Page 115 of Crown of Thorns
“What the hell are you talking about?” I shove him again, harder. The back of his head slams against the wall. The sickening sound gives me a flicker of satisfaction, but it doesn’t last, because behind me, Louis rouses.
“Noah.” He sounds tired, his voice rough. But before he says anything more, I see it, his lips parted, like he’s been trying to scream for hours. Has it really been that long? Time collapses around us, hazy and indistinct. But it’s written in his eyes, in the tremble of his mouth. However long I was unconscious, he’s been here, waiting, suffering. Nothing comes out, not pain, not blame. Just silence. And when he finally breathes my name, it’s like a thread snapping loose in my chest.
There’s something else there. Something that makes my stomach churn. Is it anger? No. It’s worse. It’s grief.
“I’ve come to collect you, sweetheart.” My gaze is still on Monsieur Z., my knife still pressed against his flesh.
He laughs, the sound making my blood boil. The tip of my knife breaches his skin, and I slowly drag it to his collarbone, the wound forming a red cut that makes him wince through his grimace. “He doesn’t want you,” he manages. The knife halts.
I cock my head. “What do you mean?”
“It’s over, Professor. I showed him the paper you wrote. The one you thought was safely hidden in your desk drawer. You really didn’t notice the cameras I installed in your office?”
I stagger back like he punched the air from my lungs. Cameras. My desk. That drawer. He’d been watching me for God knows how long. Had Louis seen the paper himself? Or did he watch the footage? That envelope was sealed. Confidential. Deadly.
Z doesn’t advance. He doesn’t need to. Just leans there, his smile curving like a knife, proud of the chaos he’s unleashed.
He tilts his head, voice dipped in theatrical cruelty. “Oh, and the thorns?” he says casually. “That was my little touch. Neither of you knew the shed existed. That’s what made it perfect. A hidden stage for memory, warped just enough. I wrapped it in thorns because pain needs a boundary, don’t you think? A little altar to remind you that this legacy doesn't forget. It bleeds.”
I don’t need to look at Louis to feel it, his silence, his heartbreak. The sting of betrayal radiates from him in waves.
Still, I try. “It’s not what you think.”
“No?” Louis sounds so tired, so small. It breaks my heart into a thousand pieces. Even when he huffs, his breathy voice is filled with sorrow. “I thought you loved me, too. I thought everything we had meant something. Even when you pushed me away… I still hoped you’d choose me.”
“Aww…how sad,” Zachary taunts. “But those are the ways of love. Self-destruction. Pitiful. Your future is over, Professor. Just like your granddad, you played a big game. Just like him, you lost.”
“You fucking asshole!” I roar. This time, my knife slashes him. It’s a calculated attack, despite my turbulent emotions. I want to wound him, not kill him. Still, it’s meant to be vicious and painful, the cut leading all the way from the side of the neck down to his Adam’s apple. The fucker goes down, and I make my way instantly to Louis, grabbing hold of his attached wrists. His head is lolled back, and his eyes are glazed as he watches me fumbling with the ropes.
“You wrote that paper,” he breathes. “Why?”
I pause. “I was angry. It wasn’t meant for anyone to see. It was a draft. A thought experiment, locked away. I never planned to use it, never submitted it. It was just something I needed to write down to survive the moment.”
“So you turned your back on me?” So typical of Louis to sound surprised, even a little indignant, despite his current state. “I would always have stayed by your side. You betrayed me.” The words come out in a whisper that punches me straight in the gut.
Footsteps echo through the corridor, but I’m caught in his deathtrap. Caught in those charcoal eyes. In the hurt. The pain. The disappointment.
“I didn’t want to. Listen to me, Louis, I didn’t mean to. I was bitter. You gave me the perfect opportunity to get an inside glimpse.”
“All I wanted was some fun. You used my intentions.”
“Don’t say that. You bribed me. I needed to—” fight back. Always fighting for survival. I look away, suddenly embarrassed. “You turned me into a ghost of the man I swore I’d never become. All I wanted was to?—”
“Louis!” Arthur’s voice, raw and panicked, barrels down the hall ahead of them. The sound of boots, frantic and fast, fills the corridor outside. The family is coming. They’re almost here.
He scoffs. “You can’t even say it, can you?”
More footsteps.
“Louis!”
Someone pushes me aside. Hard.
The projector hums louder, and I feel the cold bloom of recognition in my gut before the first grainy frame flickers to life. The screen glows with grainy footage, our most private moment, now defiled. Horror grips my gut as I realize what they’re seeing. Louis’ family is all over the place, ignoring me like I’m not there, but I feel their judgment like knives pressed to my skin.
Arthur kneels down in front of his twin and cups his face between his hands. “Shit…what did they do to you?” he whispers, fingers trembling as he works at the knots binding Louis’s wrists. “We’re here. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
Louis’s head falls against Arthur’s shoulder, his body slumping in fragile relief as his eyes flutter closed. Arthur clutches him tighter, one arm holding his brother to his chest, the other still working the ropes with a hand that’s shaking with rage, as if by holding Louis close, he can undo the pain.
