Chapter 18

“Why are you so mad? I don’t get it.” Mouse tried to make him look at him by grabbing his arm, but Francesco wasn’t in the mood.

They were finally alone, and it looked as if everyone had returned to their business as usual. It was as if they hadn’t gangbanged Anya just earlier.

“If I have to explain it to you, then you’re not the guy I thought you were,” Francesco spat angrily.

Mouse withdrew his hand. “I’m starting to think that Karl’s a bit right about you. You’re a fucking whore in denial.”

Francesco grabbed Mouse hard by the front of his t-shirt and raised his fist.

Mouse stared at him with defiant eyes. “Are you going to hit me? For calling you what you are?”

Francesco ground his teeth but lowered his arm. “No, I’m not going to hit you. I’m not like the rest of you.”

He walked out of the hut. He needed air. He needed to be anywhere else but there. Nowhere was safe. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that. But it still hurt like hell to realize that these boys couldn’t be his friends. There was a chasm between them and him, and he wasn’t willing to be the one to cross it and become like them.

He no longer spent his nights in the hut he shared with Mouse. The redhead had come to him, again and again, first just trying to get him to talk, then offering himself, then yelling at him. But he had remained resolute in his decision to have nothing to do anymore with the whole bunch, Mouse included.

He worked side by side with them, but he met each offer of a sign of friendship with icy stares. In the end, everyone decided to let him be. With the surety that there were other people on the island, dangerous people, everybody had become a bit wary and they often worked in silence, securing their defenses.

Francesco had taken to long walks. He wanted to know about the danger that surrounded them, and he didn’t want to be kept in the dark. Karl had warned him not to wander very far, but he wasn’t in the mood to take any more orders. He was careful, developing an extra sense, learning the voices of the forest.

And he was all alone, he stood by the side of the tree, his head caught in his hands and let it all out. His frustration at Mouse, his anger at Karl, his disappointment at Leon, and everyone else. It was the only time when he allowed himself to weep. He missed having Mouse wrapped around him. The redhead was a mess, too, and he knew it. Anya had tried to tell him a few times about how he should forgive his boyfriend, but he had brushed it all off.

Could he trust anyone? Karl was fucked up, Mouse had a darkness in him that Francesco was scared of, and he really didn’t know the others. If what Mouse had said that day was true, everyone else but him was there for things that were much, much worse than what he had done to his stepfather. And what was Mouse in for, anyway? There were secrets between them, and Francesco feared now to learn them all.

A branch broke, not far, making him jump to his feet. All his senses kicked in.

“It’s me, Francesco.”

He let out a breath as Morgan appeared through the trees. He was just as well dressed as that day, and the short stubble on his face was present there, too. Francesco wondered randomly whether the guy could never grow a beard for some unfathomable reason.

“Hi,” he said timidly. Suddenly, he had no idea what to do with his hands.

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Tea?” Francesco looked around. “Where?”

Morgan smiled and gestured with his chin. “Just follow me. I have cookies, too.”

Francesco snickered. “That has to be a lie. Don’t be cruel, man. I don’t remember the shape of cookies, let alone how they taste.”

Morgan took him by the shoulders. Francesco felt safe near that man. That day, he had helped them and asked for nothing in return. Suddenly, his distrust reared its head. What if Morgan had ulterior reasons? What if he wanted to harm them and maybe hunt them with his shotgun through the woods? But that wasn’t what his gut instinct was telling him about this man.

“A penny for your thoughts, Francesco.”

“Nothing! I mean, I wasn’t thinking about anything.”

Morgan laughed, and soon they were in a clearing. He noticed a small camping stove with a pot on top of it. “A bit of warm tea will pick you up like nothing else.”

Francesco sat on a log as Morgan poured him a cup. Then the man opened a metal box and Francesco could swear he was about to cry at the sight of those chocolate chip cookies. He grabbed one with hesitant fingers.

“You can have more,” Morgan encouraged him. “Only that you need to eat them here. Let’s not have to others know about me, okay?”

Karl had kept it a secret, and he had done the same without thinking. Anya didn’t remember anything, so no one else knew about Morgan.

So he nodded and reached for another cookie. “Morgan,” he asked after a while, as the warmth of the tea began spreading from his belly to the rest of his body, “who are you, really?”

“Are you Karl’s spy?” The dark eyes glinted with amusement.

Francesco shook his head.

“Then forgive me if I won’t tell you.”

“Did Karl’s dad send you?” Francesco asked abruptly. He stared into his tea cup, holding it with both hands.

Morgan tipped his chin gently. “Clever boy. Pretty, too.”

He blushed and looked away. He hated himself for being such a whore, and under Morgan’s gaze, he could feel his blood rushing to his cheeks. It was enough for a man like that to pay him any mind, and he couldn’t help thinking of – Morgan took his cup and put it down. Then, he took Francesco’s face into his hands and began caressing it with his thumbs. Francesco couldn’t help but stare into those black eyes who now seemed lit up with hidden fire.