Locked

Chapter Eight

I wake up early, before sunrise. Or I should say, I give up on sleeping then. I creep out of the room and look down the hall—Noah is in a corner, curled up, sleeping soundly. I walk past the kitchen, onto the balcony. The sun sets in this direction, so I know I won’t see it rise. I’ve learned that the sun rises in the east, and I know that we’re facing west. What are we looking at? What is here that we can’t see? And then: How close is the shore?

I drop my legs over the ledge of the balcony, let my feet dangle. The blanket I left last night is almost completely dry, and I pull it off the rail and slide it around me. I look down to the beach. The light is only beginning to sneak into the day, and everything is so still, so quiet. So incredibly beautiful.

“Why don’t you want me here?” I whisper, but there is no answer. The trees rustle slightly in the wind. The waves continue to come—slow, steady, eternal.

I think about everything beyond the horizon. Maggie. Ed. If they’re even still alive. And what if they did survive? What if they were rescued unharmed? What do they think now? Are they still looking with crews in the sea? Are they still trying to find my body floating among the pieces of metal?

Thinking about Maggie is almost too much to bear. If she’s alive, I’ve left her alone with Dad. What will she do? Who will she go to when she meets a boy? When she falls in love? Who will hug her when she gets an A or has a bad dream? Dad isn’t like that. She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve to be alone.

I hear the door open and footsteps on the deck. I know Noah is standing behind me, but I don’t turn around. I’m suddenly angry—it’s irrational, but he saved me, he brought me here. And now he’s leaving me alone on this island. He’s leaving me alone even though he’s right here with me.

He clears his throat. “Hey,” he says. “You’re up early.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I say. The sun is coming up now. Things are beginning to be illuminated around us.

He comes to sit down. I feel him next to me and close my eyes against the memory of last night—his lips on my neck, his chest pressed up against mine.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “There are just some things I have to figure out.”

“Yeah,” I say. I hug my knees into my chest. “I got that part.”

He puts a hand on my shoulder, but I shake him off. “Don’t,” I say.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” I turn to face him. “You’re not serious, right?”

He holds his gaze to mine. “August, I can’t hurt you.”

“You don’t get it,” I say. I swing my legs around. I stand up. “This is hurting me. Your leaving is hurting me.”

Noah stands. He puts a hand gently on my jaw and tilts my face up so I have no choice but to look into his eyes—liquid. Warm. I want to fall into them and stay there forever. “I’m right here,” he says.

My eyes well up. I can feel the tears begin to fall—hot and salty as they skim down my cheeks. “No, you’re not,” I say. I’m crying now. The sobs get stronger, until I’m shaking. Noah wraps his arms around me, and I fold into him.

“It’s okay,” he keeps saying. “I promise I’ll get us home.” But I know now, for the first time since we got on this island, that they are just words. He can’t. He’s right: He doesn’t have the power.

I cry until there are no more tears left, and then I wipe my eyes, go inside, and begin forever.

Alone.