He saidAdora, and my bones jumped under my skin.
Just the sound of her name leaving another man’s mouth made me want to shatter his teeth. I, however, did not respond, not wanting to use us to fill silence.
Zephyr was spinning the point of a knife into a tree, watching me. “How did you get to Weeping Hollow, anyway?”
Phoenix nudged his head. “Did you hitch a ride on Noah’s Ark?”
I looked at Julian. “Are all Heathens this ignorant, or just the one?”
Phoenix chuckled. “So, let me get this straight,” he continued. “You were basically dead for a hundred years and still able to suck face with Adora Sullivan.”
I narrowed my eyes, heat rising in my blood. “Clearly you fancy being beaten to a pulp.”
“Here we go,” Zephyr said, bored. “I’m sure Stone’s trysts are no more surprising than the thought of the youngest Sullivan lusting over your insignificant ass.”
Phoenix hung an arm off his bent knee. “No, Zeph, I honestly want to know the secret. A century old ... talks like a nineteenth-century poet.” Phoenix’s eyes snapped to me. “You fucking Shakespeare-d her, didn’t you?” I shook my head, and Phoenix slapped a palm against his chest. “You did!” He laughed. “O vagina, wherefore art thou vagina?!”
The laughs sputtered at first—a collection of air escaping pressed lips. Then three of them burst in unison, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or drive my fist into his jaw.
Julian smiled amusedly at me. “Ignore them. They wouldn’t know what to do with a vagina if it sat on their face.”
Phoenix coughed, laughter dying as he struggled to stand. “Just do us a favor and stay away from her window, Romeo.”
And after a short walk, we reached a cabin.
A girl with long hair as white as mine stepped out. She slowly descended the porch steps, her attention never leaving me. She was light skinned, almost as white as my hair, and as she stepped closer, the color of pale blue flooded her eyes.
This wasn’t the first time I had seen them and felt my chest on fire from frostbite. It wasn’t even the second.
I’d been reacquainted with her the moment I stepped into the ballroom on the first night I arrived in town, but at this moment, her eyes were hitting mine, rushing ice-cold water into my lungs, stealing all air from a desperate soul.
I’m alive again, but it won’t last long.
I can’t recall how many times I’ve died. It all blends together. But as I lay here, at the bottom, the sun threads a beam of light into the ocean above.
I haven’t felt its warmth on my face, seen the aurora lights, or tasted a kiss.
I haven’t really lived at all.
These are my thoughts as death sneaks up on me again.
I’m running out of air, holding my drawing close in my mind.
Death ridicules my heart for trying, but it beats anyway until it can’t anymore. Just as my lungs continue to inhale even though there is no air. I have given up, but no one can tell their heart to stop beating, no one can tell their lungs to stop working.
At last, the burn squeezes me.
When light comes again, I’m back in her room, shivering, cold, alone.
I’m angry and sad and defeated, but I’m angry, and angry means I feel something other than the pain, and emotion means there’s hope.
Something inside me is still holding on to hope.
When Fallon comes into the room, she sees me, then closes the door.
She’s bothered, I can tell from her face. But she isn’t crying today.
We don’t have enough time. We never do.
