Ultraxenopia (Project W. A. R. Book 1) (26 page)

There's nothing else to say
now—nothing else to stop me. So without another word, I stand to leave. I walk
toward the open doorway, prepared to move on with my goal in sight. Ready to
not look back.

But something stops me.
Something drags me back, refusing to let go.

Jenner’s hand grips my
wrist, turning me around until I’m landing in his arms. He pulls me close to
his body and crushes his lips to mine before I can even take a breath. I have
no time to react. No time to stop the kiss from happening.

He holds me against him,
pinning me so I can't move. Suddenly, I’m hearing everything this moment is
trying to tell me.

What
he’s
trying to
tell me.

I can sense his unspoken
feelings in the way his lips touch mine. The eagerness. The affection. Even the
anger. It takes me by surprise, and yet, it also hurts my heart. In spite of
how much I care about him, I don’t feel the same way.

I can’t return those
feelings.

After what feels like a
lifetime, he finally releases me. His blue eyes gaze down into mine, pleading
alongside one simple word.

“Stay,” he gasps against my
lips.

I stare at him as the word
reverberates in my ears.

Stay.

Stay . . .

“Stay here. Stay with me.”

My eyes well with tears as
I become submerged in the memory of my dream of Ezra. This moment feels so
reminiscent of that, but it also feels wrong.

Jenner isn’t the one I
should be embracing.

Jenner isn’t supposed to be
the one begging me to stay.

My heart feels like glass
that’s been shattered into a million pieces. The pain is overpowering, even
more so than anything I ever endured at the DSD.

It’s only now that I
understand why the State is so unfeeling. Why our society is so unfeeling.

This pain . . .

Why would anyone ever
choose
to feel this way?

Still, I suppose there’s a
silver lining to be found in all of this. At least now I know.

That dream . . .

It was never real.

I stumble back, taking a
step away from Jenner.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He stares at me, his eyes
filled with all of the emotions I felt in our kiss. Then his expression changes
until the person standing before me seems different somehow. A stranger to me
now more than the friend I’ve come to know.

He tilts his head, looking
down at me with a cruel distance that breaks my heart even more.

“If
I
can’t get you
to stay, what will?” he wonders.

I don’t answer him. The
truth is nothing will make me stay. Nothing can. Not when there’s so much
dependent on me leaving.

“Goodbye, Jenner,” I
murmur.

I turn away from him as the
dam barring my emotions finally breaks. The tears spill down my cheeks as my
feet pull me through the door.

My movements are listless
on my way through the compound, and on more than one occasion, I find myself
thinking of Jenner. That wasn’t how I wanted to leave things between us, or how
I wanted—or expected—our farewell to go. It makes me overly aware of the
profound effect this place has had on me, making it even more imperative that I
leave while I still have the chance.

It’s now or never.

I plot out my plan of
action to distract myself from the guilt.
I know how to get to the
hatch, so assuming I can make it that far, I’ll find my way back—one way or
another. It’ll take a while, but I’ll get there.

All that’s left is to
prepare myself, and then I’ll go. I’ll do it quick. Just grab my pack and make
for the door. No more detours.

No more goodbyes.

Ezra’s face abruptly flashes
through my thoughts. No, I wouldn’t be able to handle that farewell. Not now.
Not after everything we’ve been through.

Not considering how I feel.

I nod my head once as a
feeling of determination burns within me.

No more goodbyes,
I promise myself.

I REACH DOWN AND PICK up my pack off
the still wet floor. My bloodstained clothes remain in a filthy heap,
completely undisturbed. I don’t touch them. I try not to even look at them.
They hold too many bad memories that, from this point on, I simply want to
forget. It’s time to move on—to focus only on what I have to do.

Nothing else.

Flipping open the bag, I
peer inside. Everything looks to be in order, and I think I have enough
supplies to get me there. Anything beyond that I won’t have to worry about
anyway. It will all be provided for me.

I cringe as the mental
image of that tiny room materializes in my head. It feels like a lifetime has
passed since then, yet the memory of my time there is still overly fresh—like a
scar from a wound that will never fully heal.

It haunts me, even more so
than the guilt I feel about Rai. And although I had managed to push it back for
a short time, now I can sense it resurfacing once again. Overwhelming my every
thought in a bid to take hold of me, just like this disease taking hold of my
body.

Bile rushes into my mouth,
and I suddenly find myself clinging to the nearest wall for support. Heavy
breaths crush my lungs, scorching my throat on their rise to escape. I dry
heave several times as my body is racked with pure, unadulterated terror.

