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Lanston shifts his hat in discomfort and looks from me to Liam. “I don’t think this is a good idea, Liam.”
Liam ignores Lanston and hitsGo. “Because my story is a sad one.”
The search pulls up many articles with Liam’s picture in them. He’s young, possibly seventeen or younger at the time. In the photos, his eyes are empty. Distant and hollow. The headline of one article reads:
Car Accident Kills Teen Driver, Passengers in Hospital
My breath catches in my lungs. I want to say something, anything, but I remain silent. Lanston looks away, his lips pressed in a thin line.He already knows.
“My brother Neil was taking a turn when I tried to show him something stupid on my phone. I don’t even remember what it was—it was so stupid.” Liam’s voice cracks. He sits back in his chair and looks at me with dull eyes. “You remind me of him. He had the same cancerous sadness that you carry in your eyes.”
I put my hand on his lap and squeeze, hoping that this small motion can communicate the words I cannot find. Even though we’ve been callous to one another, I hope he feels my sentiment at this moment.
“You blame yourself.”
He nods.
“Is that when you started to hurt yourself?” I murmur.
His dark blue eyes find mine, hesitation and grief flickering through them. He nods once more. A somber, nostalgic smile tugs at his lips. This was the beginning of Liam’s curse.
Lanston pulls him in for a tight hug and pats him on the shoulder before getting up to leave. Lanston has a harder time with tragic topics—even in group sessions, he excuses himself frequently.
We sit silently for a moment before I tap on the search bar and type in my name. Before I can hit search, Liam grabs my wrist and stops me.
“I don’t want to know,” he says plainly.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to know what made you want to die, Wynn.”
He stands. The same distant look that was on his face in the photos consumes his expression now. Liam pushes his chair in and walks out of the cafeteria, leaving me confused, with hurt spreading through my chest.
* * *
Liam didn’t talk to me for the rest of the day.
Sometimes he dissociates and seems like a different person altogether. It’s easy to deal with because I do it too.
We sit in silence with his bedside lamp on the dimmest setting, the pattern of rain crashing against the bricks of Harlow being the only sound.
I move toward the open window and breathe in the crisp scent of rain. My sweater isn’t enough to prevent the chill that falls over my bones. I can feel his eyes on me; my skin is uncomfortable beneath his gaze. He hasn’t touched me since yesterday. The memory of his lips on my neck still stirs something carnal deep inside me.
The fabric of our souls is thin—we’ve been wandering this world just to unite in this small corner of the universe. Our connection is frightening and enchanting all at once. A shudder crawls down my spine as I recall the look I saw in his eyes through the window in the spa. Fire and ice—we are impossible together.
I want to know what it means. I want to know why we’ve crossed paths.
His breaths become heavy and slow, telling me he’s already found rest. Who knows if he has another alarm set or not. He’s quirky like that. Sometimes he gets up and leaves Harlow late at night. Other times he sleeps soundly for hours.
My bed creaks as I nestle in. I leave his lamp alone. A voice in the back of my mind tells me he occasionally leaves it on for a reason. We’re all afraid of the dark at some point in our lives, but with Liam, it’s when his mom texts him. When he spends the evenings staring off at the walls, deep in thought.
I stare at the ceiling for a few hours. Once my eyes start to shut, he groans as if he’s in pain. My gaze shifts over to him. His brows are pulled in tight with torture, teeth bared in agony.
The thought of waking him crosses my mind, but I’ve had many bad experiences waking people from their nightmares. So I sit on the edge of his bed, gently brushing hair from his forehead, and listen as his whimpers slowly fade. Peace replaces his anguished expression and I fall a little deeper into the pit in my heart.
I memorize the raven-black locks of hair that fall over his pillow, the long lashes that kiss his cheeks, and his sculpted jawline. His tattoos are harder to look at now that I know how much they hide beneath their ink, but even those I find beautiful.
After a few minutes tick by, I move to head back to my own bed, but his hand finds my thigh. Liam’s brows pinch ever so slightly and he squeezes me gently.
