23. Solace
Meg wasn't sure what to expect when she gave the Entity the middle finger and curled into herself, trying to retreat into the safety of her own mind. What she found when she came to was…
… her home.
Getting to her feet, Meg passed by the old swing set she played on as a kid; it had long since fallen apart and been forgotten about. Meg wasn't interested in dwelling on it or even exploring her yard, though it had felt like ages since she'd been there. She sprinted to the front door and swung it open. "M-Mom?" She called out, peeking in carefully.
The house was just as she remembered it. Everything was in the exact same place she'd left it, and it smelled of fresh gardenia and cleaning chemicals; both courtesy of her mother, who loved nothing more than to tend to her garden while she regaled Meg with stories of her old tennis career. That was before she'd become bedridden with an autoimmune disease and Meg had to constantly spray down the house with cleaning chemicals to make a sterile environment for her. Times had been tough. Meg had - at least partially - felt like her life had been ruined. Or at least put on pause to help her mother in her last days.
She imagined her mother was long-gone in the real world by now. That thought was too painful to bear so she shook it off and continued investigating. Passing through the kitchen, fingers sliding gently over some old photos on the fridge, Meg hoped to see her mother somewhere. If her brain could conjure her home in perfect condition, couldn't she also create her mother? "I'd give anything to have one last 'listen to win' pep talk," she whispered, trying to keep it together. This was supposed to be a safe space - her own defenses, something to keep her at peace so the Entity couldn't burrow its way into her psyche.
When she entered the living room, Meg saw a tall, bulky man with his back turned to her. She knew immediately who it was, despite the fact that he had a thick head of slicked-back, black hair, and was wearing a white dress shirt with black slacks. He seemed to be adjusting the cuff of his sleeve - that is, until his name tumbled from her lips. "Evan!"
Slowly he turned to her, and recognition lit his eyes - eyes that were the deepest of green. Stubble darkened his mouth and chin and his skin was clear of blemishes. He was breath-taking; even more so when his lips quirked in the slightest hint of a smile at the sight of her. "Meg."
Memories came flooding back. He'd betrayed her. Betrayed them all. Why was he the one her mind brought into her little sanctuary? Why not her mother? Or even Jake, or any of her other friends? Why the man who'd wounded her and betrayed everything she stood for?
"Why are you here?" she found herself demanding before she could think of what else to say.
His hands dropped to his sides. "... I don't know. You chose for me to be here."
"Why would I do that?" Meg bit down on her lower lip to stop its quivering. His voice was just as she remembered; deep and gravelly, like a protective bear. She tried to keep calm, tried to keep her rampant emotions from spilling all over the carpet beneath her feet. "You betrayed me. You sided with… with it. Evan, why?"
"Is that why I am here?" His expression remained neutral. "So you can demand answers?"
"I don't know, you dumb turtle, is it?!" the red-head threw up her hands in exasperation. "Can you even ANSWER my questions if you're just a figment of my imagination?!"
Moments passed and the silence stretched on - until he moved. Calmly and patiently, Evan shifted his bulky body, which seemed to fill up the whole room. As gracefully as a panther he sat on the floor, crossing his legs and staring up at her almost expectantly. "I can try."
The carpet looked soft. Oh so soft. But instead of joining the man on the floor, Meg began pacing back and forth across the room, feeling her emotions bubbling to the surface despite her attempts to keep them under control. "You have done horrible things. You chose to do horrible things. Horrible things to my friends. To innocent people." She continued to pace, her eyes glued to the floor beneath her as she tried to sort through everything. "And yet… you are this way because your father was a cruel psychopath who imposed his will on you." She stopped in place for a moment, overcome by the thought that came after. Her eyes watered. "You were a kind child, once… weren't you…?"
Evan's gaze shifted to the floor. His brows furrowed in thought, lips pursed. His jaw worked as he considered how to answer; Meg had always loved seeing that. It was a quirk that made him so much more… human. It helped to quell the tears that threatened to escape. Finally, Evan said, "I think so." A pause. "I loved to draw. I lost that passion when my father beat it out of me. But sometime in the Fog… I picked it up again. You were my favorite subject. But… I think you know that already."
Meg's hands instinctively dug into her pockets, drawing out the nearly crumpled paper that had made its home there. She unfolded it and looked down at the slightly smeared drawing, done in charcoal. Her likeness. She'd never given it up, even after his betrayal.
After staring at it for a few long moments, she lifted her gaze to the man sitting across the room. "Why did you change your mind, Evan?" Her voice wavered. "To save my life? A load of bullshit. You know me well enough to know I'd rather die for my freedom than live in chains."
"I do." His voice held emotion within its gravelly depths; looking at his face, she could see him blinking furiously. "I was… being selfish, I think. If it meant I could see you again… that the Entity wouldn't get its claws in you… if it meant that you were safe… I would do anything."
Meg bit down on her lip once more. Unable to keep pacing, she clutched Evan's drawing in her hands and sank slowly down to the floor across from him. Tears blurred her vision as she looked at him, and he at her. Their eyes locked and Meg felt her breath stolen from her. Evan MacMillan's eyes were of the deepest, most lush forests, and the way he stared at her made everything in her body light on fire.
She wanted to be angry. She wanted to blame him for this mess, because if she didn't, then that would mean… it would mean that he did what he did…
… because he loved her.
Meg tried to control the cadence of her voice as she swallowed down the lump in her throat and croaked, "do you love me, Evan?"
His jaw worked again. As if he struggled to find the right words. Finally, he whispered, "I can't bear the thought of you not existing. You are the inspiration for… everything."
