The pain in my chest was not a surprise. I already knew that a breaking heart was more than an exaggeration.
In a fight-or-flight situation, I never had a choice; it would always be flight for me. Because Jared was between me and the darkness of the tunnel exit, I wheeled and threw myself into the box-packed hole.
The boxes crunched, crackled, and cracked as my weight shoved them into the wall, into the floor. I wriggled my way into the impossible space, twisting around the heavier squares and crushing the others. I felt his fingers scrape across my foot as he made a grab for my ankle, and I kicked one of the more solid boxes between us. He grunted, and despair wrapped choking hands around my throat. I hadn’t meant to hurt him again; I hadn’t meant to strike. I was only trying to escape.
I didn’t hear my own sobbing, loud as it was, until I could go no farther into the crowded hole and the sound of my thrashing stopped. When I did hear myself, heard the ragged, tearing gasps of agony, I was mortified.
So mortified, so humiliated. I was horrified at myself, at the violence I’d allowed to flow through my body, whether consciously or not, but that was not why I was sobbing. I was sobbing because it had been a test, and, stupid, stupid, stupid, emotional creature that I was, I wanted it to be real.
Melanie was writhing in agony inside me, and it was hard to make sense of the double pain. I felt as though I was dying because it was not real; she felt as though she was dying because, to her, it had felt real enough. In all that she’d lost since the end of her world, so long ago, she’d never before felt betrayed. When her father had brought the Seekers after his children, she’d known it was not him. There was no betrayal, only grief. Her father was dead. But Jared was alive and himself.
No one’s betrayed you, stupid, I railed at her. I wanted her pain to stop. It was too much, the extra burden of her agony. Mine was enough.
How could he? How? she ranted, ignoring me.
We sobbed, beyond control.
One word snapped us back from the edge of hysteria.
From the mouth of the hole, Jared’s low, rough voice—broken and strangely childlike—asked, “Mel?”
CHAPTER 30
Abbreviated
M el?” he asked again, the hope he didn’t want to feel coloring his tone.
My breath caught in another sob, an aftershock.
“You know that was for you, Mel. You know that. Not for h—it. You know I wasn’t kissing it.”
My next sob was louder, a moan. Why couldn’t I shut up? I tried holding my breath.
“If you’re in there, Mel…” He paused.
Melanie hated the “if.” A sob burst up through my lungs, and I gasped for air.
“I love you,” Jared said. “Even if you’re not there, if you can’t hear me. I love you.”
I held my breath again, biting my lip until it bled. The physical pain didn’t distract me as much as I wished it would.
It was silent outside the hole, and then silent inside, too, as I turned blue. I listened intently, concentrating only on what I could hear. I wouldn’t think. There was no sound.
I was twisted into the most impossible position. My head was the lowest point, the right side of my face pressed against the rough rock floor. My shoulders were slanted around a crumpled box edge, the right higher than the left. My hips angled the opposite way, with my left calf pressed to the ceiling. Fighting with the boxes had left bruises—I could feel them forming. I knew I would have to find some way to explain to Ian and Jamie that I had done this to myself, but how? What should I say? How could I tell them that Jared had kissed me as a test, like giving a lab rat a jolt of electricity to observe its reaction?
And how long was I supposed to hold this position? I didn’t want to make any noise, but it felt like my spine was going to snap in a minute. The pain got more difficult to bear every second. I wouldn’t be able to bear it in silence for long. Already, a whimper was rising in my throat.
Melanie had nothing to say to me. She was quietly working through her own relief and fury. Jared had spoken to her, finally recognized her existence. He had told her he loved her. But he had kissed me. She was trying to convince herself that there was no reason to be wounded by this, trying to believe all the solid reasons why this wasn’t what it felt like. Trying, but not yet succeeding. I could hear all this, but it was directed internally. She wasn’t speaking to me—in the juvenile, petty sense of the phrase. I was getting the cold shoulder.
I felt an unfamiliar anger toward her. Not like the beginning, when I feared her and wished for her eradication from my mind. No, I felt my own sense of betrayal now. How could she be angry with me for what had happened? How did that make sense? How was it my fault that I’d fallen in love because of the memories she forced on me and then been overthrown by this unruly body? I cared that she was suffering, yet my pain meant nothing to her. She enjoyed it. Vicious human.