Now, for the first time
since making my decision.

Now it truly hits me that
I’m going back.

I wipe my hand across my
lips before stumbling over to one of the sinks, my knuckles turning white as my
fingers grip at the sides of the metal.

In. Out. In. Out. My
inhalations are deep and slow as I try to empty my mind of any negative
thoughts and remember why I decided to do this in the first place.

Once again, I picture Ezra.
I see his face, his tears, as well as that final moment. It’s enough to remind
me that there’s no other way.

This is my only option.

My eyes dart up to the
mirror above the sink. It’s strange, but the person in the reflection doesn’t
look like me. Maybe that’s because it isn’t. Or rather, it won’t be. Maybe what
I’m seeing is the part of me I have to abandon in order to move forward.

All the pain.

All the feelings.

They’ll remain here, buried
with her.

I walk back to my quarters
as if in a trance. I go through the motions of preparing myself to leave, but
it’s as if someone else is controlling my body. I can’t help but wonder if it
will be this way from now on. Without attachments or emotion, will I always
feel this inhuman?

My legs give out as I slump
down on the bed. My eyes scan the length of the room, taking in everything
around me one last time—everything I’ve come to care about, even in the few
short weeks I’ve been here. I take it all in, and I say goodbye to it.

My hands fidget in my lap,
my fingers twiddling restlessly. An uncomfortable dull pain occasionally shoots
through my one wrist, but I hardly notice it. The ache is insignificant now—a
drastic difference to how it was before.

Thinking about it only
makes me think of Rai.

I glance down, running my
free hand along the raised incision. I stare at the healing skin. The black
stitches holding it together.

It’s strange to think that
if she hadn’t been there, this all would’ve turned out differently.

The thought makes me feel
sick, since maybe then she’d still be alive. Maybe then, we wouldn’t be faced
with the problem standing before us now. I wouldn’t have this heavy burden
resting on my shoulders. I wouldn’t have to go back.

Because I’d be dead, and
that’s the way it should be.

If I had died then,
everyone here would be safe now. Rai would still be alive. Jenner would stay
alive.
And Ezra . . .

I can't finish the thought.
A hard lump rises in my throat, threatening to suffocate me if I dare to
continue. Instead, I imagine his face. Except I see it just as I did in that
first vision. The first time I ever saw him.

My death would’ve ensured
that his wouldn’t have to happen. I can't escape that fact. Yet, as it stands
at this moment, I’m still alive. So from this point on, I’ll do whatever it
takes to prevent that future. I'll do whatever it takes to prevent that dream.

One way or another, I will
keep him alive.

I clear my throat as I turn
toward my pack. There’s a roll of bandaging in one of the side pockets, which I
use to bind my wrist, all in an effort to block out any lingering thoughts of
Rai. I don’t bother to do it neatly, instead just wrapping it around my arm so
that the incision is covered, that way I have nothing else stopping me from
leaving this place. I’ve wasted enough time already.

If I don’t leave now, I
might never find the strength to.

My thoughts drift in and
out of focus, reducing everything around me to a distant nothingness. The few
sounds entering my ears are limited to white noise—like static that can’t seem
to fully reach me. Only one thing can penetrate the invisible wall I’ve managed
to build.

Only one.

“So, that’s it?”

My heart catches in my
chest, causing me to jump when I hear the voice coming from the doorway.

“You were just going to
leave?”

My head snaps up, and I’m
surprised to find Ezra standing in front of me. I didn’t expect to see him
again, and honestly, I don’t know what to say to him now that he’s here. What
is
there to say? I have to leave one way or another, regardless of my feelings for
him or any argument he might make against it.

My mouth has gone dry and
my pulse is racing. I drop my eyes to avoid his gaze. I swallow the fresh lump
of emotion blocking my throat, telling myself to remain as withdrawn as
possible.

“I take it you spoke with
Jenner,” I murmur.

“Wynter . . . you can’t do
this.” The words spill from his lips in a rush, cutting me off.

I risk glancing up at him
despite the tone of his voice. The anger was easy enough to hear, and it’s just
as obvious in his rigid expression. However, there’s something else
there—something I thought I noticed behind those words.

Something like desperation.

His eyes glow with fear,
begging me to tell him it’s all a lie. That I’m not leaving. That I plan to
stay.

Stay . . .

“Stay here. Stay with me.”

I shake my head, pushing
those words away.

