AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Anything but the water bottles from my mini fridge.
Vince will never enjoy a meal again.
I couldn’t force that voice away.
My fingers gripped the sink’s porcelain, struggling to keep my weight upright. Bright specks of white light clouded my vision, and I swore, Vincent’s ghost I had thought was my guilt manifesting looked real beside me.
I reached out to touch him but felt nothing.
You can’t touch me. I’m not here. He took a step closer, goading me. Because you were too late.
I needed to sleep. Or food.
Anything to exorcise these demons, this guilt, this all-consuming pain.
Stumbling to the kitchen, I swung open the fridge, found it empty, then grabbed an expired granola bar from the pantry before making my way back to the bedroom.
The bite I took churned in my stomach. Crumbs fell to the sheets, but I ignored them.
You’re pathetic. Vince’s ghost smiled at me. So bitter.
I’m sorry, I tried to say, but it came out all warped and raspy.
When was the last time I drank water? This morning? Yesterday? I didn’t even know the day.
Ariana caught me in a moment of weakness. I had the granola bar in my hand, the door still open but my legs refusing to move as I laid in bed like a useless lump.
She chose that moment to enter the apartment. I heard her footsteps and closed my eyes.
“You look like a mess.”
I didn’t respond.
“I know you’re awake.”
Still no response.
I tossed the granola bar onto the floor.
My eyes peeked open, and I watched wordlessly as she slid under the sheets with me in her little black dress that smelled a little of alcohol, the food from L’Oscurità, and a strong scent of cologne that better not have belonged to Graham.
We laid in silence for a few hours until she turned to her side to face me. She cupped my face, and I braced myself against her whispered words.
“Tell me what you need.”
“To forget,” I whispered.
I waited for Vince’s ghost to reply.
He didn’t.
Instead, Ariana’s hand found mine.
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
Duty makes us do things well, but love makes us do things beautifully.
