Chapter 8

Truthfully, the first thing that came to Jack's mind when he first saw her was:

I want to screw this girl.

Really, she was so gorgeous. Never before at his school, back in his old classes, had he ever seen someone so purely...hot. Delicious. Tempting.

All the girls back home, the sexy and the boring, adored Jack; they cooed and awed over him, and he knew he could have any of them. But Mathalina clearly wasn't interested. She also wasn't exactly resisting his approaches, either. That's what made her so much more irresistible than any of the girls he used to know-now, they all reminded him of lumpy turds compared to her.

Mathalina knew how to play it.

She played the game, and she could play it well.

Jack knew she wanted him. Surely, even beneath her cool exterior, she had her own intentions. Her own ...what if those desires weren't for him?

He swallowed. His mind lingered for a flash upon Roger, the older, dark-haired boy. Roger was a recluse-he had that cold, untouchable aura thing around him that kept some girls away.

And drew others in.

She had to be one of them. That was exactly her type, Jack was sure. If there was one thing he knew about besides hunting and sports, it was sexual connections. Mathalina and Roger had one. A strong one.

Only he could see it for now. He had to keep it that way. If they knew, if they even got a clue...there could be no stopping it. Then, and then, Jack would be left with nothing. No fulfillment, nothing to satisfy his desires.

A teenager had needs. And he vowed to get them, no matter what it took.

Speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear, he thought grimly as the oldest boy in the camp stomped by him. But like an angel, Jack grinned brightly towards him, even flashing his pearly teeth. Roger nodded back, barely moving his face.

Just be patient, Jack.

After all, what you want, you always get…

It was how he had always been raised: by high-class parents, living in an upper-middle neighborhood, and he had never failed to get what he wanted. No, he wouldn't say he was spoiled...for sure, he worked for what he achieved. Always, always work for what you want, Jack, his father had said. You can have the world. Everything could be yours.

His mother, too, had added: Don't be weak, don't be afraid to fight for what you desire. Do anything in your power. Push back anything that's in your way. That's how I got here.

And there his parents had been then, sitting on luxurious leather couches, sipping champagne and having a conversation with their single, perfect son. Everything had worked out for them. They were happy, no matter what it tool to get there.

At the time, Jack had merely nodded, putting their words at the back of his head. He normally didn't listen to his parents, and why would he? Only suck-up losers did.

Now, the advice was pushed to the very front.

I could have everything.

I could have her.

I could have the island…

He snorted. Of course he could. He was Jack. And now, now, with Annabelle slowly but surely unraveling, it was the perfect time to pounce.

Everything was ready. He was ready.

Pack your bags, he thought to himself, smirking. You're moving up to the big leagues.

The first time they met, it had been an accident. This time, though, he didn't think twice to follow her. Deep into the forest, past winding trees and dark bushes, just beyond the lake. It glimmered black under the crescent-shaped moon. The lake had brought her to him the first time; its murky beauty reminded him of the hair that fell delicately, yet wildly on her shoulders, her developed bust. She had worn no bra, and traces of her nipples could be seen from under her shirt. He wanted to rip it off, to reveal the glowing, tanned skin beneath. He wanted to hold her, to touch every inch of her body without holding back.

But no. Not yet. The time wasn't right. She needed to know, first, what he wanted.

Again, just like the first night, Mathalina sat in all her splendor, looking nothing short of a goddess; her legs spread, she was perched on the dewy grass. Her eyes remained closed, lashes long and spidery flitting above her lids. Just below was her nose, powdery and shaped becomingly, and her lips, irresistible in form and color. Rich, deep and red, without a hint of makeup.

She was so…so perfect.

It was nearly impossible, what Roger was seeing right now. However, it wasn't simply seeing that had roused his heart, his brain, his lust. He desired her in every physical way, yes. But when she opened her mouth, when she was moving and in action-that was when she fascinated him the most. How she had worked to help him with the injured. How she wasn't like the other girls, but spoke solely when it was necessary, and when it was wise to do so. Grace and maturity poured out from those burnt-red lips.

He could only admire her more and more. Mathalina was amazing, truly extraordinary in his eyes.

Roger needed her. He needed extraordinary. Since his mother, no woman had ever been exceptional in his mind. No woman except for her.

