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Chapter 25
Addie
There was a lake I used to visit.
Perhaps lake was too strong of a term for the diminutive pool of water. Big enough to fit the occasional speedboat. Small enough where you were easily able to see the opposite shoreline. It glistened in the sunlight, tiny crystal beads, and gently crested against the grassy shoreline. The air had been thinner there. Fresher. With the serene water rippling in tandem with each passing boat, I had felt nothing but tranquility standing on the shore. Grass tickled my toes, and my hair carried in the breeze.
Couples often visited this particular shoreline. Dancing in the firelight. Kissing. Laughing.
Free.
Just like the water.
It was one of my happy places, that lake, with the throng of trees and rows of immaculate mansions stretching the shoreline. The beach had barely any sand. Instead, grass and dirt greeted my bare feet. It was this image - this calm pool of water - that helped me fabricate my mental garden, the garden I had created inside of my mind in order to survive.
My mental garden was actually a combination of many locations. The old house I had visited with Ducky. The pond behind Calax’s apartment building. The schoolyard.
I went there then as Ryder held me tightly in his arms, shielding my body with his own. I barely processed when he laid me down on the backseat of the car, screaming directions up to Tamson. I heard Doc’s voice, and then felt hands press down on my bleeding stomach. I felt that all before I drifted away.
In my garden, there was a simple stone bench beneath a white-painted archway. Flowers and vines climbed up the sides, intricate patterns that combined perennials with blood red tulips and purple violets. The odd combination was almost ethereal in beauty.
Peace.
I felt peace in my garden.
But all good things couldn’t last.
As I watched the frosted waves, I became aware of a figure moving to sit beside me on the stone bench. His body emitted heat, and I yearned to sink into his embrace. I hadn’t even realized I was cold until I came face to face with a human furnace.
“What are you doing here?” Calax asked softly. I absently brushed my fingers over a silky rose petal. It was beginning to wilt and decay; everything had an expiration date.
Everything died.
“It’s better in here than out there,” I responded. The real world. My own personal hell.
“So you’re just retreating?” he asked in disbelief.
“Are you dead?” I countered.
His face turned contemplative. His hand snaked up to rub at his scruffy jaw.
“You keep me alive,” he said after an agonizingly long moment of silence. I snorted.
No, I had most definitelynotkept him alive.
“I like this place,” I said, changing the subject. “You’re here with me.”
“Always.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his jean-clad legs. I was once again struck by how handsome he was. With his shock of dark hair framing an arresting, chiseled face, he was the epitome of perfection.
And he was mine.
“Why did you sacrifice yourself for me?” I whispered, the words catching in my throat. I tried to hold back the sob that threatened to escape. “Why?”
That was the question for all things in life: why?
Why did Calax have to die?
