Chapter 53: I’m Hungry (Part 2: Finale)

Milo’s shoes scuffed over the brick, the weight of his backpack sinking his right shoulder. Cold air grazed the fingers curled around his notebook.

How did it come to this?

His eyes had settled on Layla’s, yet they went on staring far past the hazel and into some darkness whose origin he could not tell.

She had dragged him out.

Milo pivoted to the beams where the capsule with Ha-ha-ha began accelerating.

"NO!"

The pencil slipped from his fingers and rolled over the edge as he ran after the whirr.

Off, off, off, goddamn it, off off— "OFF—!"

A cough doubled him over, dampening the palm he clamped over his mouth. To keep the air and liquid that sought to leak within him, he gritted his teeth.

The backpack struck the brick at his feet, shoes shuffling past on every side.

No matter which direction he went in, he would not make it five strides without bumping into another person.

By the time he straightened, Layla’s concern had softened into pity.

It was all worthless. Fortune-telling, tarot cards, and for what?

A mindless caveman was the only label he deemed suitable for himself.

He had never made it out of the corridor by the dining hall. Ever since Monday, his thoughts were narrowed to a tunnel.

But at last... it widened and the sprawling platforms of Jence rushed into sight.

Saving everyone was a dead road in his current state. If only he stopped making everything about himself then maybe his brainless skull would listen for once and stop yelling Off at every corner!

Milo sped through the platforms, each silhouette blending into a pole on this slalom track toward his apartment in which, hopefully, he could release the Gauge all alone, like he was always destined to.

Beyond the station, the city’s blocks resolved into familiar streets. Even when they seemed to narrow into corridors, he could follow them home.

He could see it all.

Each leap up the stairs jolted his knees. On the last flight he hauled himself along the railing, approaching his flat without a sound.

Pulling at the handle, he slammed his shoulder against the door.

Locked.

Buzzz! Schrkt!

His head cramped.

The forgotten silver jacket flashed through his mind.

His keys were in its pocket.

"FUCK!"

Milo hurled the backpack at the wood.

"A mindless caveman!" he cried out.

He stepped back, braced a foot against the railing, and sprang at the wooden door with his fist.

THUD!

Miraculously, the lock cracked.

Kicking the bag into the flat, he stumbled in and shut the door just as his vision began to swim.

Milo made it no farther than the center of his living room.

As he slumped against the couch for a minute, however, his vision steadied again.

"U-Ugh. What even is happening to me?"

In the dim room, he blinked out the blur until the furniture discerned itself from the wall.

While he simply sat there in peace, the lamp with its split shade dropped to the floor and flicked itself on.

It lit up a drift of dust.

THUD!

From the right came a heavier noise. The balcony door banged shut and swung open again.

"S-Shit. D-Don’t tell me. Do not even tell me."

However miniature it was, he knew one when he saw one.

Milo had summoned an Eye and, akin to a Host, waited in its middle.

Was the same wind tearing through the neighboring flats? Was it wrecking the layouts of all the other apartments in the building, too?

He had come home to get away from people, but there were only walls between them.

The sheet had never told him he would lash out with the Calamity itself, goddamn it!

Milo got to his feet, legs wavering like jelly. Aiming each step carefully, he threaded toward the balcony door to shut it once and for all when...

Knock! Knock!

Shit, had someone heard the thundering? Or was it just a volunteer evacuating everyone from the building, thinking Milo was another innocent tenant?

Knock! Knock!

"Milo?"

LAYLA?!

Red specks started forming in the air as he hurried to the entrance. One turn of the handle, and the girl would find an Eye breaking loose in the apartment of a boy who’d been behaving weirdly lately.

"Y-Yes? Layla? Is that you?"

He placed his hands on the wood, noticed the slight gap between the door and the floorboards, and fitted his shoes to cover at least some of it.

The air in this room had to stay here. No leaks.

...

Oh, who was he kidding? There would be leaks.

Whistling, a gust dislodged a framed picture.

Glass shattered. The door to the balcony slammed shut. The fallen lamp rolled over and cast broken beams of light along his face.

"What have you knocked over? Milo, open the door."

As the handle dipped, Milo pushed at the door with all of his strength, and the girl stopped.

"I’m okay! Why!"

"You left, again." Her voice came muffled over the roar. "Look in your backpack, at least. Mr. Thwaite picked out those books for you."

With his palms on the door, Milo glanced over at the bag, from which four hard covers protruded.

"B-Books? I saw them in the capsule."

"Mhm."

Through the wind, he could hear the rustle of her clothes, as though she’d crossed her arms.

"You wanted fifty kilometers of fresh air, and now you won’t even open a door. I’ll wait here."

He hadn’t even processed the titles of the books he’d been given when something salty touched his lips.

A fingertip came away wet from his cheek.

"Tears...?" he whispered. "But I’m not sad, exactly."

Milo backed away from the entrance and seized one end of the couch.

Its feet juddered over the floorboards as he hauled it toward the door, leaving him free to kneel beside the backpack.

He lifted the first book and tilted it into the severed beams of the lamplight.

Feeding The Body That Fights.

"B-Bahaha."

He placed it aside and lifted the second one.

The Psychology of Prodigies.

Milo got only as far as that.

Another gust thundered through the room.

The bookshelf across from him rocked. Dust obstructed his view, and when he could see it again, it was plummeting straight at him.

WHAM!

In spite of his efforts to dodge it, the shelves landed on his torso. Eight books rained down on his head, striking his cheeks and brows with their hard covers and joining the rest on the floor.

Something streamed down his face. Whether it was blood or tears, or perhaps both, it hurt.

"...Ouch..."

"M-Milo?!" The handle shook, but the couch held the door in place. "What was that? Answer me."

"I’m okay," he called.

Pinned beneath the furniture, he reached for the books. Every gust stirred their pages, so he laid the heavier volumes across the lighter ones and drew all twelve close.

He was keeping them.

All of them.

Four new ones were joining his collection and his journey from this day onward.

The Eye would storm itself out.

"You said that before the crash." The handle rattled once more. "What do you need? Talk to me, I’m right here. It’s only a door."

Beyond the whirling ash, lamplight wavered over the gray plaster of the ceiling.

For the first time this week, the answer that occurred to him the earliest was also the truth.

A smile spread on his face, and his hands went on twitching.

"I’m hungry."

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⋆˚࿔ Coming right up: "Promise (Part 1)" ... ⤵︎ [!]