She didn't look, did not even flinch when he slid out from the trees. No doubt, she had already been expecting him. A soft melody hummed low from under her breath. He held his, not wanting to let go of the sweet, aromatic gust that came from her way. At last, she turned, lips curling up into a small smile as he took a seat next to her sprawled legs.

"Beautiful night, isn't it," she spoke graciously. Her eyes travelled up to the moon. "It is mid-way through the month now."

"Beautiful," Roger repeated. He didn't take his vision off of her bare skin. Eyes met, and at first, turning shyly, he glanced back at the girl. She was still smiling. But the way she smiled, it was a knowing one-as if she already knew. Knew everything. There were hints of playfulness, traces of lure and longing all mingled into that one smile. He swallowed. He wanted her.

It was her fingers that began, her dainty, long fingers creeping up his arms, his shoulders, his neck. They stopped to caress gently, with skillful feel, light strokes slipping between the bones and grooves in the cold flesh. Her body felt warm next to his. Or was his cold? Roger didn't care.

Breathing in sync, he found his own arms wrapping around her, naturally, as if they hadn't only met a week ago. "Have you ever thought about me?" The question, sudden as it was, also came without second thought.

She traced his hands with hers, and ended by holding them with a surprisingly strong grip. "Yes," she breathed. Her eyes, wearing a sly expression in midst of dark, swirling midnight blue, moved up to his face. He watched breathlessly as she studied his nose, his lips, the angular bones in his cheeks. "I like…how different you are. Different from what they think."

"And what do they think?"

"They think they know you." Mathalina chuckled, that beautiful quirk of the lips. "But I know a different you. I see…I see how you helped out Maurice when you didn't need to. I see how you did everything to try and save that boy."

"I see what you do too. I see that you're not just the girl everyone wishes they were, the girl who is…gorgeous." Here he stopped to catch a breath. "You're more than beautiful. You're strong. And different. And I can't really figure out who you are."
"I," she whispered, "am Mathalina. I am everything you described, and more. And you do not know who I am, but...I think that you know what I want."
"And you know what I want." Her goddess-like figure leaned closer, and suddenly, her head dipped down to his, and she was kissing him, kissing softly only for that first moment before digging deeper, pressing more wildly into him. Their tongues met, roughly in their mouths, and Roger could feel her lift his worn t-shirt over his head. She removed it swiftly, in one gesture, and they kissed more passionately than before.

Passionate. It was the only word that could describe their feelings. Roger didn't know what was happening; it was going by so fast. But he didn't mind it, either. He felt his fingers across the smooth shine of Mathalina's stomach, bare and glowing darkly under the light of the moon, as he ripped off her own top garment. They moved up to her full breasts, right there above the flawlessly toned skin; they then grinded slowly as he moved his hands over them, rubbing, embracing her.

She didn't let Roger do all the work-each slender leg hooked fastly around his waist, and he raised himself to allow them to slide down, touching his hips; neither ever stopped moving their lips on the others' as their bodies locked. She knew all the right places to touch, all the right motions to make. Her hands travelled speedily down to the button of his jeans, he released a breath of relief as the metal was undone, the zipper pulled down. He was soon undressed, only a thin line of undergarment separating him from her.

Hair was mussed by hands, grabbed ferociously while they continued to kiss, fire now burning within their mouths. It was all spur-of-the moment, crazy, something driven purely by teenage hormones.

Or was it?

Roger had never felt passion, never felt satisfaction as he did now with her. He advanced further, their figures now joined in perfect alignment. Every inch of him tingled, begging her for more. Feeling the contentment, he slid up his fingers, up the coarse fabric of a skirt, up to where he had longed to reach. Mathalina moaned appropriately, a soft moan of sheer pleasure. She returned a stroke, a grasping grope at him. Each touch was spell-bounding, each time she moved a wonder.

"You are amazing." A breath was shared between the two as they both paused, staring into the others' eyes intensely.

Mathalina only smiled in reply before pushing her lips back onto his.

The night grew cold. But the wind couldn't break through the heat between the boy and the girl, a tangled mass of black hair intertwining them together. The girl, with eyes as blue as evening sky, was beautiful, and the boy was just as appealing to the eye. Perfect bodies, perfect love-although one couldn't quite call it love, but deep, intimate passion-lay on the grass creating silhouettes in the dark. Her arms were wrapped around his waist, and his hands, now resting on her head. They were still. Only their breathing, steady but uneven, could be heard.

No, they did not do it tonight.

