“I was hoping for a superhero’s name, but that’ll work,” I say, sarcasm dripping off the edge of my tongue.
Conin erupts into a fit of laughter.
Chapter 21
Conin
Ezra’s passed out next to me on the bed. I lie on my side, arm denting the pillow, hand propped up to support my head and watch him. The faint movement of his body rises, then lowers—an endless flow of hair masks his face from view. He’s so peaceful-looking that I’m envious of his ability not to be bothered by sharing the same mattress as me. Meanwhile, I’m losing my mind. It was the same deal as the night before and it’s much worse now.
Does he really feel nothing for me? Does this truly not bother him?
I want to rip my fucking hair out.
Carefully, without rustling the sheets, I remove my hand from under the duvet. It stays suspended in the space that separates me from Ezra. Raising a hesitant index finger, I wait with a trembling wrist. I want this more than ever; the comfort and solace from Ezra’s touch is a pang of hunger in need of satiation. Ezra, and only Ezra, can satisfy it. My skin grazes the fabricand lingers on the small of his back. I breathe deeply, a scream lodged in my throat, a desperate plea to stop—stop before I do something I’ll regret.
Ezra shuffles, then positions himself on his back. His eyelids are shut, his mouth is parted slightly, and I hear his small inhale. Relief washes over the storm brewing in my chest. He’s still asleep. I turned over, away from him, and let the tears well—the shuddering sob suppressed long enough for me to abscond to the bathroom. Once inside, I quiet my cries, but they burst out anyway. Tears stain the linoleum floor.
Loneliness is a double-edged sword. And I’m bone-deep pierced to the heart because even as I’m here with Ezra, I feel so alone. These ruthless feelings for him have nowhere to go, and no place to call home. What happens at the end of this road? What happens once we’ve found safety and there’s nothing left but to exist? I’m not like Ezra. I don’t possess any special abilities of my own. It’s selfish of me to think that despite having Ezra’s friendship, I may never have more. There may always be this rift between us, and knowing this makes every inch of me ache. I’m so lonely and that reality only digs deeper, made worse by the realization that I may never get to see the second-most important person in my life.
And she has no idea what’s become of me.
I left for a boy who may never want me . . .
. . .leaving a mother who can’t live without me.
But Ezra must be protected, no matter how much it tears me apart.
Crying silently in the bathroom reminds me of all those long nights of countless, unrelenting arguments. My father’s booming voice. Mom’s silent pleas.
I peer in the mirror, my grip tight on the counter. There’s a crack at the top corner, alongside some spots and smudges with a story to tell. With one good look at myself, a spike of rageignites. The slap to my cheek was brutal. And the mark it left is a hot, stinging red.
“Conin?”
Ezra’s voice is soft. At first, I thought I imagined it, if not for him repeating my name. It sounds like salvation. It drives me insane.
I open the bathroom door, hoping he won’t see my tear-streaked face.
“Yeah?”
“Is everything alright?”
No.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just stubbed my toe . . .”
He’s quiet—assessing.
“Okay. You should try to get some sleep,” he whispers.
I can’t read his face.
I want to ask . . .
Where are you? What are you thinking?
I know I’m your friend . . .
But I love you. I love you so much.
