A Hero in the Dark: 2nd Edition

Chapter 108: To Eat or Not to Eat

It's been a few days... or at least, I think it's been that long. I really don't know.

Nine said there aren't any more cabins that I can occupy by myself—because I wasn't looking forward to sharing—but the second he said he could set me up in a suite in the girl's dormitory with the rest of the students, well, it didn't sound so bad. "There's a spare suite available in 307," he said—the room beside Taylor, Ran, and Isabela. I hear them talking through the walls.

"So, how do you think Professor Nine's planning on dealing with her?"

"It's hard to tell."

"If you ask me, he'll probably speak to her himself. His bronze is bigger than his brains," one of them says. "Lucky us."

"That seems unlikely," Ran juts in. "Idiotic or not, Nine wouldn't be so irrational."

"Well, if he's so smart, why'd he let Taylor get kidnapped? Hell, we wouldn't have been able to leave in the first place if his security were tighter-stringed. In my opinion, we'll all screwed."

"Now wait, Nine will figure something out," says Taylor. She's probably the most reasonable one of the three of them, though Ran is up there as well. "We just need to be patient."

A door shuts, and for a while, it's silent, but when Isabela chimes in again with a plan of her own—an ill-sighted plan, might I add, like the one that got me where I am—I tune her out. Frankly, I'm not interested in anything they're talking about; them, Nine, Malcolm, and Lexa altogether. They've been meeting underneath the HGA every night since we got back to talk about the Foundation problem, and although they pressed me to show up too, I only showed up once.

It's not that I don't care about bringing Einar and the Foundation to justice—I want to see them behind bars just as much as anyone—but I'm also scared as hell, and what's more, I don't want to run into, well, him. I know John's probably looking for me, but if Nine hasn't gone back on his word in keeping my suite number private—and he mustn't have if John didn't knock on my door yet—then he won't. I don't want anything to do with him, but... I can't deny that I still want him—more than anything. It's like there's an empty hole in the pit of my stomach yearning for him, hungry for him, even though I know he won't give me what I need.

So, during the one and only meeting I did attend down there, if I recall correctly, they were talking about potential moles in their administration that could've stolen information in the student's files, like Taylor. Dr. Susan Chen, the dean of academics; Colonel Ray Archibald, the head of security; and Dr. Linda Matheson, the head of health and well-being were at the top of their list of suspects.

They talked a lot about it and went back and forth over the same ground so many times, it was starting to get annoying, and eventually, I tired of it. I stood and told them as flatly as I could that it was Dr. Linda. I didn't explain my reasoning or how I knew, but I made sure to convey that I did know before I walked out. I still have no idea if they questioned her or anything yet.

I haven't left my room since. Maybe it's been at least a week. No one has bothered to come in to check on me; no one except Malcolm really, now that I think about it. Nine must've told him I was here, but thankfully, that's it. I just need to hope that Malcolm and Nine are the only ones that know I'm still on campus. I know I could've gone home, but just the thought of dad being all "I told you so" about dating an alien boy led me not to.

So, I curl up under the covers, hide from the light peering through the curtains, and try to forget everything that happened since Nine and I went to Iceland, and how everything fell apart, literally. It's like my whole life was reset; it might as well has.

The reality still shakes me: Einar killed me.

Nine said I wasn't breathing, that my heart literally stopped, but Ran... it was Ran that brought me back. She used her Legacy—kinetic detonation—and she brought me back, though now, I'm not so sure she should've. I didn't want to die, but if I had known this would've been my outcome—losing my alien boy—well, I think I would've rather drowned in that lake after all. I hate thinking it, but it's true, and it's there, and the reality of my situation is real.

I don't know what to do.

Luckily, a knock sounds from the door, interrupting my self-loathing. "Emily?" Malcolm's voice cuts through from the other side, a faint whisper in the silence from the hall. "I'm coming in. I brought you some pie and a bagel from the cafeteria."

It's come to a point where Malcolm doesn't even ask before entering my suite anymore; he knows I won't answer anyway. I turn over to face the curtained window so I'm not facing him when he drops it off on my bedside. He drops it off with ease, then sits on the edge of my bed. I cringe as the mattress shifts beneath me but otherwise, try not to move a muscle.

But when Malcolm rests a hand on my shoulder, I flinch, and immediately curse myself for letting him know that I'm awake. "You really should eat something," he says. "You haven't eaten anything since—"

"Don't say it," I warn, and to my instant relief, he removes his hand.

"You need to come out eventually, Emily," he goes on. "We're all here for you, really; we want to be. You just need to let us in."

"No. Not really," I rebuke. "There's only one person I want, and I know he won't—"

"Yes," he interjects. "Yes, he will. John's here too, Emily. He misses you."

I shake my head because it's all I can do. I'm too choked up on tears to say anything more. I just want to be left alone. There's nothing I can say to Malcolm, or Nine, or him that'll fix any of this; I don't even know where to begin! I just wish he'd leave me alone, let me cry, sleep, and wallow in my own self-pity, alone. I don't need him caring for me.

Malcolm pats my back above the blanket. "Try to eat something," he tries. "Please."

Then he's gone, and I turn over again to see the bagel wrapped in paper and the slice of blueberry pie—my favourite flavour too—waiting for me on the nightstand. It's not that I'm not hungry; I am, but the only time I tried to eat even a little bit of something my first day here, well, for one, I couldn't stop thinking about everything I've done wrong, and two, I've been getting these awful cramps, and anytime I take in an ounce of food, my stomach won't keep it down. But, of course, I haven't told anyone, not even Malcolm, because as much as I hate that he keeps trying to coax me into going out and eating or whatever, I also kind of appreciate it. It shows that he cares, which is more than I got from... from him that night...

Ugh! I can't get him out of my head!

Pixie though, unlike Malcolm or the love of my life that I so thoroughly betrayed, hasn't left my side. She sleeps at my feet and stretches out until her wet nose touches my elbow. I risk a peak at her under the blanket and her emerald eyes seem to sparkle.

"What?" I ask, my tone annoyed. "Stop looking at me like that. I know I messed up."

But her pout isn't one that's necessarily reprimanding me for my wrongs, more like it's telling me to eat my fucking bagel. It's like she knows how hungry my body is—I guess she can hear it growl—but can't she see how much I don't deserve it?

"Fine," I give. "I'll eat. But I'm not eating everything."

I reach for the plate of pie; it's hot and steamy. Pixie crawls out from under the covers and looks at me eagerly, as if she's needy for a piece too, so I give her some of the crust once it's cool enough. It's as sweet as it is back home, which tells me immediately that it's probably store-brand, not homemade. Good enough for me; I couldn't care less either way.

I offer Pixie another piece and another until nearly half of it's gone, and she turns away. Though I can still hear her stomach growl at the foot of the bed; I don't like the fact that she's making me finish this. My stomach's already starting to ache.

I set the plate of leftovers aside next to the bagel and lie back on my side, but for some reason, that just makes my stomach hurt worse, until suddenly, I can taste bile rise into my throat, and while I try to hold it down this time, ultimately, I'm rushing to the bathroom. I cough up the pie into the toilet, the lingering twang of sweet berries no longer sweet and groan as I retch.

"Ugh, what the hell is wrong with me," I mutter, wiping my mouth and sinking onto my heels, though I be sure to hold onto the bowl firmly just in case there's more that comes up.

I don't know how long I stay for, but by the time I drag myself back to bed, the bedroom already looks darker, the sun set. I fall asleep with my face in the pillow, the sheets pulled up and over my head. Pixie, I feel, settles in again at the end.