For Roger, though, it was still the best night of his life. After all, as long as they were on this island, they had plenty of time. This is just the beginning, he thought finally before falling asleep, Mathalina still in his arms.

The girl didn't bother her as she sat, gazing emptily out into nothing.

Good, Annabelle thought. She had had enough of Lucy annoying the crap out of her.

Not that she didn't feel bad about what she had said the other day, when she simply blast out the hurtful words at the girl. But it had all come out of her like a waterfall of truths, of cold, hard truths. That's what happened when Annabelle was in a state like this. Her emotional, and physical states were a mess at the current time. And some people were just making it worse.

Some people, like this one who had marched into the forest like a proud orangutan a few hours ago. Literally thumping his chest like he was so boss, so damn special. Please. She snorted humorlessly as she thought of Jack, the "captain" of the hunters, leading his band of puppy dogs up the mountain. It was their turn to watch the signal fire, from what Annabelle could remember. Time, and schedules were all out of her head right now. She didn't even know what day it was: how many weeks had gone by since their first arrival on the island. Either way, she could only hope that the hunters would do their job. At least up until now, they'd watched the fire and kept it from going out at all times.

But what's the point? She thought hopelessly.

Almost as soon as the words came to her mind, as if by a strike of lightning, Annabelle heard the whirring noises. Looking up frantically, she could see, just barely there, but still, there: the helicopter, tiny against the blue sky.

Everything stopped.

And then, two legs shot up, arms began waving furiously in the air, and Annabelle shouted, "Here! Over here!" as loudly as she could. Her throat was begging for water, and her voice cracked as she yelled, but she did not stop. Seeing her actions, Lucy's eyes turned as large as dinner plates, and began screaming and moving wildly to get the chopper's attention. Slowly, others on the beach noticed the two electrified girls, and saw it hovering just kilometers away. Joelle, Maurice, Caitlin, everybody who had stayed behind joined in, rejoiced and slightly bewildered at the first hope of rescue in weeks.

"OVER HEREEEEE!"

"Help! Please help us!"
"Look at our fire! Please, LOOK at the fire!"

At the mention of the fire, Annabelle whipped her head excitedly up at the mountain. Immediately, all the blood ran cold in her veins. Dark brown eyes widened in a mingle of complete confusion, panic, and fury. For there was no smoke coming from the tip of the mountain. There was no fire. There was no chance of getting rescued.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaah!" Screaming like a maniac and startling the people around her, Annabelle suddenly began speeding towards the forest. She was barefooted, but she could not care less. Rage drove the girl up the side of the mountain, across clearings of grass and cold dirt. The others only hesitated a moment before following her, chasing the girl all the way up to the very peak of the island, where they knew, they prayed, the fire would be there. But alas, when they finally reached the point, out of breath and exhausted, they could see very clearly that there was no fire. It had gone out-all that was left was black soot, ashes and dead wood on an empty pit. Not even a trace of smoke remained.

Nobody spoke. The leader hurried down to the wood, with the silliest notion that they still had a chance, and spun two sticks together in her palms. They scratched and cut her hands, blood running down and skin turning scarlet, but she didn't stop. "No, no!" She continued to cry out, refusing to believe it was over, that their chance of rescue had gone. And when she looked up, finally plopping down on the dirt, she could see that the copter, without a doubt, was gone forever. Clear blue and clouds remained, nothing more.

"No!" She tried so hard to fight the hopeless tears from streaming down her face. Burying her face in her arms, she let the pure despair, the wave of defeated emotion carry her down. In the stillness, there was a silence, so uncomfortable and so unbreakable. No one seemed to know, or have anything, to say.

In what felt like years, Annabelle finally stood. The leader was stony, her eyes staring emptily at the dirt, encircled by rocks and snapped twigs. There were no movement, no words. It was like they almost feared her, were dreadfully anxious of the girl's reaction.

The bursts of laughter and hooting from the trees broke the silence. However, the tension didn't cease to exist as the hunters walked right into the circle, Jack leading the pack of dirtied, hysterical savages. Their dress had become even more feral-the boys now only wearing nothing but ragged shorts cut from their trousers, and Hazell, the only girl hunter, in ripped, filthy rags of clothes left from what she had worn on the plane. Dirt encrusted her once gleaming hair, blowing wildly behind her unwashed face. She wore a wicked expression of pleasure on her dark lips, chapped beyond repair, but grinning like she had done the vilest, most pleasurable thing.

