by M. A. Phipps
It’s strange to think that if she hadn’t been there, this all would’ve turned out differently.
The thought makes me feel sick, since maybe then she’d still be alive. Maybe then, we wouldn’t be faced with the problem standing before us now. I wouldn’t have this heavy burden resting on my shoulders. I wouldn’t have to go back.
Because I’d be dead, and that’s the way it should be.
If I had died then, everyone here would be safe now. Rai would still be alive. Jenner would stay alive. And Ezra . . .
I can't finish the thought. A hard lump rises in my throat, threatening to suffocate me if I dare to continue. Instead, I imagine his face. Except I see it just as I did in that first vision. The first time I ever saw him.
My death would’ve ensured that his wouldn’t have to happen. I can't escape that fact. Yet, as it stands at this moment, I’m still alive. So from this point on, I’ll do whatever it takes to prevent that future. I'll do whatever it takes to prevent that dream.
One way or another, I will keep him alive.
I clear my throat as I turn toward my pack. There’s a roll of bandaging in one of the side pockets, which I use to bind my wrist, all in an effort to block out any lingering thoughts of Rai. I don’t bother to do it neatly, instead just wrapping it around my arm so that the incision is covered, that way I have nothing else stopping me from leaving this place. I’ve wasted enough time already.
If I don’t leave now, I might never find the strength to.
My thoughts drift in and out of focus, reducing everything around me to a distant nothingness. The few sounds entering my ears are limited to white noise—like static that can’t seem to fully reach me. Only one thing can penetrate the invisible wall I’ve managed to build.
Only one.
“So, that’s it?”
My heart catches in my chest, causing me to jump when I hear the voice coming from the doorway.
“You were just going to leave?”
My head snaps up, and I’m surprised to find Ezra standing in front of me. I didn’t expect to see him again, and honestly, I don’t know what to say to him now that he’s here. What is there to say? I have to leave one way or another, regardless of my feelings for him or any argument he might make against it.
My mouth has gone dry and my pulse is racing. I drop my eyes to avoid his gaze. I swallow the fresh lump of emotion blocking my throat, telling myself to remain as withdrawn as possible.
“I take it you spoke with Jenner,” I murmur.
“Wynter . . . you can’t do this.” The words spill from his lips in a rush, cutting me off.
I risk glancing up at him despite the tone of his voice. The anger was easy enough to hear, and it’s just as obvious in his rigid expression. However, there’s something else there—something I thought I noticed behind those words.
Something like desperation.
His eyes glow with fear, begging me to tell him it’s all a lie. That I’m not leaving. That I plan to stay.
Stay . . .
“Stay here. Stay with me.”
I shake my head, pushing those words away.
“I have to,” I breathe, although I say it more to myself than to him. A reminder of what needs to be done.
Glancing down, I busy my hands with the bandaging around my wrist. I can’t bring myself to look at him, especially when I can feel the way his eyes are burning into me—a fiery stare that sets every molecule in my body on fire.
“Look at me.” His voice is sharp and commanding.
I ignore it, even though my heart is screaming for me to comply.
He closes the distance between us in a few short strides. Reaching down, he tears the dressing almost violently from my hands.
“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” he growls.
“And you do?” I ask, finally looking up at him.
Regardless of my feelings for him, right now all I want to do is slap him across the face. I’m doing this for him, after all. Does he honestly think that I want to leave—that I want to go back there?
I’m only doing this because it’ll mean he’ll survive.
The temperature in the room seems to rise over the excruciating moment I’m forced to look back at him. The anger and frustration swell between us like heat. The combination is practically tangible—like a cruel weight bearing down on top of us and crushing our bodies to the floor.
I can’t take it. The look in his eyes alone is unbearable, and I can feel it chipping away at me every second I stay here.
If I don’t leave now, I never will.
Turning my head, I tear my eyes away from him, breaking his hold on me with that one simple movement. A jittery breath escapes my lungs as I rise to my feet, however, I muster all of my remaining willpower to appear strong and unaffected. To appear unfeeling. Breathing in once more, I grab my pack off the bed, and risking one final glance over my shoulder, I brush past him.
I make my way for the door, not speaking a single word.
My footsteps resonate off the concrete floor, echoing around me like my mute farewell. I can feel the tears welling in my eyes, brought to the surface by my unruly emotions—wild now after being freed from the cage they've always been held in.
This . . . this is why I didn’t want to say goodbye to him.
This pain.
This torment.
I didn’t want to feel any of it.
The distance to the door seems never-ending. Every step that takes me away from Ezra is agonizing, but still I trudge on, fighting through the heartbreak ripping through my soul. After what feels like an eternity, I’m nearly through the open doorway, but it’s at this moment I notice something unexpected pull me back.
Temptation.
Love.
Weakness.
I’m not quite sure which.
It drags me back into the room like a physical force until I realize that what’s holding me is actually Ezra. He’s pulling me back.
He’s what’s stopping me from leaving.
