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I followed the critter for an hour, waiting for the perfect moment to place my trap to catch it. The hunger pains are constant, but it’s my desire to hunt and kill something with my bare hands that drives me. Maybe then, this void in my heart will be filled, and this relentless craving that has taken over me will finally be satisfied.

I’ve been avoiding spending too much time with Naomi because the intensity of this feeling is growing. Every time I hold my knife, slicing little pieces off the wood, I’m drawn to the graceful curve of her neck as she swallows and watches me from her deathbed, drilling me with a death glare of her own. If she only recognized the insidiousness of my thoughts.

The snow is melting more every day. I hold on to the hope that London will walk up through the shadows of the trees and come back to me. Now that spring has arrived, more animals are out. The birds are migrating, so the forest is much more cheery and alive. I bet London would love it right now after being cooped up inside for so long. I wish I could show her all the species of birds that live in these woods. I want to prove to her that life with me isn’t terrible and that she didn’t have to leave. Anything to go back and do things differently so she was still here with me.

As time goes on since I’ve been away from her, I’ve gotten more withdrawn, enjoying the quiet of the wilderness a little too much. I’m slowly starting to become one with it, losing myself in it—not caring about anything past the hum of the forest or planning my next kill. I lurk around these woods, studying every branch and every paw print in the mud of an animal that will eventually become my prey.

I’ve lost sight of the squirrel, but it will be back—the smell of fish is too enticing. I’m not bothered; I can easily sit for hours in silence, merely existing in my domain.

Watching… Waiting… Hunting. It’s what I live for.

Sometimes, I hardly notice if I’m breathing. Anytime I hear Maison, I expel him from my mind.

The squirrel squeaks as it scurries across the ground right in front of me while I lie on my stomach in wait. It notices me and seems unbothered, and I stay utterly still. It stops, waits… twitches its face.

As soon as it gets tangled up in my little web of wire and takes my bait, it’s mine. My stomach grumbles thinking about it, and I push that sensation out of my mind, too. I have to be stronger than the forces that work against me. I have to be stronger than everything else and not let something as trivial as hunger weaken me, and to do that, I must transcend.

I still have enough canned food to last me at least six more months if I don’t eat it. Theoretically, I could last another winter. The problem is everyone else still breathing who will want it, and I’m not giving it up—over my dead body.

Finally, the squirrel bites, and I almost miss it. I regain my focus on its speckled tail long enough for me to pounce. I catch it and jab my bone weapon right into it. The kill wasn’t satisfying enough, though.

I need something bigger next time.

I grab my meal and head back to Naomi. A coiling rage burns inside me for reasons I can’t fathom right now. Of course, she’s sleeping, but I note the fresh firewood piled up nearby. She was always better at gathering firewood than London. London, however, is better at other things…

She sits up, and her gaze cuts to me when I walk in. “Where were you, Micah? You were gone for four hours. I thought you weren’t coming back.”

I almost didn’t. I spent two of those hours contemplating whether I should just cure this desire by jumping into the river. The problem, I’m realizing, is that there are few desirable ways to kill yourself on a deserted island—none that would be efficient enough for me.

I let the wooden door slam behind me as I walk in.

She jolts back. “What’s wrong with you?”

I’m getting really fucking sick of people asking me that.

I cock my head. “Sorry, sweetheart. I don’t answer to you. I apologize if life with me is not what you were expecting.”

Apparently, it wasn’t for London, either.

I pull off my sweater, and her eyes draw down to my abs. I’ve lost a touch of weight, although I am still strong and as lean as I used to be. I ignore her lingering eyes and crawl in next to her. When we sleep at the same time, which is rare, it’s in the same bed, but I make sure not to touch her, even though she’s pressed right up against me every morning. I usually wake up earlier than her and slip out of bed before she can try anything. Luckily, she’s been too tired and weak to do much other than sleep a lot.

I don’t berate her about where Nigel and Ezra are hiding, but she continues to endlessly whine and complain about literally everything. Those are the moments when I think the most about putting an end to her misery.

She asks why I won’t tell her where I’m hiding the food or why I won’t feed her any of it.

She complains that she’s cold and tired. And that the shack smells funny, that London’s things are everywhere, and how that’s weird for her.

And, and, and…

Fucking hell. If I end up spending the end of my days with Naomi, I’ll have to teach her to shut up. I’m not sure why Ezra is so obsessed with her.

I turn to face her, and my heart sinks when I see her cheeks are tear-stained. Fuck, I hate seeing girls cry. Seeing them emotional is my Achilles heel and the only reason that keeps me from believing I’m a total asshole.

I arch a brow at her, giving her my brooding gaze that makes her swoon. “I’m sorry, Naomi. I really am. I’m just really fucked up.”

She doesn’t smile; she radiates nothing but ice-cold contempt toward me. However, the color is back in her face, her edges are filled in, and her hair has regained a layer of gloss. She’s still so mad at me for rejecting her, and I honestly don’t blame her, but she can’t deny that she’s healthy. It seems I have a knack for leaving emotional scars on girls, but physically, they are in bliss when they are with me.

London was no different.