Enzo follows a moment later, streams of cum jetting from his cock and leaking down his hand. Every vein in his body is strung tight, pulsing against his flesh as he seems to come and come, curses spilling from his mouth.
“Fuck, Sawyer,” he groans, and hearing my name—my real name—fall from his tongue is my undoing.
“Oh my God, Enzo,” I cry, my orgasm spiking to an almost violent level before finally waning.
While I work to catch my breath, Enzo rips his t-shirt over his head and cleans himself up, the silence pressing in.
My head is fucking pounding, and I’m pretty sure there’s some rule that says you shouldn’t orgasm with a concussion, but the only thing I can focus on is what he said.
I hate you, too, baby.
He asked me for a lie. But I never asked him for one.
“Was… was that a truth or a lie?” I ask quietly, my voice still hoarse.
He glances at me, tossing his t-shirt to the side and standing. Still, he stays quiet as he pulls his shorts back on, prompting me to now suddenly feel exposed. I wrap the towel back around me while he straightens.
“Enzo?” I push.
When his eyes meet mine, my chest caves. There’s no emotion on his face, as if what we just did meant nothing.
It didn't mean anything.
With one last lingering look, he turns away, walking out of the room without a word and shutting the door softly behind him.
My lip trembles, but I clamp it between my teeth, refusing to cry over him.
We built our tower to Heaven, but God is angry again, and once more, we’re speaking different languages.
Chapter 22
Sawyer
Nothing makes you feel more alive than being imprisoned within the ocean’s cold embrace.
My teeth chatter as I sit on the sandy bottom floor, tipping my chin up to the moon and allowing the ends of my hair to be tossed in the waves.
“What are you doing?” a deep, stern voice says from behind me.
I jump, not expecting him. After him leaving me naked on the bed last night, we’ve been avoiding one another since we awoke this morning. Or rather, I’ve been avoiding him. Every time we’re in the same room, he stares at me openly, but I’ve been too chickenshit to speak to him.
I’m still hurt, and I don’t even have the right to be. Enzo should hate me. I just don’t want him to.
“Having an existential crisis,” I answer mildly.
The sun has set, and we only have a couple of hours left before Sylvester locks us in the room. I needed to take advantage of my time left while I can. I walked to the opposite end of the island to get away, but I still didn’t feel any closer to freedom.
I stare up at the big ball in the sky that controls the body of water I’m treading in.
Screw Poseidon. I think there’s a lunar goddess above that deserves our worship and respect instead.
“Do you believe in aliens?” I ask.
“If you've seen some of the creatures that live in the ocean, it's not much of a stretch to believe they exist elsewhere too.”
I smile. “Do you think I’d be happier if I lived in another world?”
His response isn't immediate, but it stops my heart anyway. “Maybe. But I wouldn't be.”
A soft breeze brushes across my chilled skin, eliciting another shiver to rack my body.
“Get out of the water, Sawyer,” he demands.
I turn to peek over my shoulder, noticing my green bathing suit top dangling in his hand. I’m still wearing my bottoms, but I wanted to feel the water across my skin.
“What will take me first? A sea creature or hypothermia?”
“You'd run from a sea creature,” he states dryly.
I chuckle, turning back to the moon. “You're right. Hypothermia it is.”
“That won't happen, either. I don't think you're ready to die.”
I shake my head. He's wrong. I've been ready. I've just been too stubborn to give up doing the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Live.
“I’ve never feared death, Enzo. I’m only afraid to live and it all be for nothing.” A tear slips from my eye, despite my attempts to hold it back. “I’ve spent so much time running that I don’t remember why I’m living.”
Again, I turn my head over my shoulder to look at him. His jaw is shadowed with a beard, aging him just as deliciously as whiskey.
“Do you remember why you’re living?”
It takes him several moments to answer. “Even as a kid, I was angry at the world, and I was always told that I’d waste my life away if I settled into that anger. Of course, I didn’t care. And until recently, I stayed firm in that way of thinking. I didn’t care about life when I felt so goddamn worthless to the one who was supposed to love me most. Then you came around and stole it from me. Yet somehow, it feels like you gave it back instead.”