His grip is rough as he turns me around so that we’re standing face-to-face, separated by mere inches. I gape at him in shock as the oxygen catches in my lungs. He moves closer, and I can feel the heat from his body as it wraps around me, preventing any hope of escape.
Before I can even comprehend what’s happening, the distance shrinks farther until there’s nothing standing between us. Not tension. Not frustration or anger.
Not even air.
It’s only now that I realize what I saw before wasn’t a dream. It was real.
It is real.
As he deepens the kiss, my eyes remain wide, held open by my overwhelming confusion. My heart races as I try to maintain control over my body, but every cell seems to be pulling me in a thousand directions at once. It feels like not even my skin can keep hold of me—like I might explode at any moment from the extreme pleasure and pain coursing through my veins.
When we eventually pull apart, I can barely breathe. Quiet, fast-paced breaths spill from both of our lungs, suffocating me alongside the hurricane of my emotions.
I don’t look at him for a long while. I don’t even blink. I’m afraid that, if I do, I’ll discover that none of this has happened. After a moment, I lift my eyes, and with a single glance, I beg him to put me out of my misery.
To tell me why he’s doing this.
“I don’t want you to go,” he whispers.
His breath is warm against my lips, the sensation of which sends a shudder up my spine. I try to stop myself from shaking, but it’s taking everything I have to simply hold myself together.
He leans in until our foreheads touch and gently wraps his arms around my waist.
“Stay here,” he murmurs. “Stay with me.”
I swallow. It’s strange, but this moment feels more like déjà vu than reality. Maybe it’s because of that very fact that I’m forced to question it. I want to believe that what he’s saying to me is real—that what he’s feeling
is real. However, the truth is, I’m not entirely sure that I do, or even that I can.
I find myself remembering our conversation back in the tunnels when he first made that promise to protect me. I feel just as uncertain as I did at that moment, and I can’t help but mimic what I said to him then.
“Why . . . ?”
I await his response with bated breath. It still won’t change things. I’ll still leave this place if it means protecting both him and Jenner. All the same, I need to know.
Why . . . ?
“I don’t want to lose anyone else,” he finally answers.
I instinctively take a step away from him. For some reason, it feels as if a knife has been plunged into my stomach, and each word is only twisting it more, intensifying the pain.
He doesn’t want to lose anyone else. That makes sense, I suppose. He’s a leader here, and each death or loss must weigh on him personally. In that case, I’m nothing more than another number. Another notch in the PHOENIX belt. With my powers, I suppose they wouldn’t want me to leave. They’re in an advantageous position if they keep me here.
I know that.
He knows that.
I take another step back. His eyes narrow as he watches me, the confusion appearing in thin lines across his brow. His grip on me tightens, but I pull away from him.
I avert my gaze as all of the questions I’ve had since coming here rage through my thoughts in a turbulent spiral. Question, after question, after question, with limited answers to settle my unease. However, one stands out to me more than the others. One I’ve wondered since the very moment Jenner ignited this doubt within me.
“Why did you take me with you?” I breathe.
The nerves and fear both come alive in my stomach, but I have to know. I have to hear him say it.
I have to apologize for failing him when he needed me most.
“I know I didn’t stop it. I wanted to. I tried—” I whimper, choking back the tears that now threaten to break through. I clench my eyes shut as a single word spills from my lips. “Rai . . .”
“No! Wynter . . .” He reaches out his hand, but it freezes in the air between us, almost as if there's an invisible wall stopping him from touching me. He lowers his arm, instead taking a moment to consider his next words. “What happened wasn’t your fault,” is all he can manage.
After a few seconds, his eyes meet mine, but I can’t comprehend the faint glow burning behind them.
His shoulders sag as he lets out a heavy breath.
“That’s not why I brought you with us,” he murmurs. “It was never my intention to use you that way.”
He hesitates, and I can see the internal struggle as it becomes apparent on his face. He clears his throat before taking a step forward, bringing his body close to mine once again.
“I brought you with us because I was afraid,” he stammers. “I’m always afraid of leaving you, and I thought if I did . . . I . . . I thought I would never see you again.”
His words hit me all at once, drowning me in a reality that I never expected to truly happen. My heart aches with unrestrained emotion. Yet, through the blinding disbelief holding me in place, I can’t help but notice the lie hiding just behind it.
What he’s saying, no matter how hard he tries to mask it, isn’t the whole truth. There’s another reason he brought me that day. Another reason he’s still refusing to tell me.
“When Jenner told me you were leaving,” he breathes, “something inside of me just . . . clicked. I realized I didn’t want you to go. I realized . . .” He licks his lips, and I’m surprised to see a blush darken his cheeks.
My heart falters, and suddenly, nothing else matters. The doubt I felt before seems to instantly melt away, and at this moment, I no longer hear what he isn’t saying.
I only hear what he is.
From the day I was born, I’ve been told to suppress my emotions—that by doing so I would successfully integrate into a society that it’s taken me my whole life to realize is poisonous. Humans are meant to feel. We’re meant to love. We aren’t meant to shut any of that out, and what I never grasped before is that you can’t. One way or another, they’ll find their way to the surface.
