Chapter 2

I woke up properly a few hours later, the sun high in the sky. My body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder. I sat up slowly, the world spinning for a moment. Ethan was still by the fire, but he was alone now, staring into the flames. I saw him first, and a stupid, instinctual wave of relief washed over me before I remembered.

He was alive. He was okay.

Then the memory of his words, his praise for Tiffany, crashed back down on me. The relief curdled into a bitter acid in my stomach.

He didn't notice I was awake. He looked weak, his face pale beneath his tan. The gash on his forehead was still angry and red. Without thinking, I got to my feet, my legs shaking, and stumbled over to the small stream I had found earlier. I soaked a clean piece of my torn shirt in the cool water and walked back to him.

I knelt beside him. "You need to keep the wound clean," I said, my voice flat and emotionless.

He looked up, startled. His gray eyes widened in surprise, and for a second, I saw a flicker of something unreadable in them. Confusion? Guilt? It was gone before I could be sure.

"Chloe," he said. He didn't move as I gently dabbed the cloth around his injury. His skin was hot to the touch. He had a fever.

"Where did you go?" he asked, his voice a low rasp.

"I passed out," I said simply, not looking at him. I focused on cleaning the wound, my movements clinical and detached. "I was tired."

I finished and stood up to leave, but he grabbed my wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong. "Tiffany said you ran off after the crash."

I pulled my arm away. "Did she?" I looked at him then, my eyes as cold as I could make them. "Then I guess that' s what happened."

I walked away without another word, leaving him staring after me. I couldn't bear to be near him.

The next few days were a blur of survival. I was stronger than I looked. My foster father, before he died, had loved the outdoors. He had taught me things, how to find clean water, what plants were safe to eat, how to make a simple shelter. While Sarah and Mike complained and Tiffany clung to Ethan, looking helpless, I worked. I found a source of fresh water, gathered edible roots and fruits, and helped Liam build a stronger shelter against the nightly chill.

I did it for myself. I did it because I wanted to live. But a part of me did it for him, too. I made a thin, nourishing broth from some roots and brought a bowl to Ethan. He was still weak, the fever lingering. He needed to eat.

He took the bowl from me, his fingers brushing mine. I flinched away from his touch.

"Thank you, Chloe," he said, his voice quiet.

I just nodded and walked away. I couldn't bring myself to speak to him more than was absolutely necessary.

One afternoon, I was trying to make a small snare to catch a rabbit. I was desperate for some real protein. My hands were cut and bleeding from weaving tough vines together. I was so focused, I didn't hear him approach.

"Let me help," Ethan said, appearing beside me.

He took the vines from my hands, his fingers gently pushing mine aside. He worked with a quiet efficiency, his hands strong and sure. In minutes, he had finished the snare.

"You always were good with your hands," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. It was a memory from a different life, when he had taught me how to build a birdhouse.

He looked at me, a sad smile touching his lips. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything," I said, and the bitterness was back, sharp and cutting.

I took the snare and walked away, my heart aching with the ghost of what we used to be.

A day later, I finally did it. I found them. I led the group through the dense jungle, following the path I had memorized when I carried Ethan. We found the others huddled in their makeshift camp near the beach. There were about ten of them in total. Hope, for the first time in days, felt real. We were a larger group now. We had a better chance.

I was so relieved, so utterly drained, that the moment we reached the camp and I saw Liam coordinating the survivors, my knees buckled. The world went dark as I collapsed onto the sand.

When I woke up, I was back in the shelter, and I heard their voices. It was the same conversation, a different verse.

"I can' t believe she did that," Tiffany was saying, her voice a poisonous whisper. "She just left you for dead, Ethan. And now she comes back, acting like she' s some kind of hero."

I lay perfectly still, my eyes closed, listening.

"It was Tiffany who saved me," Ethan' s voice was firm, resolute. "She was the one who was there when I woke up. She' s the reason I' m alive."

My heart, which I thought couldn't break any further, splintered.

"And now she' s trying to take all the credit," Tiffany continued, her voice rising in fake indignation. "She' s so selfish, so manipulative. She was always trying to get your attention, wasn' t she? Even trying to come between us."

"I know," Ethan said, his voice hard. He walked over to where I was lying. I felt his shadow fall over me. I kept my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep.

"Chloe," he said, his voice low and full of disappointment. "I don' t know what' s gotten into you. Your foster parents would be so ashamed of your behavior. This isn't a game. People's lives are at stake. Your selfishness could have gotten us all killed."

I didn' t move. I didn' t breathe. The words washed over me, a tide of black, suffocating despair. He believed her. He believed every single lie. My explanation, my truth, it didn' t matter. In his eyes, I was the villain.

A profound, chilling numbness settled over me. It was like a part of my soul had been frozen solid. The pain was still there, a deep, throbbing ache, but it was distant now, muffled by a layer of ice.

I had tried. I had loved him with everything I had. I had saved his life at the risk of my own. And it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

He had made his choice on that plane. He had chosen Tiffany. He had chosen to believe her lies. And I had to choose myself.

I opened my eyes and stared at the thatched roof of the shelter. The decision was no longer a thought. It was a fact, as solid and real as the ground beneath me.

I would survive. I would escape this island. And then, I would erase Ethan from my life, just as he had erased my sacrifice from his memory. This time, for good.