In the moment, it seemed to last forever, but huge chunks of the night have been taken from my memory that it makes the day feel too short.
Slowly, I start coming back to reality, realizing that I’m not in Enzo’s room. I’m in the woods with Langston.
The part of the story I’ve spoken so far is known. I could keep going; I could get to the part that he still knows, but if I take it far enough, I could speak a truth he doesn’t know.
But I can’t.
I’m drained from telling that much of the story.
The pain that comes after is too much. It’s not something I speak about.
I won’t be able to gain myself more time. I’ll be sleeping in the dirt on an uninhabited island with my enemy, who will punish me for lying.
At least I can lash out at him with the end of my story.
I glance over at Langston. He’s still sitting on the log; his eyes focused on me through the flames of the fire. He’s motionless, expressionless—almost like a statue.
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t call out any part as a lie. He doesn’t tell me that I’ve already told this story before.
My eyes meet his for the first time since I’ve been talking. Actually, I have no idea if my eyes have met his or not. When I was telling the story, it was like I was reliving it.
Now, though, is about delivering a blow to Langston.
“I was angry at Enzo when I thought he knew what happened to me and didn’t stop it. When he didn’t help me. Didn’t save me. But I still wanted him. Still thought I could fall in love with him. He was still the better man, the better choice.”
I pause.
And I notice Langston’s shoulders tense—disagreeing with me.
“You know why? Because Enzo didn’t know what his father did. I just thought he did. He should have known, but he didn’t. But there was someone who did know. Someone who watched it all happen from the security camera.”
I glare at Langston.
“You. You watched me get raped by that sadistic devil. You watched my life be torn apart. You saw what happened next, and you did nothing.”
My voice shakes as I speak. This isn’t new. I’ve told this story to our friend group. Langston was there. But I’ve never screamed it in his face. Never confronted him with what could be the truth.
Langston is always watching. He’s the best at security. He knew what happened to me. He was either watching in real-time, or he watched a recording.
He knew, and he did nothing.
My body shakes, but tears never come. I don’t feel sadness, pain, or fear. Not after that night. Not after my worst night, still yet to come.
Langston watches me through the fire.
And for a moment, I think he’s going to say nothing.
“I was just doing my job,” he says.
“You’re a heartless monster.”
He stands up. “And you’re a liar.”
16
Langston
Liesel is a liar.