Chapter Song: Zombie - The Cranberries
XX
It's hard to forget about him in this place. There are traces of Sam in every corner of the kitchen, messy notes scrawled on top of stained recipe cards, haphazardly organized cupboards, meticulously arranged spices. It's hard to look at these things and try to ignore the weight of my heart being wrenched to the floor. It's hard not to look at the brick column, long since clean of blood, but still bearing the spidering impact of the bullet.
Reiner hasn't forgotten either. I watch him from the cafeteria window as he tries to eat while his gaze is torn to that bit of chipped brick. When he looks my way, I turn back to the kitchen and begin to clean up after breakfast. I wish I didn't have to see the pain in his eyes and remember my own. I've been trying to do what Isaac asked; for a week I've been trying to move on. But somehow the memory of Sam only becomes more firmly etched into my brain.
"Layla." I jump at the hands that settle onto my hips. Isaac leans into my back and presses me against the cool countertop, his lips finding their way to my neck. "Come back to the room."
"Aren't you patrolling this morning?"
"I can be late." He kisses along my jaw before slipping away from me, and I know, like always, that I am meant to follow. I've tried to be better this week—not just better, but perfect. I've tried to be what he wants.
It feels like living at a distance, and it's more comfortable than I would have imagined. When I lean back into his chest, it's like someone else is receiving his embrace, someone else is shivering beneath the teeth sliding over my neck.
And I'm about to ruin the peace between us.
"Isaac," I whisper, and by the way his fingers tighten into me, I know he sense the tension in my body.
"What?"
"Where did you bury him?"
Isaac is quiet, lips brushing absentmindedly up to my ear. "The ground is still frozen, Layla." He says my name like the ending of an argument.
"Where—"
"It's done. You have to let it go, okay?"
"I just want to know—"
"Layla," he says, and there's an edge to his voice that makes me fall silent. "I'm done talking about this."
I nod and try to swallow back the tears threatening. He doesn't want to tell me because he knows it will only upset me more, which means that Sam's body is likely buried in snow somewhere beyond the school yard. I want to ask if he's been covered, if he's protected from animals that wander in at dusk. But I just nod and brush my fingers over one of the hands gripping my hips.
"Go ahead," I manage in a voice that's steadier than I expect. "I'll follow you in a second."
"I don't want you to bring him up again."
"Isaac..."
"Okay? You're only making yourself more upset."
"I know. I'm sorry."
He sighs against my neck before stepping away from me, and I can't bring myself to turn and look at him. If he sees how upset I am, he'll only be more frustrated. Instead, I begin to pile dishes in the sink, aware of Isaac's presence hovering in the kitchen behind me.
"Layla," he says quietly over the rush of hot water over dirty dishes. "It'll get better."
He waits a moment for me to respond, and when I don't, he slips quietly from the kitchen without another word. I've wanted to ask him, for so long I've wanted to learn what became of Sam. I've been so focused on the question that I posed it at a terrible time, and now I'll have to go back to our bedroom and face a version of Isaac that is less gentle, less forgiving than usual. He was trying to be loving toward me and I brought up someone else.
I wash a few of the dishes, but I know I can't make him wait too long. Walking into the cafeteria, I take a moment to drink in the silence of the room. Most of the boys are working out in the yard or are waiting for Isaac to join them on patrol, leaving behind empty trays and dishes on long, silent tables. When I walk past the brick pillar, I resist the urge to run my fingers over the cracks or to look at it too closely. Is the bullet still buried somewhere in there? Deep within the brick, is there still some trace of Sam that hasn't yet been washed away?
Isaac is right; I'm only making myself more upset. And when I have to face him in just a few moments, I don't have time to cry or let my cheeks get red and blotchy. He's been gentle with me all week, but it's only made my fear of him grow, knowing how easily I could send him spiraling back to the Isaac with a glint of murder in his eye.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door and step into the silence of Isaac's room, a dense quiet that feels instantly wrong even before I see what's happening. I'm still standing in the doorway when I see him staring at the bottom of my boot. When he looks at me, fury twisting his features into a person unfamiliar to me, I consider running back into the hallway.
Instead, I close the door behind me and force myself to take another step into the room. "I can explain," I try, but I can tell how little my explanation will mean.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He throws the boot to the floor and prowls toward me. It's the look on his face that keeps me frozen, the wild, blind anger that I sometimes remember when I try to sleep at night.