“I have to,” I breathe,
although I say it more to myself than to him. A reminder of what needs to be
done.

Glancing down, I busy my
hands with the bandaging around my wrist. I can’t bring myself to look at him,
especially when I can feel the way his eyes are burning into me—a fiery stare
that sets every molecule in my body on fire.

“Look at me.” His voice is
sharp and commanding.

I ignore it, even though my
heart is screaming for me to comply.

He closes the distance
between us in a few short strides. Reaching down, he tears the dressing almost
violently from my hands.

“You have no idea what
you’re getting yourself into,” he growls.

“And you do?” I ask,
finally looking up at him.

Regardless of my feelings
for him, right now all I want to do is slap him across the face. I’m doing this
for
him
, after all. Does he honestly think that I
want
to
leave—that I
want
to go back there?

I’m only doing this because
it’ll mean he’ll survive.

The temperature in the room
seems to rise over the excruciating moment I’m forced to look back at him. The
anger and frustration swell between us like heat. The combination is
practically tangible—like a cruel weight bearing down on top of us and crushing
our bodies to the floor.

I can’t take it. The look
in his eyes alone is unbearable, and I can feel it chipping away at me every
second I stay here.

If I don’t leave now, I
never will.

Turning my head, I tear my
eyes away from him, breaking his hold on me with that one simple movement. A
jittery breath escapes my lungs as I rise to my feet, however, I muster all of
my remaining willpower to appear strong and unaffected. To appear unfeeling.
Breathing in once more, I grab my pack off the bed, and risking one final
glance over my shoulder, I brush past him.

I make my way for the door,
not speaking a single word.

My footsteps resonate off
the concrete floor, echoing around me like my mute farewell. I can feel the
tears welling in my eyes, brought to the surface by my unruly emotions—wild now
after being freed from the cage they've always been held in.

This . . .
this
is
why I didn’t want to say goodbye to him.

This pain.

This torment.

I didn’t want to feel any
of it.

The distance to the door
seems never-ending. Every step that takes me away from Ezra is agonizing, but
still I trudge on, fighting through the heartbreak ripping through my soul.
After what feels like an eternity, I’m nearly through the open doorway, but
it’s at this moment I notice something unexpected pull me back.

Temptation.

Love
.

Weakness.

I’m not quite sure which.

It drags me back into the
room like a physical force until I realize that what’s holding me is actually
Ezra.
He’s
pulling me back.

He’s
what’s stopping me from
leaving.

His grip is rough as he
turns me around so that we’re standing face-to-face, separated by mere inches.
I gape at him in shock as the oxygen catches in my lungs. He moves closer, and
I can feel the heat from his body as it wraps around me, preventing any hope of
escape.

Before I can even
comprehend what’s happening, the distance shrinks farther until there’s nothing
standing between us. Not tension. Not frustration or anger.

Not even air.

It’s only now that I
realize what I saw before wasn’t a dream. It was real.

It
is
real.

As he deepens the kiss, my
eyes remain wide, held open by my overwhelming confusion. My heart races as I
try to maintain control over my body, but every cell seems to be pulling me in
a thousand directions at once. It feels like not even my skin can keep hold of
me—like I might explode at any moment from the extreme pleasure and pain
coursing through my veins.

When we eventually pull
apart, I can barely breathe. Quiet, fast-paced breaths spill from both of our
lungs, suffocating me alongside the hurricane of my emotions.

I don’t look at him for a
long while. I don’t even blink. I’m afraid that, if I do, I’ll discover that
none of this has happened. After a moment, I lift my eyes, and with a single
glance, I beg him to put me out of my misery.

To tell me why he’s doing
this.

“I don’t want you to go,”
he whispers.

His breath is warm against
my lips, the sensation of which sends a shudder up my spine. I try to stop
myself from shaking, but it’s taking everything I have to simply hold myself
together.

He leans in until our
foreheads touch and gently wraps his arms around my waist.

“Stay here,” he murmurs.
“Stay with
me
.”

I swallow. It’s strange,
but this moment feels more like déjà vu than reality. Maybe it’s because of
that very fact that I’m forced to question it. I want to believe that what he’s
saying to me is real—that what he’s
feeling
is real. However, the truth
is, I’m not entirely sure that I do, or even that I can.

I find myself remembering
our conversation back in the tunnels when he first made that promise to protect
me. I feel just as uncertain as I did at that moment, and I can’t help but
mimic what I said to him then.