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I thought…
Hope. It’s a vicious fucking thing.
Like love—like death—all it does is take and take and take.
We’re put on this earth for no other purpose than to be ravaged.
I’m shaking my head, unable to force away the images, the sensations….the phantom memory of his lips pressed fiercely to mine. The way he held my face, and clawed at my scalp. The way he rubbed up against me.
My arm comes around my face, and I’m burying my mouth and nose in the crook of my elbow, trying not to fucking scream.
“Don’t leave me.”
Fingers clumsily skating down my cheek.
Soft hair clutched in my hands.
The heart in my chest, thumping, thumping, racing…slowing…
“Please don’t fucking leave me, Iz.”
…Cracking.
Right down the fucking middle.
A fatal hit if there ever was one. There’s no coming back from this.
No coming back from the boy I love kissing me, then calling me by my dead sister’s name. No coming back from finally, stupidly thinking maybe—just fucking maybe—there was a chance.
That I was an option for Mason.
He was hard…
I shake my head, and squeeze my eyes shut, muffling my anguished scream into my skin, as the numbness—that icy numbness I’ve been clinging to for years, the one that would settle over me when I needed it most, like my very own shield…
It shatters, wholly and completely, leaving me exposed down to the bone.
Because I realize now, that this is worse. So much worse.
“She’s gone.”
No…
“She’s really fucking gone.”
I fall back on my ass, and curl my hands into fists, pressing them so hard against the my cheeks, my jaw, my mouth, I taste iron.
Downstairs, music kicks on—loud and angry.
Waylon…
“I wish it was you.”
And I’m rocking, shaking my head, screaming through my teeth.
Why, God, why wasn’t it me?
In this moment, I realize I’ve never hated Mason more.
