Loneliness? A hollow body? Aging bones that grind and tick loudly as if they’re reminding me of how much time I’ve spent stuck in this cycle of revenge that has no meaning?
I have spent the past decade watching my life go by from a distance, never truly connected to myself, in fear of trusting and hurting the way I have before.
And the brief moments of reprieve where Iwaspresent, completely aware and alive, were with Landon. Every time we touched, every moment in which we fought, I was so fuckingalive.
If this life lesson means anything to me, it’s that I have to let go. I have to stop clinging to this meaningless sense of justice and just… breathe.
I can… I can love again, can’t I? I can trust, cling, and let my guard down.
And then it hits me. Being burned again by those I care about would not kill me, but never seeing Landon again? Never holding his strong body in my arms, or being given the pleasure of forcing that darkness away from his soul?Thatwill kill me.
If I cannot earn his forgiveness, I will be nothing. I would rather have him hurt me every day for the rest of my life than barricade him from my heart.
I am nothing if not vicious and angry, but I guess—somewhere deep down, dusty and abandoned—I am also desperately yearning for him.
I hope never to hear another goodbye leave his lips.
I will wish on every falling star that sweet Landon may hide away in that he will return to me. And if he does?
I guess maybethenI’ll feel whole again.
I will then truly be living.
Landon
23
CHASTAIN CASTLE CONTINUES TObe intimidating and towering, no matter how many times you enter it. The front doors stand before me, daunting and beautiful as I take a deep breath.
He won’t be here,I assure myself. It’s a Saturday after all.
When Julian called and asked me to fly out, I was a little shocked. Sure, we’d had that conversation the other night, and a few texts had been exchanged since then, but a boys’ night? That’s new.
Growing up, boys’ night meant something else entirely. It meant video games or ripping our clothes off as fast as possible. And now? Now it means hanging out with two other couples as a fifth wheel.
Hooray!
I’m not complaining, though. I needed to get out of my parents’ house. Between my being injured and losing my power, Dad is constantly up my ass. It’s as if he believes that now that I’m… well, this version of myself, I’ll fall further down that rabbit hole of depression.
The worst part? They aren’t wrong.
In fact, I spend most days ignoring the fact that I’m an average guy now, trapped in pure denial. Sure, I can’t escape the blood-chilling feeling of being empty, but I can certainly refrain from dwelling on what it means.
That now, I’m not only the guy who is sad for nothing, the bratty partier, but also powerless. There is no longer a singular, unique thing about me.
The piece of me that I held closest to my heart has been ripped away—and so has the only person I’ve ever let truly see me.
If I could go back to hating Nate fully, I would be relieved. But for some reason, under all this anger and disgust, there is sorrow. And not the sorrow that normally makes its bed in my soul, but a new kind. A lonely kind.
Landon Presley is now two parts agony and one part fury. Should I put that on my resume? Dad might find it hilarious.
It was a battle to convince my family that I was really heading to Julian’s this morning. The only reason I believe they let me get on the plane is that I truly have never been hurt in Oregon, and I promised to only go to Chastain Castle.
I know I’m weaker now—less capable of protecting myself without the gift of coercion—but I’m not stupid. No way in hell am I taking a trip down memory lane at Nate’s cottage.
I’d simply rather die.
What a thrilling and terrifying thought.