Tears flowed freely, no matter how many times she tried to wipe her eyes. This was her own imagination. This was just what she wanted to hear. Right? If so… why did her heart feel like it was beating out of her chest? Why did this feel so… scary? "Are you real?"
"You know the answer to that," he replied quietly, his eyes never leaving her face.
Meg lifted her gaze, focusing on his mouth. She could see his lips parting to breathe shakily, just as her own did; was he feeling the same? This exhilaration? This… fear? Or was it just her own imagination?
Did it matter?
She broke the silence. "Real enough to touch…?"
Their eyes met once more, their gazes locked. Silently Evan extended his hand to her, palm up. Meg couldn't seem to tear her eyes from his own as she decided whether to accept his invitation. "I don't know for sure if you love me," she whispered, trembling fingers lifting in preparation to touch him. "But I know that… that I…."
She set her hand in his own. The moment their skin connected, Meg felt every nerve ending light up, like she'd fallen from a cliff or taken a dive with sharks. She'd never felt this kind of adrenaline or exhilaration - not even from running. His fingers were rough and calloused, but they closed around her much smaller hand with a gentleness that betrayed his size. His other hand lifted to her face, and warm fingers brushed the tears from her skin. Soon the anguish was put on the back burner by the sudden fire she felt flowing through her.
This may have been nothing but a dream, but it provided something Meg hadn't felt in a long time: solace. It didn't matter that this Evan was only a figment of her imagination; he looked just the same except without all the scars and physical reminders of the Entity's punishment. He still smelled of campfire smoke, pine needles, and fresh earth after rainfall. The feeling of his fingers grasping hers was real, here in this moment. He may have been a dream, but he was Evan. And if the Entity was going to keep her here, she would simply relish in Evan's touch until the Entity decided to kill her.
Solace.
"There's something I've wanted you to do for a long time," Meg murmured, leaning up to move a little closer to him. "I… I want you to kiss me."
Evan's brows drew in and if she didn't know any better, she would have thought he was blushing. Ridiculous. A hardened killer, balking at the idea of kissing her? Evan's jaw worked in that cute way Meg liked so much. "Kiss you?"
"Holy shit. It's not like I'm asking you to strip naked, you dumb turtle!" Meg rolled her eyes in exasperation, but her hand never left his; either too excited or too afraid to let go.
Evan stared at her. Those deep green eyes seemed to penetrate her to her very soul. The blush was gone, replaced with an almost wise look. "Kissing me here is not the same as kissing the real Evan."
Frustrated, Meg sat back on her haunches and glared at him. Always difficult and stubborn, even in her own dreams. "Well, it's not like I'm going to be able to kiss the real one. I'm probably gonna…" she went quiet.
"… die." He finished. "Do you really think you're going to die here?"
"I hope not," Meg replied, trying to keep her voice from wavering. "I thought you might… you might save us. Might… save me. But you…"
Silence reigned for a long moment. Finally, Evan pursed his lips. "A lot has most likely happened since you landed here… who is to say I haven't seen the error of my ways?"
"Do you really think you changed your mind…? That you'll…?"
"… I hope so."
Tears sprouted in the corners of Meg's eyes. Though the Entity had given her a few precious things, it had taken away so much more. And here it was, trapping her here and separating her from everything she ever loved. Trying to hurt her one more time before it killed her. She was alone here. This vision of Evan conjured up in her imagination was the only thing she could cling to.
When her gaze lifted, fresh tears salting her cheeks, she saw his brows furrow as he watched her, his hand still gripping her own. He hadn't let go, but maybe that was simply because she hadn't wanted him to. Meg bit down on her lip, searching his face for something. "Please," she whispered. "Kiss me."
Evan's hand left hers, joining his free hand in sliding up her arms to cup either side of her face. His touch was warm, firm, reassuring. Just what she wanted, just what she needed. Those hands tugged her in, bringing her face close to his own. She could feel his breath washing over her as they leaned in; his breath smelled like… nothing. She supposed she'd have to blame her imagination, or lack thereof, for that one. That small detail didn't quell the fire in her stomach, or the tingling she felt when he touched her.
Evan's lips ghosted against hers. Soft, so soft. Like a whisper of silk. Meg's hands found purchase in his shirt; clutching the white fabric almost desperately as his lips brushed over hers. Those lips traveled down the corner of her mouth, over her chin, along her jaw, up her cheek. A shuddering breath left her as she leaned into him, soaking up every ounce of heat and comfort Evan's body had to give.
Solace.
Evan's lips traveled to her ear, earning shivers from her. "Meg? Are you in there?" he whispered.
She pulled back to look him in the face, taking in those sharp and broad, almost regal features. She found concern written there. Her brows furrowed. "W-What? I'm right here."
"Meg?" he repeated, his expression unchanging… although his voice did. In a much higher cadence, Evan called out to her. "Meg! Please… if you can hear us, say something."
Meg's eyes widened. "Q-Quentin…?" stunned, she pulled back from Evan. The moment she let him go, he began stiffening, then crumbling away. Dust. So did the walls, the decorations, the ceiling. All of it blew away on the wind and she was left standing in the middle of absolute darkness. Panic set in. "Quentin?! Did I hear you just now?! Please… PLEASE! Answer!"
"Meg? Are you there?" Quentin repeated. Frustrated, he said a little further away, as if to someone else, "it isn't working, Cheryl. We'll try again… don't worry."
"Quentin! QUENTIN! I'M HERE! I'M RIGHT HERE!" Meg screamed, waved her arms, jumped up and down. But the darkness persisted, and everything went quiet.
And she was alone.