on his ankle, which already took quite a beating from his earlier stunt. He’s okay, and he’s desperately not okay. There’s a haunted look in his eyes. There’s a renewed sense of resolve too, and the way he stares at me makes me uncomfortable. It always does, but right now it’s worse. Perhaps because it’s easier to see someone else’s fault lines when you’re breaking, and we’re both vulnerable now.

  “You’re looking at me like I’m a puzzle to solve.” I keep my voice light, but still it trembles.

  “In my experience, most people are.”

  “Well, I’m not. I’m who I’ve always been. You know me. You shouldn’t worry.”

  “I do know you. I also do worry.” He looks away and shakes his head. When he turns his gaze back to me, it’s as if he’s made a decision. “And I don’t think any of us is who we were anymore. Not me, in any case. But you’re not either. You haven’t been in a long time, and we never saw that. We never saw so many things. I know I already said this, but I’m sorry.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He ignores Ever staring at him too. “Again, are you okay to walk?”

  “As much as I ever am.”

  “Do you need anything for the pain?”

  Oh.

  I remember what I thought on the way up this mountain, so near this very same spot. That every single one of us in our group was lying. And we were, through our teeth. I still am.

  With one of his crutches, Finn pushes at the dirt before him, like a shy boy scuffing his feet. Ever’s grown completely silent. “I don’t know if you need to hear this, but there’s this thing I’m figuring out. Not being able to do everything on your own doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re as human as we all are, and we’re stronger together. We survived because we were together. Asking for help isn’t failure, it’s strength. It means you trust yourself enough to be flawed and to learn. Because here’s the secret: You don’t have to be infallible. You don’t have to know it all. No one is and no one does.”

  Oh.

  Perhaps the pain makes me light-headed. Perhaps I’m tired of fighting. But I make a split-second decision.

  “I’m not good with working through things.” My voice takes on an almost automatic quality, telling him the exact same thing I’ve said to other people. Over and over. It’s true enough to hide the lie underneath. “I’m fine. I’m doing better since the accident.” I hold up my hand before he can respond to that. My lip trembles and I blink again. “Does that sound convincing to you?”

  He breathes out hard and his shoulders drop. “No. It might’ve been if I hadn’t seen you eye those pills so hungrily back in the cabin. But even then. You’re hurting. We all are, but you look like you’ve lost yourself.”

  Ever glances at Finn. “What are you saying?” they ask.

  He doesn’t answer, but continues to talk to me. “I know how hard it is. I can mostly manage with the painkillers I have, with the support I have, and with the therapy I have. It’s a careful balance. I know I’m lucky. I know for others, you’d want to do anything to stop the pain, whether it’s physical or emotional, and without the right support system, it can be so difficult. Impossible, even.”

  “I don’t think it was the physical pain that tipped the scales for me. I’m not good with working through things because everything is too much, too loud, too present. I don’t know how you deal with it.”

  “I ignore what isn’t relevant,” Finn admits. “And maybe a bit more than that.”

  “And I can’t.” I look at Ever. “Finn’s saying, in his guarded way, that if I need something for the pain, I should stay far away from these painkillers. It’s not them, it’s me. I can’t be trusted with them. Not now. Not after everything. But probably not ever.” I pull in a breath. “I’m going to want them, though, before the night is over. And before tomorrow is over. And probably every day after that for a long time. I’m going to want them even though I really don’t.”

  “Do you still have any left?” Finn asks.

  I shake my head. “I threw them out when I ran away. I found my pockets full of them and a note like we found for both Liva and Carter, so when I said she tried to stop me too…” I can’t finish that thought. It’s hard enough that I’ve shared this much.

  The shocked silence that follows isn’t particularly reassuring. Finn’s gone completely white, and Ever opens and closes their mouth again. If they don’t understand…if they can’t deal with it…if they think less of me…

  I trade the uneven ground for the scarred road once more and start walking, because it’s the only thing I can think to do. I have to get away from the loaded silence, the unsteady breaths, the sympathetic glances, the crunching underneath their feet.

  I can’t actually move that fast, though, because I’m broken on all sides and the mountain is still dark. A bit brighter than it was, maybe, now that day is approaching, but not enough to light the way. We can only follow the road until we get to the next blockage before our cars.

  “Mad.” Ever and Finn both reach me at the same time. “Hold up.”

  Ever’s still deep in thought, but Finn reaches out to me. I flinch.

  “I think my therapist may have someone who can help you. I don’t know what we’ll find once we reach the foot of the mountain, so it might be a while before I’m back there, but I can ask. It’s terrifying, I know. But we survived so far. We can figure it out.”

  Ever nods. “I’m sorry we didn’t see that. I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could talk to us about it.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” Because I don’t.

  “Did you really think we’d leave you to fend for yourself? After I just said that whole thing about asking for help?” Finn’s voice holds a note of teasing, but his expression is rueful.

  I shrug, and then curse at my arm. “Yes.”

  I lie because it’s safer. I lie because I’m used to people di
smissing my perspective as special, different, not quite in touch with what is actually normal and how things really are. I’m not used to being taken seriously.

  “Yeah, well.” He scratches his head, and his eyes are dark to the point of being almost black. “I can’t blame you. Anyway, the first time I went to therapy on my own was terrifying. I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know how to act. I could’ve used someone then.”

  I blink. This conversation is moving almost too fast for me to catch up. “Are you offering to go with me?”

  “Do you want me to?” he asks. “You know I’m heading to college soon, but we can share the start of this, at least.”

  “If you still would like company once Finn is gone, I’ll be here too,” Ever adds.

  The sheer force of relief knocks everything off balance, and when the universe realigns, the fragile pieces are a little stronger. “Yes. Please.”

  “Well, then, yes. I don’t want you to have to do this alone. I want to help if I can. That’s what friends are for, right?” Finn shrugs, self-consciously. “Figuring yourself out is never easy, and now less than ever. It may be a long road before you’re there. And it may be a long road before I get there too.”

  “We’re disasters, aren’t we?”

  Finn actually laughs at that. “Here’s to the broken kids.”

  “Here’s to the survivors.” Ever weaves their fingers through his. And somehow, the idea that two of them will be here for me, in whatever way they can, makes the pain more bearable, but it also digs so much deeper. I didn’t know it was possible to feel devastation and elation, grief and relief at once. I don’t know how to either. I don’t know how to contain all those emotions in my skin, my head, my heart.

  I want to tear at my hair. I want to scream. I want my best friend here to hold me, to help me, to be.

  All I can do is breathe.

  Thirty-Two

  Finn

  We keep going. Our determination is bright enough to light up the night, but the silence grows deeper, and it reminds us of the empty spots around us. This walk isn’t beautiful. The lava field is a black hole, the pine forest holds ghosts, and steep cliffs are too deadly. We only have one another—and the shadows of the people we have lost.