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And all that’s left is a husk made up of heaving lungs and ragged sobs, bent over sweat and tear-soaked keys, face mashed against my trembling clenched fists.
“Izzy,” I choke out. “Why? Why the fuck did this happen? Where are you? Where are you?”
I slam my fists on the keys, discordant notes clashing, flooding the room.
And I scream through clenched teeth, the sound guttural, and chest-deep.
I break.
I splinter apart.
“I’m so sorry,” I sob into my hands. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
I don’t even know what exactly I’m apologizing for.
That it’s her birthday, and she’s not here.
That it’s her brother’s birthday too, and he’s not here either, but drowning his grief in alcohol two hours too far from me.
That their parents are thousands of miles away, living out of an RV.
That her best friend is off God knows where tonight, losing himself in whiskey and a warm body, pretending this day is just another day.
That I couldn’t protect her…keep her safe…
Keep the world from going on without her.
“Anything,” I whisper from numb, tear-stained lips to whatever god might take pity on me. “I’d do and give up anything to bring her back. Anything. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair.”
I’m not sure how long I stay like that, cheek pressed to the top of the piano, staring blearily off at nothing, hands sliding across the keys, featherlight pressure giving way beneath my shaky fingers.
Slowly, but surely, reclaiming my love for piano…
Even if it means leaving Izzy behind.
No longer ours…
But mine.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Is sex always so…mechanical? Or is it just me?
I bet sex with Mason wasn’t mechanical.
Totally should not have said that.
But what are you gonna do about it?
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
AGE 21, AUGUST
Lightning flickers over the living room, playing with the candlelight coming from just about every surface. It’s been over an hour now since the storm rolled in. A half hour since we lost power.
“Go fish,” Phoebe says, just as thunder booms, shaking the foundation.
Shawn reaches for the pile of cards between us. The three of us sit around the coffee table, cards fanned out before our faces. On the recliner, Mom reads from her Kindle.
