Page 1 of Midnight Ink

ONE

IAN

With a flick of my wrist, I snap my chair open and sink down.

I’m already tired.

Not of this, but . . . I guess kind of tired of this. It’s still early. Sometimes I come later in the day, but I prefer the mornings. It’s early enough that I’m usually alone. Grief scares me. I don’t know why.

Grief is intertwined in my DNA at this point, but watching someone else sob makes me uncomfortable. I have no idea why. Maybe because I know there’s nothing I can do to help them. There’s no cure. Believe me, if there was, I’d have overdosed on it years ago. I like to fix things, ease people’s stress and worry. I know after seven years of this there’s no relief, though. It’s not a cut that will heal. It’s not a sickness that will be cured.

It’s just there. Rotting you from the inside out.

Right now it’s still cool out. I brought my zip-up hoodie—his zip-up. The one he wore when we first met. It’s dark blue with black trim. It’s worn now, the sleeves fraying slightly. For the first few months after it even still smelled like him.

I stare at the headstone for a minute. It’s nothing fancy. I know his mom did what she could, and I didn’t have much money to help. Not that she would have accepted any money from me anyway.

I wonder if she comes as often as I do.

Anger sparks in my chest and I have no idea where it comes from. It’s a tiny flicker. I shouldn’t be here on the eighth of every fucking month talking to a fucking rock.

I drag in a breath. It’s fine. Nothing new, right?

It’s the same routine I’ve had every month for the last seven years, since the love of my life was violently ripped from me.

“The bakery was out of those dairy-free tarts you like, so I had to grab those éclairs you always insisted on eating though your lactose intolerant ass shouldn’t have eaten them.” Maddox used to say it was worth it, but no. Not in my opinion. Not one damn bit.

It doesn’t matter now, though, does it?

Not like he’s going to eat them.

I set them down on his grave and grab one, because while I do this every month, I always leave a couple here for him. I have no idea why I do it. But they’re always gone when I come back. I’m not sure who takes them or what. Probably an animal. Images of a really fat squirrel or raccoon make me laugh.

Maddox would have loved that shit.

If he’d heard me say it, he’d probably have drawn it.

I take a bigger than normal bite and chew, tilting my head back to look at the murky clouds. I can see the sun trying it’s best to peek through them. It’s supposed to be hot later today. The two temperatures in upstate New York during the summer are hotter than hell and hotter than hell with a side of humidity.

Maddox loved the heat, but humid weather just does shit to me. I hate it. When it got like that, the air thick and heavy, he knew to stay away from me. Madd liked to push my buttons and try to hold me while I was fighting for my life during those humid days. It used to piss me off.

Now I’d give anything for a sweaty hug.

Exhaustion is weighing me down, but I don’t know why I’m so frustrated today. It’s itchy. Sometimes this happens. I go through waves of it. Happy, sad, angry, depressed.

Happy never stays too long.

The anger . . . well, yeah, that lingers the most.

It’s when I start to feel nothing that worries me. Like nothing matters, there’s no purpose to any of it. Not without him. It’s been nearly seven fucking years in this dark reality, and it still really hasn’t sunk in that he’s gone. Not completely.

To this day I see him so clearly. His wide easy smile, which usually meant we were going to get into trouble. Not too much, though. Maddox could talk his way out of anything. Or in my case, into anything. My best friend in this entire world. My boyfriend. The person I was supposed to have beside me for life.

I close my eyes and picture him. Curly black hair. It was so soft. He bleached the strands in the front before he died, and I called him “Cruella” even though that man would never have hurt an animal. I miss his amber eyes that sometimes turned brownish green in the light. His soft brown skin. His wicked lips that said and did the filthiest things. Strong arms and hands with a steady grip that could pull the anxiety from my lungs.

Maddox was my anchor for years.

Now he’s nothing. A ghost I talk to when I don’t want to feel alone. I’ve been without him now for twice as long as I was with him. It’s a grief so thick and heavy I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling it.