But what shocked the rest of the camp, what the startling difference in the hunters was, were their faces. Covered in streaks of paint and mud, they resembled animals more than anything else. Yet the lines and strokes of color were coordinated and placed artfully on their cheeks, and dark coal rimmed their eyes like some heavy, messily applied makeup. Jack's eyes shone more icily, more blue than ever behind the black circles of soot.

"We caught two!" The celebratory cheer came from Austen, who looked just as unrecognizable. The tall, haughty boy who had flirted with Annabelle only weeks ago now gave a triumphant sneer in her way. His face remained cheerful, but she could see right through his teeth, the glare behind his eyes.

It hurt, to see that even some of her friends had gone over to Jack's side (although Austen had never been exactly a good friend.)

"Yeah," Hazell said proudly. "Didn't we, Jack?" Here she gave her leader such a strong gaze, the ice in his face faltered just slightly as he twitched his lips; but Annabelle could see that even in his signature smirk, there was no emotion anymore. Hating on her and her friends apparently no longer satisfied the blood-thirsty boy.

"Yes. Yes, it was the best game we've ever caught."

"Isn't this awesome?" As the hunters whooped and shouted in glee at Fillip's cry, no one from the other side dared speak. They only waited, staring cautiously at Annabelle. They were waiting for it to begin.

All hell's about to break loose, Lucy's dreading grey eyes seemed to say.

It was quiet for the long moment between the cheering, and the Annabelle's dead silence. Sensing the tension, even the hunters stopped to gaze uncomfortably at the leader standing with such rigidity over the empty pit.

The words finally came out of her mouth, first sort of blankly: "You let the fire go out."

Jack didn't answer. He only looked up, blue eyes meeting the now dangerously fiery brown ones. Maybe she imagined it, but he swallowed an unnerved gulp as he saw the expression on her face.

"Yeah," he muttered. "We did, but so what? It can get going again. There's no harm done-

"No harm done?" An intentional, pitiful laugh poured out of her lips. "No harm done," she repeated. Suddenly glaring furiously, she choked out, "How the hell can you say that?! You and your hunters let the goddamn fire go out, and now? Now we're ALL going to pay!" She pointed upwards with an outraged finger. "There was a helicopter! Did you hear what I said? There was a helicopter, barely a mile away. If there had…god, if there'd been just the tiniest cloud of smoke, if you'd just watched the fire for a couple of hours, then we could all be going home right now! But no, instead, we're still stuck on this island!"

"I don't care about what you have to say!" Jack retorted viciously. "I don't care that we missed the helicopter, or that we didn't watch the fire, or that we're not going home. I don't give a shit! About any of it!"

"Why?" She was crying out desperately, just trying to get a clear answer out of the boy. "Why would you want to stay here, where you know we're all gonna die? Because we both know it Jack, we won't be around much longer to hunt and go crazy if we don't try to survive."
"I am surviving. And we're doing just fine, without any helicopters coming here!"
"Well, you may feel that way, but some of us don't. I can't just stand here and let you do whatever you want, without helping us. Some of us want to go home, Jack, and we're not going to be able to do that, unless we all COOPERATE."
"Cooperate my ass!" Turning towards the rest of the group behind Annabelle, Jack continued loudly, "The reason we came here to see all of you is this: We want to say, the hunters are NOT your slaves. We go out into the forest day and night for all of you, and some of you don't do anything. Well, I don't think it's fair that we get the same share as some of us who won't get off our lazy asses!" He turned his sharp gaze rather obviously towards Lucy, who flushed angrily. "So. We've come to a decision. We're not going to hunt for you anymore. You better start finding some other way of finding food, because what's ours is ours."
"What?!" A shocked cry was the only thing she could get out of her open mouth. "You mean, you're just going to leave us to starve?"
"Maybe, if you really want to eat, you should try going out and getting food on your own," Jack replied coldly. "You don't even know how hard it is for us…how much we've worked and slaved away for all of you ungrateful bitches. Well, we're sick of it. And I'm certainly not putting up with it anymore."

