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His breath hitches, stealing whatever it is he wanted to say.
Our gazes collide, snapping together, and something heavy and knowing passes through us. He searches my eyes like he’s looking for something, or maybe trying to explain himself. Silently and desperately.
He looks lost.
Defeated.
And it tugs on something inside of me I’d much rather ignore. Something that has me searching right back, seeking…something out, something I can’t put a name to.
In this moment, brief and fleeting as it is, he’s not just some kid, not some stranger.
And I’m not some jaded alcoholic, fourteen years his senior, pissed off at the goddamn world.
We’re just two lost souls, trapped in this hell masquerading as paradise, banished from the outside world, looking for a way out.
He sees me, and I see him, and it’s…
It’s—
I whirl around, storm away, hands white-knuckling my shoes, sand kicking up at my feet.
All I can hear is the whoosh of waves clashing with the blood roaring in my ears.
I feel him staring after me.
This time, he doesn’t stop me.
CHAPTERTWO
SKYLER
The first time I realized I was different, I was six and in the middle of a breakdown over a broken crayon.
I remember how I was in the process of carefully filling in the last ribbon of the rainbow on our coloring sheet when it snapped, producing a tiny jagged purple mark just outside the bold black outline. A mark no bigger than my pinkie nail.
My entire kindergarten class stared at me, before all but diving behind Mrs. Golden when I shot to a stand, screamed bloody murder, and kicked at my desk, swiping everything in sight.
Papers fluttered in the air.
Cups of crayons and markers rolled off the table.
Chairs toppled over.
It was as if a tornado blew through the room in the form of little fists and howlish yells and unchecked tears streaming down too-hot cheeks.
I couldn’t stop.
I remember that.
I couldn’t stop.
I never could when I was possessed by the storm.
It was far from my first outburst—what professionals would later callmeltdowns. Far from my last. But it was the first time where my brain seemed to click on, and I realized just how alone I was. Still too young to get control over it, but too old to live in blissful ignorance.
It was terrifying, being aware of what was happening, and not being able to stop it.
And that’s when I started to hurt myself.
