Ashes

Chapter 8

I check my watch. 01:00. A good hour before the boys agreed to meet up.I bugged Shelton until he texted me when and where, not before informing me many, many times that if Ben found out it was him who told me, all the flares in the world wouldn't be able to save him.

He was right. And that wasn't the only thing they were right about.

They were right about going to get him first. Right to act straight away, immediately. It's what I would have said, too.

They - Ben- was right about liabilities. You cut them loose. Save the rest of the boat. It's what I would have said, too.

More than anything else, though? He was right when he said that it was me who the Gamemaster was after. Which is why all the other stuff wouldn't save them.

That arrow wasn't bait, or a warning to stay clear, or a threat. I don't think it was even a threat. OK, maybe a bit. But most of all, it was a challenge.

Come and play, it said. I will win this time, it said. You will die.

Nope. Sorry, Mr Psycho (sorry Ben), that's not how I roll. I'm winning this time. Just like before.

I'm almost at the stairs when the phone rings. Cursing, I hustle back into my room, hoping - praying- that Kit didn't wake up. It's Ben. I weigh my options.

No, I don't want to talk to him (I don't, I swear). Yes, he will get suspicious if I don't answer. Unless he'll get more suspicious if I don't?

Swallowing down swearwords, I press the receive. Better be suitably angry, though.

"What?"

There's a pause down the other end, a sigh.

"I just wanted to make sure you're OK."

"Oh, now you do? Well that's funny Ben, because you didn't seem to care one bit before."

"Tory-"

"No! You know what, say whatever the hell you want to me, Ben. But you do not get to call me afterwards and pretend like we're all fine! We're not!"

"Just, don't go out tonight, OK?"

"Well, finally we got to the actual reason you called. Congratulations! I wonder how many -"

I'm stopped because there's a thud at the window and Ben just hung up. Shivering, even though I know it can't be him yet, it can't, I move over. 

Just Ben. The night sky seems to kind of come alive as I see him, and I hate that almost as much as I hate him. I go down. The air smells like fresh cliffs and wood and sea and Ben. I don't know if I can deal with the last part when his eyes are glowing like that's how they're meant to be. Like he was born with them like this, like he was born for this.

They narrow when they see what I'm wearing. 

"Dressed for bed?"

Whoops.

"Why are you here, Ben?"

"To make sure you don't do anything stupid."

I snort, turn away. "Wow. Thank's for the trust."

"Well it's true, isn't it? Look at me, Tory, please."

His eyes are so pretty. Like glass. Like the sea. Like glass made out of the sea. And his voice is kind of soft, kind of like a wave. 

"I just don't want you to get hurt, Tory."

Who is Tory? Who is this boy? I don't really get why I'm here... 

"Does my mom know I'm here?"

His face scrunches up. I hiss.

"No, don't do that. You were so pretty before."

The boy takes a step towards me."Tory?"

I laugh. "No one calls me Tory, silly. I'm Victoria Grace Brennan, but you can call me Brennan." I hold out my hand. Then stare at it. "My nails used to be longer?"

The boy takes my hand, but doesn't shake it. How odd. I giggle. He's quite close now. Why is he looking at me like that?

"You're pretty, but I don't know if I like you."

I don't know if I like anything. My arms are a pale blur in the night. I feel ill. I don;t remember it being night before.

The boy is shouting in my face. I don't like him for sure now. Why does he keep calling me Tory? I haven't been a Tory since third grade.

"Your eyes are especially pretty, but I don't think they're meant to glow like that. You should see a doctor or something. My aunt is a doctor, but a special type."

Wait, aunt? I'm confused again. I don't have an aunt.

The world is getting smaller and smaller. The boy is holding me properly now, and it's a good job because I can't really stand up. I'm just so tired.

I want to sleep, but his pretty eyes are hurting my head, and he keeps shouting at me. He looks scared. Like, really scared. And confused. Huh, just like me. Maybe that's why we're both here? I think I should call my mom now.

His eyes make the night sky look like it has two bright spots of daylight in it. He scoops me up and for a second I can't see them, nearly panic. But then he's bending over me again, whispering something urgently.

I don't really know what. His eyes are so, so pretty. I want to reach up, to touch them, but my arm is slipping and I'm slipping, too.