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Chapter Twelve
TRISTAN
I’ve never cried myself to sleep before. Ever. And I never will again.
I have no idea how I’m supposed to face Isabel after last night’s disaster. I still don’t know what the hell happened, and as I jog around Waverly Park for the third time this morning, I search my brain for some kind of explanation. It was like once the door cracked open to let her in, the whole damn thing fell off its hinges. I can’t believe I even told her that shit, let alone broke down in front of her.
And she was so fucking kind about it. So compassionate and understanding, which just makes the whole thing worse. So yeah, as soon as my eyes snapped open at five o’clock, I splashed them with cold water to soothe the burn and rushed out the door. It’s almost seven now so it should be safe to return in another hour or so.
My lungs are heaving as I round the cluster of trees mimicking a small patch of forest. I don’t know how many miles I’ve run since leaving the apartment but it’s not enough if I’m still standing. My mind and body deserve no rest after betraying me last night. I’m furious at myself for being so weak. What’s next? I pop by the police station and confess the truth about what happened? Hell, maybe I should drop in on Amber Hubert’s family and let them know they’ve been hating the wrong person for almost five years. I’m sure they’d love to find out the driver who actually killed their daughter has been freely walking around town, buying groceries and serving them drinks at Palisades 47.
I force away the bitter thoughts and focus on the pain in my limbs and chest instead. It’s freezing this morning, which has made this run particularly difficult. Good. I can only hope I push myself until my legs give out and I die of hypothermia in the vicious wilderness that is Suncrest Valley’s small community park.
“Poor guy was too stupid to find his way out of a tiny patch of trees.”
Self-fulfilling prophecy is a bitch when my next few steps come hard and awkward sending me stumbling forward. Gravel slices into my palms and cheek when I hit the ground, but I barely feel it as I roll to my back and stare up at the overcast sky. My heavy breathing echoes through the dead trees while wet debris soaks through my sweatpants and clings to the back of my neck like icy restraints. Even the air smells like death.
I hold up my hand and stretch out my fingers to examine the damage. It’s hard to tell through the streaks of dirt, but I quickly lose interest in favor of the contrast to the gray sky above. I reach my palm toward the sky, watching how the perspective of both change with each adjustment. When I squint at just the right angle, I can almost blur my hand into harmony with the stark branches grasping for the hidden sun. It’s sad, really, those lonely limbs. They claw at the heavens like they’re just a fraction below it, not realizing what they want is infinitely out of reach.
Remember that time I couldn’t breathe
And you sat on my lungs, heaving
All remaining air? Reaching
For what wasn’t there
A sun that won’t dare
To show grace
To cross space
To spare a flicker of light while you lay bleeding
With a bitter laugh, I press the heels of my torn, dirty palms into my eyes. Even the poetry and music is dead.
You’re a fucking joke, Tristan Haverford.
You are nothing and nobody wants you here.
Nobody. Wants. You.
Why the hell would they?
I ignore the ache in my chest as I push myself back to my feet. Everything hurts, inside and out, but it doesn’t slow me down. If anything, I feel invigorated as I absorb the burn. One more lap should be enough to bring my body to its knees, maybe even literally. If that doesn’t work, there are plenty of other ways to find relief in this godforsaken town. I have the entire day to go on the hunt for the one thing that can silence the demons once they own you.
Because there’s only one weapon to fight all others. One freedom that can’t be stripped away or held hostage. There’s only one thing you truly control, so maybe Idoknow who and what I am now. They can take it all, except the very thing you’ve become: Pain.
I return to the apartment cold, hungry, and sore. Weirdly, it feels right. I don’t have to work for several more hours, so I stop at the kitchen to check in with Kim and see what she’s doing today. My adrenaline spikes when I find Isabel instead.
“Hey. Good morning,” she says with a soft smile. “Oh crap, your face. What happened?”
I blink at her, stalled in the doorway. “I’m fine. Shouldn’t you be at work?”
She shrugs. “I called out again. You want some eggs? No hot dogs or jalapeños, though, sorry.” She adds a sly grin, so I know she’s thinking about the time we sparred over my favorite snack in this very spot.
“You called out? Why? You just skipped yesterday.”