"Jack! You-you can't just…you can't do this! Please, Jack, you're not-not yourself, you're out of your mind!" But nothing the girl sputtered would stop him. The painted and savage boy just shook his head, and taking his half-dressed crew with him, they walked straight into the forest, without another look behind them. They marched almost, with such a fixed, single-minded manner; it was like the island was their home now. Annabelle wasn't sure of what home was anymore. She was barely remembering any of hers, from what seemed like a very, very long time ago. As she fought to stand without trembling, trembling in the wave of despair and hopelessness that came over her, Annabelle felt her body drenching with not rain, but bleak misery and defeat: all together with the sensation of a giant rock weighing her down into the ground, as she stared out into grey and masses of trees reminding her that it was over, that nothing she did would be able to return them to their past ever again.

The camp had fallen to night. Dead silence hung throughout the angry and divided, but sleeping camp. A cold breeze blew her hair across her face, tattered pieces in the moving air.

A fight to the death…there will be 16 of us.

And only two...only two would survive. Only two would live to see the end.

No, not now. She didn't need to be worried about it now. She still had weeks left, she knew. Maybe not more than two, but she knew there were still days until it would need to come to mind.

Mathalina stretched her arms, standing tall and mighty over the seemingly lifeless bodies dozing away beneath her. Roger slept motionlessly just inches away from where she had got up. She wanted to stroke his face, that pale and bewitching face. Every feature of it was beautiful in her eyes. But she held herself back tonight. He couldn't be awakened. For tonight, for the first night in the past two weeks, she could be alone and just think.

She found herself oddly missing the lake, where she'd spent hours meditating over the clear, illuminating waters and just stare, stare out at the same moon that hung over her head tonight. Tonight, it looked larger than ever before- a big, round orb of light, swirling above as if taunting her with its beauty, its grace. Mathalina didn't look twice at it this time, however. Her mind was elsewhere: in the very near, impending future, to be specific.

She had known the day would come, yet she hadn't expected it to come so quickly. After all, she had been awaiting patiently, living a slow but grateful life on the island for almost three years. Now that it was so close, the fulfillment of everything she had been trained and prepared to face, she only found herself admiring her beautiful surroundings more. It was a cruel fate-but it was her job, the job laid in her hands to carry out, and hers alone. And Mathalina knew it was one that must be done.

Still, there was one thing even she hadn't anticipated; what use was it to know everything about what was to come, if she couldn't use it to see, and prevent things like this, things like Roger? She couldn't say it was affection, or love, as much as simple desire-she wanted him, and he needed her. They wanted more than the others' bodies, though. At least, she, wanted the person inside.

Since she first saw him, knew who he was, she had felt a tingle of longing for the boy. The way he hid his soft-hearted nature beneath a seemingly unbreakable exterior, how he had immediately opened up when someone got hurt, all of his heroic traits that made her crave to know more. She hadn't needed any more assurance, though, of her feelings for the boy (if they could be called feelings.) All her life, she had had very little emotions about anything. Growing up how she had, her skin was hardened, her body cold and immune to all pain. But if she had to know pain, which she strongly doubted she would, from her first encounter with true feelings for someone else, as long as it was Roger she would receive it gladly.

So how could Mathalina have possibly expected, been warned of something like this happening to her? Or on the other hand, how could she not have been warned? If they had known everything else that was going to happen, surely they had some way of knowing about this?

The prophecy, the thought rebounded into her head. It was now impossible to shake off any memory of it. She knew exactly why she was here, of course. Everything she was doing, every move she made-omitting her midnight rendezvous with Roger-was for one purpose.

In the end, only two can live.

Two can live forever.

Not forever, of course, but time went by even slower on the island then it had back at home. Oh, how she remembered home, clearly as if she had been there yesterday. But home wasn't what she wanted to remember.

She knew the risk she was taking when she signed up for the job, the possibility of where her fate could end up. Mathalina didn't fear death, though; she only feared what she knew now would have to happen, what she knew could happen to him. If only two were destined to survive the final battle, as the prophecy recalled, she and Roger would have to be the two. Before, it had been different-before, she had not cared about someone. Even though, yes, she was to do everything in her power to make sure the prophecy came true, she wouldn't give in without a fight. They could be the ones meant to live on the island. It could be any of the teenagers who were on the island at the current time, said the prophecy. There was no reason that it couldn't be Mathalina and the boy she refused to give up.

No. She didn't admit defeat so easily.

She would do anything, go beyond any limits to ensure the fulfillment of the prophecy. That was why she had even crafted the smart tale of the monster in the jungle: to stir up their minds and hearts, and divide them.

But she would also stop at nothing to keep Roger with her.