“No questions.” Her tone was final. “Just come with me.”
He couldn’t describe why he was compelled to trust her. Lingering outside of their rooms was dangerous at night. If they were caught their punishment would be isolation, and being alone in a room for days was not good for mentally ill patients. To be left alone with your broken mind was complete torture.
Lytta grasped his hand, desperation falling over her features that confused and concerned him. When he nodded, they slipped from his room on silent feet and stuck to the shadows lining the wall.
They reached the familiar metal door that led outside to the back of St. Dymphna’s and opened it swiftly. Once the door closed behind them, Brooks stopped to take in his surroundings. A cool autumn breeze tousled his hair and raised goosebumps on his arms. The crisp air smelled of wet leaves and saturated bark.
A twitch of fingers on the back of his hand brought his attention to the woman beside him. Eyes closed and head tipped back, strands of hair danced across her pallid skin as the rest fell in waves behind her.
Shadows surrounded her as if even the moonlight was afraid to brush her skin. Her scars contrasted with the pale light and called to a part of his being like a missing piece to his puzzle. Familiarity.
“Like calls to like,“ that baritone rumbled under his skin. He startled, but pushed the resurgence of the voice aside.
A tear fell from Lytta’s closed lashes and dropped slowly, landing on her lips and disappearing into the crease. His heart ached. While the ghosts of her past were known only to Lytta, he felt each and every one of them as if they were his own.
Her eyelids fluttered open and the sheen of tears reflected the moonlight.
Broken.
“Come on,” her voice cracked.
She led him up the metal fire escape in silence, the only sound a symphony of crickets chirping and their hushed pants of exertion.
Once on top, Lytta pulled her hand from his and walked toward the center of the rooftop where the space was most open. Their space. He was surprised when she dropped to her ass and laid back. He stood to observe her for a moment more before making his way to join her.
Once he stood at her side, he took the time to study her face. She didn’t look at him. Her gaze was focused toward the sky, and he followed it dutifully with his own.
“It works better if you lie down,” she said.
After a moment of consideration he lowered himself to lie beside her. They were silent as their minds wandered.
As he gazed upon the night sky, his thoughts drifted to creation. Who crafted the stars? Did some omnipotent god mold them with his hands? He imagined a great artist posed in the sky, his brow lowered in concentration, holding a brush and using gentle, purposeful strokes to paint the most intricate details.
Maybe it wasn’t so complicated.
Maybe, they justwere.
He looked for the millionth time to the darkness between the burning orbs of light in the sky and recalled Lytta’s words from their first night on the roof.
“The stars do not exist without the space that holds them.”
It was alluring, that thought. The stars get so much credit for their beauty, but what about the space that fostered and nurtured them? The more he thought about it, the more the darkness spoke to him.
Brooks inhaled the crisp air and let his thoughts soak through his mind and into his blood. Something about the air and the darkness made him feel alive.
“They’re beautiful aren’t they?” Her whisper pulled him from his musings.
Brooks curled an eyebrow but didn’t look over.
“They’re all I think about,” Her voice was strained as emotions pulled the chords in her throat tight.
“Why?” he asked. “Because you’ll never reach them?”
“No,” she scoffed. “Most people know they’ll never reach the stars, Brooks. That’s not why we look at them.”
“Well I’ve been looking at them for my entire fucking life and they’ve never given me shit, cold queen.”
She smiled at the nickname he’d given her that first night.
