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I’m sorry.
Fuck, I’m so sorry.
Eight years he’d been by my side.
Eight years I’d heard his voice and touched his body and whispered goodnight in the dark. Eight years I’d loved him, secretly and wantonly, and to have him suddenly gone...
He’s not gone.
He can’t be.
It’s just...not possible.
Each time I hung up from a stranger who didn’t care, loneliness pounced with deadly claws.
I’d leap into another phone call.
Another frustrating, worrisome, unsuccessful phone call.
I ran from facing the truth.
The truth that Aslan was out of my reach.
If I couldn’t find him in time.
If I failed to bring him home.
Then we, him, this, us...was over.
And that just couldn’t happen.
Love stories like ours didn’t end at the beginning.
Romances like this were epic and everlasting, and if Aslan dared to die, and I was left all alone, then...what was the point?
What was the point of falling?
What was the purpose of love when it was sharper than any knife, crueller than any enemy, and as merciless as death itself?
If Aslan was taken from me, then...I was ash and dust.
I was nothing.
And just like nothing, I would cease to exist.
Because how could I exist without him?
How could I go on without him?
How could I find purpose in life when my very purpose had been stolen?
I can’t.
I won’t.
I’ll find him...
Chapter Thirty
