Lynx offers nothing.
I run my fingers through my hair. “What if…?”
A thought twists inside me. It makes my stomach curdle. My attention slides to the wound before going back up to his face.
He’s always had such hypnotic eyes. Even in the darkness, I can still pick out the startling blue of his irises. They glow regardless of where the moon is in the sky or where the shadows touch his face. His eyes always give him away. The unnaturalness of them.
One of the last things I remember seeing before I died was those eyes. If I’m taken out permanently, I hope they’re the last thing that crosses my vision again.
“The spell I used to summon you here,” I start after taking a deep breath. “What if somehow when you killed me,that’swhat triggered our bond. You can’t go anywhere unless I’m there. You said it yourself that spirits can be stuck in places when they have unfinished business, and it’s abundantly clear there’s no way I’m going to be able to speak to my sister. And—and if that soul sucker comes, either you get dragged back to Hell, or I die for real, or both.”
Barbed wire seems to grow in the space between us as I speak.
“What are you getting at?”
“If I’m not here, you’ll be set free.”
“No.” His tone leaves no room for debate.
It’s not like we have any better ideas. If he dies, I’m still stuck here. If I die, there’s nothing stopping him from living out his life.
I grab his forearm, begging him to listen to what I’m saying. “Think about it. I’m a ghost. I’d rather be taken out permanently than be stuck here watching my parents live. Once you leave, you can make sure the book with all the evidence makes it to the police.”
He shakes his head, eyes blazing with betrayal and hurt. “I told you that you’d be taken somewhere far worse than here. You wouldn’t justdie.”
“So will you. It’s better one of us suffers than both.”
“That’s not an option.” Lynx grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You hear me? It’s not a fucking option. You don’t get to die.”
“I’m already dead, Lynx,” I whisper.
“No.” He shakes his head again. “Don’t—don’t say my name when you talk about shit like that. You don’t get to fucking leave me,” he says with such vigor and rage that my lips part in disbelief. “Your blood is on my hands, and I may never be able to wash it out, but I might as well be dead if you aren’t there with me.”
Heat burns my eyes, and I blink the tears back. “Lynx…” Every cynical, pessimistic inch of me is screaming that it’s a lie. I hear my parents’ voice telling me it’s just a phase because no one could ever truly want me.
Whatever Lynx sees on my face, he reads it as the worst.
He hurries to say, “If you don’t feel the same, then whatever, fuck it. I think I’m fine with that. I thought I’d be fine walking away if this is all one-sided. That we could be on separate sidesof the property or ignore each other for the rest of eternity. But I’d rather you hate me and be by my side, than for you to be outside of my reach.”
Anything I could say ties my tongue into a knot. His heart is on his sleeve, and he’s handing it to me on a broken silver platter that could cut either of us with the slightest jostle. I feel completely bare even though he’s the one who laid his cards on the table, and deep down, way below the surface of my skin, where I thought no light could ever reach, something fragile blooms from the seeds of hope Lynx planted before I realized what was happening inside me.
He sees me. He sees through all my bullshit, looked my inner monster dead in the eyes, and he still wants me.
“It isn’t one-sided,” is all I manage to say, though there are a thousand words flying through my mind, and none of them taste right.
Butthis? This feels right. Us being together. I’m dead and fucking buried, but we were both murdered.
Lynx stops breathing, his eyes fixed on me like he’s waiting for me to take it back.
We’ve been cursed to be stuck to each other’s side. I used to think it was a sick twist of fate, and maybe it is, but the only thing cruel about it is that one of us won’t make it to the end unless we break out of this prison.
The silence between us stretches, only the beat of the music and the sound of voices carrying into our dark room. Slowly, he lowers himself until our foreheads touch, and it’s like feeling the first ray of sunlight on my frozen skin.
How does one get used to the feeling of being wanted when they never thought it existed? Looking into his eyes now, I’m not sure I ever will. I died without knowing, but I guess the philosophers were right when they said that dying is getting a second chance at life.
“Truth or dare, Sable.” His voice is a rough demand that thickens the tension until I can barely breathe.
“Dare,” I say, barely above a whisper, as a shiver ripples down my spine.