"It's not what it looks like, I—"
I stumble back so the closed fist only glances off my cheek, but the collision of the wall against my back leaves me struggling to breathe. When his hands close around my neck, I'm already desperate for air, stomach twitching at the impulse to draw in a breath that just won't come. He doesn't seem to notice my nails clawing into his wrists and arms or the way I'm trying to reach him with my eyes. But his gaze is blank, almost glassy, until I manage to twist one leg high enough to effectively kick the side of his shin.
Isaac snarls as his leg buckles, and his hands loosen enough that I can wrench away from them. I have to get out of here, I just have to give him enough time to calm down, that's all. But his sights are set on me, and as often as I wriggle and claw out of his grip, he just keeps reaching for me.
"Isaac, please!" It's like I am nothing to him, something far less than what I was or simply distorted beyond recognition. Isaac catches a handful of my hair and pulls me back hard. At first, I stumble onto the floor, but I quickly rise as my hair is pulled tighter and tighter, up and up. "Just let me explain! I found—" My words end in a grunt as he shoves me hard, face-first, into the brick wall again. My temple takes the brunt of the hit until he pushes me flush against the cold surface, my cheek scraping across jagged edges of mortar.
Silence rises unexpectedly between us. His hands are poised, one in my hair and the other twisted in the back of my shirt. Somewhere in the daze of slamming against the wall, I stopped struggling. As I press my palms against the brick to shove away, Isaac lifts my head a little toward him and knocks me back into the wall.
"What's it going to take for you to figure this out." His voice is hoarse, words pressed tight from a clenched jaw.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm sorry. I want to talk to you."
"Bullshit. All you do when you open your mouth is lie."
"I swear to god, you have to believe me. Isaac!" I can feel the blood spilling from my split forehead, grinding wet and horrible across my skin as he tries to crush me into the wall. "I wasn't going to leave, I promise! I've tried so hard, you know I have."
I loathe the tears that spill over, punctuated every now and then by a shuddering sob that's painful with how my ribs and jaw are jammed into the wall. All there is to do now is wait out his anger and hope he doesn't ruin me for it. Beyond the cries I'm choking back, I can hear his heavy breath in my ear. I can feel the tension in his body ready to snap.
"Isaac," I try again, trying to summon my softest voice. "You're hurting me. Please just talk to me."
"Shut up," he growls in a voice ragged with anger. His hand closes around my right arm, fingers curling into my old wounds until I bite back a whimper. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" In this moment I can't remember if he's said those words already or if I've simply asked them myself. This feeling, of being too terrified to move or think straight, is entirely suffocating. When his hand grips the back of my neck, I find myself holding my breath.
I realize then, why he's so quiet. "You think you can lie to me like that and I'll just take it?"
"I wasn't lying, Isaac, I swear."
"You think I'm a fucking idiot?"
There is too little air making its way into my lungs, and the weight of his body behind me only makes it harder to breathe. Squeezing my neck, Isaac pushes against me until I answer. "No."
"You've got some fucking nerve, Layla." The insistent press of his hips against me makes the tears begin again. No, no, no. "I'm not going to play this game with you anymore."
"Please stop."
Still gripping my neck, Isaac pushes up the hem of my shirt and slips his hand into the back of my leggings. "Shut up," he growls in my ear. Bunching the fabric in his hand, he yanks along the waistband until I can feel his jeans against my bare skin, a horrible bulge behind his zipper.
"Isaac," I try. "Isaac...Isaac please."
"Shut up!" The hand on my neck pushes hard, until I'm afraid he'll crack my spine. When he lets up, I gasp in a breath and try to gather the fraying edges of my mind. While my other senses fall to disarray, I still hear the drag of his zipper, the whisper of hoarse breath in my ear, the slip of rubber as he kicks my legs farther apart.
"Please, stop!"
"You want me to gag you?"
"If you loved me you wouldn't do this."
He pauses then, but only leans in closer, bare erection pressing into me. "If you say another word, I'll break your fucking neck."
Fuck I don't want to exist in this moment. And it feels like I am disappearing from it, numb panic invading my limbs as my eyes search along the brick wall, seeing nothing. I narrow in on the lump of mortar cutting into my face, imagining the shape of it, tracing the line of blood that trickles from it. It's going to happen, it's happening and there is nothing to be done, and then it will be over and my last secret will be gone. It's going to happen, and he's going to hurt me, but maybe later the guilt of it will buy me a period of peace.
