Chapter 448: The Distance of a Breath (part 2)
In the middle of the ocean, beneath the shimmering blue surface, Micah was trapped in a strand of kelp.
Micah’s breaths came quicker, ragged. No. He couldn’t die. He didn’t want to die. His movements grew frantic, stripped of all calm and reason. Yet the kelp only tangled tighter around him.
Was it his fate to die either way?
If it wasn’t the stem cell complications waiting in his blood, if it wasn’t an embolism, then it was this? If he had stayed clear of transplant, would the story itself still have punished him for daring to meddle, for stepping outside its lines?
Because he tried to separate Darcy from those four scumbags? Because he had tried to rewrite Darcy’s fate?
He thought of the four original male leads who would hover at the edges of Darcy’s life, the ones he had tried so hard to push away. What if they came after him now?
All this time, he had tried to make Darcy’s life easier, wanting to protect him, to do something good, and now, after everyone knew he was a fake, his role was fulfilled? His role ended?
Micah’s heart sank. A bitter thought burst in his head. How could anyone explain this bizarre accident then? He was losing oxygen fast and was trapped underwater when he had not even come alone to dive.
It was worse than his panic attack. The suffocation... he remembered the time Clyde helped him, holding him from behind while he gasped for air. Back then, there had been a voice telling him he wasn’t alone.
Now, there was nothing but the muffled sound of water in his ears and his own heartbeat.
Clyde...
His eyes squeezed shut against the sting of tears. He had treated Clyde coldly yesterday, just because of what? A silly reason. The embarrassment of being discovered that he had a reaction? He was such a stupid person. Their last time together was ruined because of him. What would happen to Clyde when he was gone? How could he cope with his loss?
What about Mum and Dad? His Sisters? They had raised him, fed him, loved him as their own son all these years.... But he hadn’t thanked them. Just leaving all of them in Isatis city to fend and cope with the truth. He had not even called Flora "Mum" or Nora "sister"...
He had many regrets.
His throat tightened painfully.
Darcy... Micah had never truly apologised to him. For occupying his place, for deceiving him these past few months, for not being able to return the feelings he could see so clearly reflected in Darcy’s dark eyes...
He had thought maybe, if he just stayed close and behaved like usual with Darcy, they would be okay. He had thought he could show his remorse through his action, even if he couldn’t say it aloud, but now... he had even lost that chance, too.
He wished, oh God, he wished he had been brave enough to just speak to Darcy, being up front with him. Even if he lost Darcy for it.
And Clyde.... The thought of the man made tears come down rapidly. Micah had never voiced it. Not once. He had never said, "I love you," aloud.
Sorry... the word repeated in his mind.
His arms went slack. His fingers let go of his leg. He tilted his face upward, staring at the glimmering surface far above. It seemed impossibly far away. He didn’t have the strength to fight anymore. He stopped struggling.
Yes, he was near the end.
His body floated in between kelp strands, brushing his arms and legs like they were welcoming him into his nest, to his eternal abode.
In the end, he had lost to that ridiculous plot. He had lost not in a dramatic confrontation, not in some noble sacrifice, but to a plant, to the ocean’s silent grip.
He just hoped, prayed, really, that everything he had done until now would be enough to make Darcy and his family safe.
Hopefully, Clyde would not be too devastated when he heard the news.
The shimmering light above blurred and smeared into nothing less. His eyelids fluttered.
Then, suddenly, sharply, his mask was yanked off.
And a new regulator was shoved to his mouth, forcing oxygen into his mouth. He sucked in instinctively, gasping, air flooding into him.
Micah’s eyes snapped open in shock.
Darcy’s dark eyes met his. Darcy’s hair floated around his face like ink, his jaw set, his expression sharp with determination. He wasn’t wearing a mask.
Micah’s eyes widened in horror. No. He tried to push the regulator back to him, fumbling weakly.
Darcy ignored him. He leaned in, pressed the mouthpiece firmly to Micah’s lips, then lowered his body and tried to free him.
Micah knew it was a lost cause. He shook his head, trying to shove Darcy away, telling him to go. Micah knew he had been underwater long enough for an oxygen tank to get empty. It was the same for Darcy, too. There was no need for Darcy, for the real young master, to risk his life for him. He had not done all those stupid things to let Darcy die with him in this freaking place.
Micah bent, trying to return the mask to Darcy.
But Darcy just took a breath from the mask before giving it back to Micah. His motions were practised, steady.
Then he slipped a hand onto his leg, pulled a diving knife, and sliced cleanly through the kelp binding Micah’s leg. The strands floated loose, swaying harmlessly in the current. It wasn’t the end; he cut the empty oxygen tank strapped to Micah’s back in one swift motion.
Then Darcy wrapped an arm around Micah’s limp body and kicked powerfully upward. The sea roared in Micah’s ears as they ascended, bubbles exploding around them. The surface glimmered faintly above, like a distant sky.
Micah’s body sagged against Darcy’s, his consciousness fading. But he clung faintly to the warmth of his arm, the steady push of his strokes.
The last thing Micah saw was Darcy’s profile, grim, resolute, unyielding, before darkness claimed him.