Page 55

Sorry, Micah, Nigel, Serena, Naomi, and everyone else on this fucking island.

Maison is mine.

Chapter Eleven

Day Twelve

The wind on the island is unrelenting and harsh. The days are shifting, and the temperature has plummeted. Even the daytime has a crispness teasing us of the colder months ahead, should we live to see them. We’ve run out of fresh food, and the berries I foraged are not growing back, so we share them among the group, eating them sparingly. Not much has happened since the hunt and Maison’s injury. Our sole focus is making sure he gets better. The scratch really was small, but his lack of strength from not eating caused him to stay down a couple of days, plus dehydration caused his blood to thicken, which was why his bleeding stopped.

I still haven’t told Maison how I planned to expose him and Micah. The timing doesn’t feel right. He’s only gotten back to being himself today, finally getting enough strength to move around a bit. Micah’s been sneaking him food, I’m sure of it, although we are supposed to share everything. I can hardly blame him, though—I would do the same if I could catch anything. I swear, Micah has another spot set up somewhere. He came back with a ptarmigan, a big bird that looks like a chicken. It was fully plucked and ready to roast. It was the best meal we had since we’ve been here and put everyone in a better mood. We’ve been sustaining ourselves mainly on fish that the others catch. My job is solely collecting firewood now, while everyone else focuses on catching food sources.

All the canned food is still stored, and Thomas watches over it. He hovers around it, as if Micah told him to after Ezra threatened to steal it. They all stare at it while we are at the fire, eating the few precious pieces of food we are afforded. It’s not enough. Hunger is driving every minute of our days; it consumes our thoughts, our prayers, our lives. Eating has become our sole purpose.

Alliances are shifting. Maison and I are inseparable—although he is still weak and doesn’t move much—except for when I sneak away to my cove. He got sick, like really sick. He spent a full day puking his guts out the day after his injury. When I’m not collecting wood, I’m lying with him, usually reading passages of The Great Gatsby, since he enjoys it as much as I do. But it’s a relief he’s feeling better.

I avoid Nigel altogether now, although he smiles at me sometimes, knowing he has something on me that can ruin what I’m building with Maison. If he says one word about it, I won’t hesitate in slicing him with my spear. Thomas and Jade are getting closer, too, and Thomas takes her out fishing everyday. Nigel sees it and isn’t too happy about it, but he and Ezra seem to have a mutual hate for Micah and me, which has brought them closer. Naomi is with Ezra a lot, since Micah is distant and moody with everyone, even with her. He spends most of the time alone, trapping. He’s an alliance of one, and sometimes I catch him watching me. In fact, he watches me a lot. We’ve not really spoken since the night Maison got hurt, and I can’t get a read on him. I think maybe he’s jealous, and I still think about that moment he pressed his fingers into me and what he meant by it. It felt threatening, so I keep my distance whenever he’s around.

Micah left today to check on the others near the plane. It’s both a stress and a release to have him gone. He’s so skilled here, yet I’m petrified of him. We are surviving, but barely. We’re left with nothing but waiting and the hope to stay alive.

The sun is finally shining after a few cloudy days. The water is so crystal clear, mountains above shine a perfect silhouette, as if the giants are a part of the lake. The sun’s rays sparkle down, like a million diamonds bleeding into the sky. For a tiny moment, I let myself enjoy the serenity of it. Until an eagle flies above me, my silent competition as it circles the same school of fish I have my eye on. I grip my wooden spear in my right hand, and I squat down over a flat rock that juts out a few feet from the shore.

I arrived at my hidden cove earlier, and the stillness of the water is only interrupted by the occasional fish jumping. Maison had a few rough days, but recovered and went trapping with Ezra. Just two rabbits would feed us for a while. It’s not even the protein we are after anymore, it’s the fat that will keep us alive through the winter. Then, and only then, are we allowed to eat the canned food.

Micah isn’t back from visiting the other group, so I thought it was a perfect time to disappear and practice fishing. Others catch fish differently than I do, and I prefer severing it with a sharp point as it seems effective and more satisfying. Calming my breath, I shift my braid to the side as I lunge forward, trying to force the spear into the lake trout I’ve had my eye on for the past ten minutes finally swims by me.

I miss again. I’ve thrown this spear nearly twenty times now, and I can’t seem to catch anything. The fish swims off, completely unscathed. This time, I plunge into the water up to my waist. Luckily, it’s warm enough today that I’ve changed into shorts and my tank top, and I’m already drenched to the bone trying to fish for the past hour. I’m determined not to go back empty-handed.

“Fuck,” I cry out. My legs are numb from the water’s frigid temperature and my feet slip on the slimy jagged rocks that make up the bottom of this lake. I pull myself back on top of the rock and dry myself under the sun until I muster up enough energy to try again, knowing I will once again end up in icy waters. I absentmindedly play with the tip of the spear, imagining the sharp edge slicing into that stupid fish. Useless was the word Micah had thrown at me the other night, and maybe he’s right. But I’m not a quitter, so I stand on the rock, readying myself.

I halt and stare at a cloud puff materializing far away, cognizant of their unpredictability in this area. Maison will be back soon. We’ve not had sex since the night he was injured. He probably shouldn’t have had sex in the condition he was in, but how could he say no to me? I’ve left him alone since, just cuddles and kisses, and he’s not pushed for it. I got my period as well, which was awful, so I made him keep his hands to himself. But I want to feel him inside me again now that he’s gotten his strength back.

As if on cue, I look over as a shadow hints the light, and Maison stands against the rock cliff, wearing his gray sweater and an amused smile playing at his lips.

He finally found my secret spot, and I wonder how long he was watching? I can picture my wet T-shirt being transparent, and the nothingness I’m wearing under these shorts. He notices, his eyes meeting mine briefly before drifting down my chest.

I turn from him playfully. “You could help me rather than just standing there, you know?” After a moment, water sloshes behind me and I feel him jump on. The rock is barely enough for the two of us, so he presses himself against me and reaches his arms around me, gripping the hilt of my spear. My body tingles as he rests his hands over mine.

“You’re doing it all wrong,” he says, and his breath tickles my ear. I press my ass into him, and he stiffens a bit before reaching down and pulling me further into him. He’s probably surprised at how bold I’m being, but I’d let him fuck me on this rock if he wanted to, which is exactly what I plan to do. Screwing Maison feels just as good to me as food.

I bite my lip, and my insides heat at the thought of it. “Am I now?” I ask coyly.

“You’re holding the spear the wrong way. Hold the shaft with two hands, not one.” He moves my hands to different points. “It’s not badminton.”

He lets go of my hands and grabs my waist, bending me over, crouching me down. “You need to bend your knees; you’re too straight up. Throw with your body as much as your hands.”

My chest rises and falls as the tension builds between my legs. “What else?” I pant, barely able to control my breathing with him so close.

He wraps his hands around my tummy, pressing his fingers into my torso. “Throw from here.” I close my eyes and bite my tongue as the strength of his hands pulse through my entire abdomen. “Open your eyes, focus on your target.”

I do as he says and find one larger fish, right as it’s about to pass me. He doesn’t let go, and my knees weaken and tremble. He must know the effect he’s having on me, which is why he’s trying to distract me.

Bastard.

“Be still,” he whispers.

I calm my breath, my eyes never leaving my target, even though my heart beats uncontrollably.

“Throw.”