One way or another, they’ll find a way to break through.
Holding back all of those feelings for twenty-one years leaves me unprepared for the onslaught that attacks me now. Each emotion tears through me, burning into my soul until there’s nothing left but a pile of ashes. From those ashes, what rises up is the new me.
The me that, for once, is allowed to feel.
Ezra moves even closer, and I feel a tremor rock my body when he brushes his fingers across my lips, wiping away the tears that have begun to pool there. He leans in, his breath hot against my cheeks. His next words take hold of me in a way nothing else ever could.
“I love you,” he whispers. “Please don’t cry.”
From the moment I realized what was necessary to save him, I repeatedly told myself I couldn’t say goodbye. I told myself it was to spare me the pain of his unrequited feelings when in truth, I was afraid of this. I never once stopped to consider he could love me back, mainly because I couldn’t handle the thought of ever leaving him if he did.
His hand combs through my hair, holding me against him, refusing to let go. Leaning down, he presses his lips against mine, and this time, I give into it.
All of the emotions I’ve been bottling up since that very first vision of him seem to pour out in this single kiss. It’s all consuming and alien, at least for me.
I never would’ve known this kind of love in my world.
I never would’ve known what passion could feel like.
In this brief instant of time, I feel thankful for my condition because, when all is said and done, it’s brought me to Ezra. Even if it’s short-lived.
Even if it can’t last.
Another tear rushes down my cheek, but I choose to ignore it, forcing myself to focus on the present instead. This is it. This is all we’ll have.
I have to make it count.
His mouth explores mine as his hands seem to roam every inch of my body. I reciprocate, wanting nothing more than to be as physically close to him as possible. Without thinking, I give in to my urges, desperate to make sure I don’t have any regrets later.
If this is the only time in my life when I can experience this feeling, I want to make sure that I experience it to the fullest.
I smile against his lips. No longer caring. No longer thinking about the consequences of my every action. I simply allow this array of emotions to overtake me—to embrace the one thing I have never known before.
The very thing I’m about to lose forever.
He once again whispers those wonderful words against my lips. As we fall onto the bed, I whisper them back, surrendering myself to this fleeting moment.
I LIE STILL, LISTENING TO the soft sound of Ezra breathing beside me. His chest slowly rises and falls, his lips just barely parted as the air escapes between them.
A lock of his blond hair is plastered messily across his forehead. I’m tempted to reach out and touch it—to brush my hand across his skin one final time. I resist the urge. He looks so peaceful in sleep that I don’t want to disturb him.
Besides, it’s better this way.
I sit up and shift toward the edge of the bed, glancing over my shoulder to make sure he’s still asleep. He doesn’t wake up, and in truth, a part of me feels disappointed by that. On some level, I guess I was hoping he would—that he would rouse at this very moment and try to stop me from going. That he would tell me he loves me, one last time. That he would pull me back into bed with him and take away all of my strength as well as any desire I have to leave this place.
To leave him.
My feet press against the cold floor as the air nips at my exposed skin. I sit still, hesitating.
How can I leave him now that I know that he loves me? How can I do that to him? How can I break his heart and destroy mine in the
process?
Because you have to, I remind myself.
How can I stay, knowing that he loves me? How can I stay when I’m in love with him? It will kill me to go.
But I’m all too aware it will kill him if I don’t.
My eyes graze over every detail of his body, remembering the way it felt against mine. Each whispered word. Each touch.
I flush, thankful that I’ll at least have the memory of our one moment together. No matter what happens from here on out.
At least I’ll always have that.
It feels as if I’ve been sitting in the same place for hours, just watching him sleep and feeling him close to me. I try to move several times, but it’s as if a heavy weight has manifested under my skin, holding me in place. Keeping me here. Finally, I convince myself it’s time to go. If I don’t, he’ll wake up, and if that happens, he’ll only try to stop me. Not that he’ll have to. If we get to that point, I won’t have the will to leave him anyway.
If I go now while he’s asleep, it’ll be a clean break.
If I go now, it’ll be easier for both of us.
Leaning over, I press my lips against his. Not enough to wake him, just enough to leave my mark—to give me the closure needed to do what’s necessary.
“I love you,” I murmur.
His cheek flinches where my breath tickles his skin, and for a brief moment, I swear I can see him smile. Even in the darkness of the room, it’s as if he’s responding to my words—to the love I feel nearly exploding from my chest.
The thought only causes my heart to break more.
“Forgive me,” I whisper.
Standing up, I pull on my clothes, careful not to make even the slightest noise.
My pack sits undisturbed where I dropped it on the floor, and I reach for it as I move toward the doorway. My heart is pounding against my ribs with a blow that nearly pins me to the floor, and there's a pain in my chest that grows with each unwilling step I take. I fight through it, even though it feels as if all of the air has left my lungs, reducing me to nothing but an empty shell.
Why does this feel so wrong when I know it’s the right decision? Why does this hurt so much when I know that it’s the only way I can keep him alive?