Lit: A Story

Chapter Seventeen

The infirmary is located three blocks from the lodge. We can easily get in, because we are camp counselors and all, but those things are off my mind. Right now, my mind is clouded with worry -- worry for a person who does not deserve it.

I don't like feeling uncomfortable and scared for Ezra. God knows I will stop at nothing to make his life miserable, but there is some tugging in my chest, like a switch being flipped on and off whenever he is around.

In one way or another, I still feel for Ezra. I just don't know what I feel about him.

"Where's Dauns?" I ask the nurse. She looks at me with sad eyes. Goodness, I hate that look. It makes me squirm.

"First room. Private," she points to the left.

My feet carry me as fast as it could. My eyes are not prickling; they will not shed tears. They have shed enough tears for Ezra. Bastard, always has the power to trigger my tears.

He is laying a bit too stiffly on the cot, the blanket positioned up to his shoulders. He is breathing a bit too quickly for someone who is at rest. I snort, drawing the curtains down.

"You can stop faking sleep."

"You can walk silently."

Ezra has his eyes open. I remain where I stand. No "I came as soon as I heard", though it is what happened. No "I am so worried, I think I'll be sick" too, as it will be so out of character for me. I am not a worrier; nobody can withstand my indifference.

Minutes pass. Ezra winces. I glance at him.  He reaches for a pillow. "Will you end my suffering?"

I laugh bitterly. I close the distance between us, my sneakers squeaking on the white vinyl tiles. I see his face, serene despite the inner pain I am sure he is going through."Why must I end your suffering? You deserve it."

"I forgot who I am talking to," Ezra sighs. "If I ask Tasha to do it, she will. I'll be in the stars now."

"Tasha does not think before she acts."

"I know."

There is an uneasy air that hung above us. My hands itch, wanting to reach out for something. My gaze drops on Ezra’s thin fingers, so child-like in comparison to what he really is. Reluctantly, I place my hand atop his.

Ezra gasps, but he does not pull it away. He flips his hand and hooks his fingers on the spaces of mine. It feels foreign, yet so familiar. Just like how I feel for him -- I hate him, yet I still care. I badly care.

"I am tired," he closes his eyes.

"So let go."

"I can only let go if you want me to let go."

There he is again, being considerable of what I feel. There is he again, being his real self, not moving on because there is a part of him that attaches him to this world. I let him see what I want him to see; acceptance, care, forgiveness...

"Let me go, Ezra."

He smiles that special smile, the one he used to give to me when our relationship is still unlabeled, when we are still us. My heart skips a beat. Ezra unlatches something from his necklace. It is of a simple black band. He places it in my hand; I am surprised by its familiarity.

"If I don't return, you know where to find me."

I press his hand before letting go. Possibly forever.