Chapter one
Tytus
It’s bleak.
Where I am. Where I’m headed.
I’m so far down, so far gone, flailing, careening into the deepest, darkest of pits.
Here and there, as I fall, light shines through. Beams and bursts, flashes and glittering flecks of light like the freckles on Sawyer’s face.
My lungs are caving in on themselves; it will be over soon. Though I don’t deserve to see any semblance of light for all my remaining breaths, illumination persists.
Red and blue flashes.
Honey-colored irises flooded with tears.
A halo of copper red.
Instinct tells me to take a good look. To force my eyes open. To drink her in one last time.
When I do finally crack open one eye, she’s sad again.
She’s always sad because of me.
I crank open my jaw, ignoring the way it pops. But I can’t swallow past the dryness that’s taken away my ability to speak.
My lips part, her name on the tip of my tongue. But there’s not enough air.
No words come out.
I’m broken.
I break things.
Blinking, I banish the tears accumulating in my eyes. I won’t waste a single second of the time I have left doing anything other than soaking her in.
She’s an angel: a devastated, broken, permanently stained angel.
I’ve ruined her.
This is all my fault.
She’s crying again because of me.
“Mon ange.”
Instead of those two words, a warmth floods my throat. Hot, searing moisture rises, saturating the cracked, dry edges I was fighting against.
The sudden hydration should bring relief.
All I feel is pain.
It pools, cutting off my airway.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t think.
