Ryan is shot.
He is literally bleeding out below you, and you're standing there like an idiot.
I wasn't proud of it, was barely able to manage a coherent thought, because the sight of Ryan twitching on the ground blocked all common sense. There was nothing else.
Ryan is shot.
He is bleeding out.
Nothing August did helped. The blood continued to pump. Blake's face was completely colorless, and Jessica's face was a blotchy mess of tears. She turned to me, stricken, grabbing hold of my arm.
"Fix him!" she screamed. "Fix him, like you did August!"
Everything seemed to be happening outside myself. I knelt by Ryan's twitching form, looking into his eyes that really focused on nothing. I wanted to help. Already my heart was breaking apart in my chest, slicing through my stomach, falling all the way to my feet. He was dying.
He was dying.
And you can't save him.
This realization was a blow that left me breathless. I couldn't. I couldn't do it again. I couldn't muster up all the energy exhausted outside, killing the snipers, and this was why I froze.
"Fix him!" Jessica shrieked, and so I tried. I tried and tried and tried, doing everything I could, searching for his heartbeat, finding nothing.
Why keep trying? He's gone. Dead and gone.
But, no. Because Ryan was my friend. He was a genius. He had to survive and go to that Johns Hopkins university, and live his life the way he wanted.
He could not die.
My eyes fogged up, and it took a moment to realize it was because I was crying. Crying, because no matter how hard I tried, the blood just kept coming, and his heartbeat never came back.
It never came back.
You failure. When it really counts, you just can't come through, can you?
Please, I thought, desperation ripping apart my body. Please, Ryan.
But there was nothing.
Just . . . nothing.
I leaned back, meeting everybody's eyes in turn as Ryan's continued to stare at nothing, and the grim realization was met.
Jessica screamed.
Blake dropped his face in his hands.
August stared emotionlessly down at Ryan's lifeless face.
And I had failed.
~*~
Nobody wanted to see me. They didn't outright say this, but it was kind of the unmentioned thing flowing amidst the mentioned. Ryan was dead. I had failed him. I couldn't bring him back to life.
I failed.
So I locked myself in my room, listening to the going-ons of the house, as they prepared his body for burial and set out to do just that. And I hated it, how they had to be accustomed to this. How they couldn't even go through any proper grieving time, because this was the kind of life they signed up for. And if you die, oh well. Just another day at the job.
I wanted down with whatever organization this was, along with the Prophets.
The entire day I kept away from them, because they had known Ryan much longer than me. They had time to form those intimate bonds, whereas I had not. So I maintained my distance, giving them their space, occasionally crying and wondering why the universe could be so cruel.
It just didn't seem fair.
Not until late, late at night did I emerge, when the house had long since fallen silent and everybody returned to their respective rooms, to mourn how they saw fit. All except Ryan. His would remain untouched, the lab equipment scattered everywhere, like his many theories and experiments . . .
And the book he would never get to write them down in.
The tears were already falling by the time I stepped off the porch, bundled in a sweatshirt, swathed in darkness. His grave was another makeshift cross, stuck in a mound of dirt a little ways off. It rested between two trees that swooped together, creating an almost mystical sight. A smile tried at my lips, but failed. The tears fell harder.
Not fair. The words rang through my head, a bitter mantra.
Not fair, not fair, not fair.
Finally the snow had stopped, but the wind kicked up, sending tufts of white powder billowing around me. The air was crisp and unbelievably chilly. The rawness was revitalizing, though. A stunning awareness of self and life. I was there. I was alive.
Always alive, when others ended up dead.
My town, Tia, Jim, Esme . . .
And now Ryan.
Where was the justice in that? Or was this world all going to hell, and the balanced fairness of the universe with it?
I liked to think evil would always lose. That somehow, good would find a way. That was how it always played out in the movies, but life wasn't a movie. I had to remember. Life was real-time and tragic, and unexpected. There was no script to read. No fake blood. Nothing to go home to after the scene was shot.
There was just the here and now, and taking everything one step at a time.
I made promises, in my room, to keep myself together when I visited Ryan's grave. Indeed, everything still felt kind of like a dream, like I could pinch myself and wake up, and everybody would be laughing together in the kitchen. But consuming yourself in dreams was the greatest illusion of all, and I was done eluding myself.
Me, Ellie Armstrong. The face in the mirror I could never run away from, because it would always be there. Always right there, following me.
But, anyway, any previous promises I made shattered completely apart. I crumbled right then and there, collapsing to my knees, sobbing openly into the brisk night air.
Because I was sad. I was in pain. I was completely filled with guilt, at another life on my conscience, because the Prophets had been gunning for me. How could I turn my head, walk away, do anything, without acknowledging this? Tia was hard. Jim was devastating. Esme should have been enough. But still I stayed, and for what? Just to have Ryan end up dead, too. One of four people left in this world that I cared about, and he was gone.
Gone.
Just like that.