I don't try to speak, or move, or even breathe when Isaac guides himself between my legs. Then, for a moment, both of us are breathless, suspended in time. Maybe he wants me to dread it fully, to understand exactly in what way I'm being punished. And I do understand it, I really do. I know what's being taken from me, what unspoken truth he wants to carve into my body.
When he drags in a breath, I still can't find it in me to do the same, like I won't fucking breathe until this is over and my body is my own again. I wait for him to press his hips to me, for his teeth to drop to my neck like they always do, for the curse of this moment to be broken so I can move past it. A curse. So this is what it means to be cursed. I want another chance, I want to do things right. I want to wake up in a barren apartment with Cam's arm around my waist. I want to run on four legs with Tyler beneath the full moon. I want to walk down the hall and hear my mother's voice humming from the kitchen.
The hand on my neck tightens and relaxes before tightening again. And then, Isaac lets go of me. I try to relax my body against his form, anticipating the pain to come, but I am rigid and shaking, and I can't move with him poised between my legs.
"Layla," Isaac whispers, and at first it doesn't sound like his voice at all. "Get out of here."
I don't understand the words, which mean nothing when he's still pinning me against the wall. And then he steps back, and I wait for a strike, or even just for a hand to find its way into my hair.
"Get out!"
I tug my clothes into place and stumble away from the wall, feet unsure of the ground below me. Falling against the door, I manage to pull it open and lurch into the hall without another look at the room behind me. I don't wait to see if Isaac follows.
The hall is quiet, and the cafeteria still blissfully empty. It's the only place for me to go, and so I maneuver into the dark kitchen and sink back beneath a steel cupboard with my heart pounding hard against the cool surface behind me. There are no footsteps following, and Isaac's voice doesn't break the stillness all around. Raising a trembling finger, I wipe at some of the blood on my face that's beginning to sting my eyes.
A sob breaks out before I can stop it, and I clap a hand to my mouth and curl against my knees. How long do I have before he comes looking for me? Why did he let me leave in the first place? The violent ache in my head travels down my neck and through my ribs. I'm not going to survive this. It's a distant thought, but the truth of it is a weight in my stomach. It doesn't matter that I am alive now, that Isaac has decided to spare me in this moment. Eventually, he will kill me. Maybe he won't mean to, maybe one day he'll bash my head hard enough that I just won't wake up.
I wet a clean dishcloth and press it to my face, the cool relief of the water blending with the sharp sting of my wound. Though I didn't catch the full force of his punch, I can still feel the wide bruise turning my cheekbone hot and soft. At least it's not my nose. The pain of the initial break finally passed, and I don't want to go through having it set again.
From beyond the kitchen, a loud bang, like a body against metal, pushes me to my feet. I hold my breath and wait for another noise, but nothing comes. The hall to Isaac's room is still quiet, and I don't see anyone in the cafeteria beyond. Suddenly, a wash of daylight spreads across the floor as the outer doors open with a rusted snarl. The beat of footsteps follow, and then a voice, Reiner's voice, with an angry edge.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
I press back into the darkened kitchen and listen. There are many pairs of footsteps, some seeming to scuffle with each other.
"You're lucky we didn't shoot you outright," Max spits. "And I haven't fully decided that I won't. So what the fuck are you doing here?"
"I know he's here. And I'm not going to leave until I talk to him."
"He's got a fucking phone! What gives you the right to barge onto another territory like that?"
"This isn't legally recognized territory—"
"Don't give me that. Hey! You stay right the fuck there until you tell us what you want."
"Find him. You're outnumbered." That voice, I know that voice.
"Not for long."
"What was that?"
"You want to fight, we will fucking fight."
"I don't want to fight you." Where have I heard that voice? "I want to talk to Isaac. And if he refuses, then I'll take that as a sign of aggression."
Still pressing the rag to my face, I step into the kitchen doorway to peer around the cafeteria. There are five of Isaac's wolves here, including Max and Reiner, but there are also seven more that I don't recognize. At least, I swear I don't until my shoe scrapes against the floor and all of them turn to look at me.
And of course, of any wolf who might turn up here now, it would be Jackson fucking Courtland.
XX
Red Moon Rising and Nightmare Daze updates are swapped for this weekend again!
~ Here we are at the return of Jackson Fucking Courtland ~