How could that bullet meet its mark, and all I got was a scratch on the cheek? How?
"I'm s-so sorry," I gasped, pressing my hands against the fresh, brittle dirt. "Y-you should have . . . it's all m-my fault."
And I waited, like he would respond. Like Ryan would walk out of the trees with a smile on his face, proud of the tremendous joke he just played.
But of course, he didn't. There was just silence.
Just his grave, with his name etched across a wooden tree branch, and that didn't seem right.
Noneof it ever seemed right.
"How could you?" I screamed, staring up at the sky. Talking to everybody: Angel, God, the Prophets, Tia. Everybody who tricked me, or betrayed me, or left me before I was ready to let them go. "How could you all just leave?"
There was no response. I could imagine them all staring down at me with pity, or resentment. This thought revved my engine more, for some reason.
"You jerks!" I cried, throat scratchy with the force of my words. "How could you leave? How could you leave me when I needed you most?"
The snow crunched behind me, foretelling somebody's approach. I continued to sob, heartbroken, feeling so lost. Like my anchor had been completely blown up and I was once more a lone ship out at sea everybody had forgotten about.
The person knelt beside me, and their warmth reached out to my shaking body like reassuring fingers.
August.
He didn't say a word, just knelt there beside me, being with me. And that was what counted. That was what mattered.
"I couldn't save him," I croaked. "I couldn't save him."
"You can't save everybody."
"But I should have been able to save him!" I shouted, tears filling my eyes. "August, I should have been able to save him."
August didn't say anything, but when I fell sideways into him, he welcomed me with open arms. I sobbed against his chest, holding onto him like he was my lifeline. His cheek rested on the crown of my head, hand rubbing over my back, crowding me with the lovely heat of his body. And it felt almost scandalous, accepting his comfort. August, who I could bring back from the dead. Who I could feed a part of myself to keep alive.
Then there was Ryan, in the ground, the one I couldn't save.
The one I failed.
"I'm sorry," I gasped, burying my head further into his chest. "I'm sorry I couldn't save him."
His hand splayed over the back of my head, keeping my face against his chest. His lips brushed my neck, below my ear. "It's okay, Ellie."
"No it's n-not. I should have been able to save him. I'm sorry I couldn't do it. I'm sorry, Augie."
He kissed my neck, the top of my ear, and then the skin right by my eye, where a tear threatened to leak out. My body tingled. My fingers curled his shirt tighter into my hands.
You know why you couldn't save him.
You know the difference between August and Ryan.
I did. Of course I did. But acknowledging it was a whole different thing, and I wasn't ready to take that step. Not now. Not in front of Ryan's grave.
Least of all in front of Ryan's grave, the cause for my shame.
"This was not your fault, Ellie," August said. "No matter what you think in that crazy head of yours, this was not your fault."
But somebody needed to be blamed, and it was so easy to lay all of that on me. To put the accusations on my shoulders, and carry the burden around, because it was what I'd always done.
But you're not doing that anymore, remember? You're trying to be better.
Trying.
Always trying, wasn't I?
"Hey." He sat back, pulling me into his lap, holding my face in his hands. "You didn't answer me."
Another tear rolled down my cheek. "Because I can't say what you want to hear."
"How do you know what I want to hear?"
Everybody wanted the same thing, the same assurance that I simply couldn't give. "I'm just sorry," I whispered, running my hands down his stomach, stopping when my fingers brushed the rough leather of his belt. "Just tell me it's okay, Augie."
"I wish I could, El."
I really wished he could, too.
"How are Jessica and Blake?"
He twirled a strand of my hair around his fist, unwrapped it, and then twirled the thick lock of hair again. The touch was unlike anything I'd felt before, but the sensation burning my insides was the same. "Shocked," he said. "In pain."
"How are you?"
"I'm fine."
I cupped his cheek, giving him the same scolding look he reserved for me. "Don't lie."
August's eyes searched mine, and finally-finally-I could visibly see the walls in his deep blues crumble. "He was one of my best friends," he said. "I've known him since I was six."
"I'm sorry."
"I just . . . you get used to people dying, living the life we do." His forehead fell onto my shoulder. I rested my head against his, feeling his hair tickle my cheek. "But it doesn't get easier, Ellie. It doesn't get any easier."
I stroked the hair at the nape of his neck, offering whatever was left within me to give. "I already miss him. I'm tired of missing people."
"Me, too." I thought he might pull away, but he didn't. His head stayed on my shoulder, breath caressing my neck.
"What would he want us to do?" I asked.
"Ryan?"
"Yes."
August thought for a moment. "He would want us to keep going," he said. "To keep fighting, and bring down Angel. To bring down the Prophets. And have fun while we do it."
"There's nothing fun about this."
"No, there's not." At that he pulled back. "Do you want to know why I was avoiding you?"
The question seemed so random and sudden, at first, I wasn't sure how to respond. I blinked for a moment, registering his words. "What?"
"Come on, Ellie. You very well know what I'm talking about."
So I did. I remembered. I thought we'd moved passed. "So?"
"So, you deserve an explanation." He rocked slightly to one side, pulling something out of his back pocket. An envelope. He handed it to me.
"What is this?"
"Just open it."
The seal was already broken, so I just lifted the flap and pulled out the wrinkled paper. It was laden with crease marks, clearly having been opened and read numerous times. "I'm confused."
"Open it."
I did, holding the paper delicately in my hands. There was an official seal in the corner, clearly a governmental picture from a mile away. I stared at the top.
Dear August Nathaniel Masterson,
You are to be informed that, due to a security breach and potential consequences that could affect the domestic front, your expertise is needed overseas . . .
There was no need to read anymore.
I just stared at the first sentence, read it over and over again, trying to figure out exactly what that meant. Of course, deep down, I knew. I knew precisely what it was saying. There was the small problem of accepting those truths, the bad news, in all the horribleness already whirling around me.
I slid off his lap, falling to the ground, holding the letter in taut fingers. August said nothing, and I wished he hadn't shown me this. Not then. Not by Ryan's grave. Not with everything already falling apart.
"They want to ship me out a couple days from now," he said. "That's why I showed it to you, now. I thought if I kept my distance it would be easier, but . . ." he shrugged. "It just wasn't."
He's leaving.
August has to leave you.
Some way, somehow, everybody always leaves.
I didn't think there were real endings, but this sounded like a definitive one to me.
"No," I whispered. "No, August. You can't-you can't go. You can't leave me all alone."
He grabbed the letter and shoved it back in the envelope. "Don't do that. It's not fair."
"Do what?"
"Make me feel horrible."
I gaped at him, unsure what to say, unable to get passed the fact that he was leaving me. Who else would be next? Even when I thought I found somewhere to belong, it was torn from me. Was I destined to be a drifter? Forever floating between worlds, but never settling down?
That wasn't the kind of life I wanted to live.
"What is it for?" I asked, drawing my knees up to rest my elbows on them, clenching my hair with my hands, staring grimly down at Ryan's grave. "What could they possibly have for you to do, now, of all times?"
"Some intelligence collection over in Europe. But that should be a cinch."
"Have you ever gone overseas before for something like this?"
August paused. "Once," he finally said. "With my brother. And it wasn't directly my mission. I was in his charge, so he had to bring me with him. But I've been handling domestic threats and training for this all my life. I'm ready."
Another tear pushed its way out. "That's not what I'm worried about."
"Well, you'll be fine-"
"Dammit, August!" I screeched, and he just gawped at me, because it wasn't very often one heard Ellie Armstrong swear. "I'm not worried about any of that! I'm worried about you, okay? You, you, you."
His eyes softened. He reached for me, but I pulled away, because no. I couldn't do this. Not now. Anybody but August.
And therein lies your problem.
Yes. August was my problem. August was everything.
I could freely admit that now, after losing so much, and teetering on the verge of losing more. I, Ellie Armstrong, had never experienced true, unadulterated love before, and whenever he looked at me or touched me or nursed me back to life, I felt loved.
I felt wanted.
And that was everything to me.
He watched me as I rose to my feet, trembling, clutching my hands together to quell some of the shake. To no avail, of course. He looked at me like he wanted to take all the pain in my body and make it better. To make the situation better. But he couldn't, because that just wasn't possible. Not in this life. Not in the next one, either.
"Tell me you won't go," I begged. Tell me I won't lose you.
In his face, his heart broke. "Ellie . . ."
"No. No. Don't make any hollow promises. Just tell me you'll stay with me. Tell me you won't leave me."
"Ellie, you know I can't do this. It's my duty to-"
"I don't care!" I screamed, furious tears rushing out. "I don't care, okay? When do you guys get to have normal lives? How come they can sit in their big cushy chairs and type out these letters, and make you do all the dirty work? It's not fair! It's not fair."
He jumped to his feet, pulling me into him even though I resisted strongly. "I know, baby," he murmured in my ear. "I'm sorry."
I sniffed. "Why do you call me that?"
He didn't answer.
"Because, I'm not a baby."
Still no answer. I'd said something wrong, obviously. Even in the midst of absolute sorrow I could ruin a moment.
"I want Ryan to come back," I said after a while, voice muffled in the thick fabric of August's sweatshirt. "I want him back. And Jim. And Esme. And my town. And even those stupid Prophets I killed outside in these woods. I'm just so tired of people dying, August."
"I know, El."
"Promise you won't die."
"I won't make a promise I can't keep again. Not to you. Not ever to you."
A shuddering breath escaped me. I stepped away, swiping my eyes, trying to pull myself together. It was a futile attempt. "I just need you to come back alive."
Because obviously, there was no use stopping him from leaving. He would go, and leave me, and that, just maybe . . .
Maybe that would finally be the end.
But there was only one problem:
I wasn't ready to let it end.