All I can smell ishim. Like he’s all over me.
The path dips, and a shimmer of blue shows through the trees. I blink, and it’s gone behind branches, then there again, a flat plane of color with light skating over it. The air changes.
I swallow, and it clicks loudly in my ears. My cap feels too tight, so I pull it off, letting it fall to the earth. My pulse is pounding in my neck, making my vision pulse with it.
I try to think of Noah. His laugh, the way his grin goes boyish. The way he pads around in the same outfit, just different colors most days. How he nods along to eighties music like it’s a brand-new song he’s hearing every time. Noah dancing with no skill and all the confidence in the world. It should help. But the thought of him is a different kind of torture right now, sweet and painful at the same time. I want him—I want to go back to him, but wanting never helped before. Wanting didn’t stop anything. Wanting isn’t enough.
You make everything harder than it needs to be, Gabe.
Kyle’s voice in my mind sounds so real, I whip my head around, searching. No one’s there. Just trees, the narrow veil of light pouring down the path, and the blue widening as the trail opens. I rub at my temples like I can force his voice away.
My sneakers crunch over grit and then slide on mud, and the smell rises, earth and the faint sweetness of rotting leaves. My calves are tight, I bend my knees a couple of times, trying to shake out the sensation. My throat tastes like copper. I scrape my tongue along the back of my teeth, and it makes me want to gag.
I feel disgusting. I can’t shake the feeling of Kyle away; the memories of his rough touches feel so tangible, like they just happened.
I pick up my feet again because stopping feels dangerous. If I stop, I’ll have to listen to that voice in my head. If I listen, I’ll have to feel every horrible memory.
Finally, the path opens onto a small, packed crescent of shore. And there it is. Pale blue under a washed sky, darker at its center. A slight breeze lifts so gently it looks more like the lake is breathing than the wind touching it. Light glares off the surface, hard and white where it hits, and my eyes water, but I don’t blink. I can’t.
I slow to a walk. Then stop. The sudden quiet is a pressure weighing down on me. Silence. My own breath the only sound, wet and loud.
Goosebumps lift along my forearms where the breeze cools sweat. I rub my thumb over the pad of my index finger. It’s wrinkled from sweating. My hands won’t hold still, they want to reach for my scar. I force them into fists and let them go, fighting the urge.
My mind is so loud. Too loud. I can’t handle it. It’s crushing me.
I can’t do this anymore.
I can’t keep living with all this pain.
The water is so silent. I tell myself to step back, to turn around and go home. Go back to the store, back to Noah. Talk to him, tell him everything.
My body won't move. I’m frozen. Time keeps moving, but I don’t.
There’s a sound in my ears that might be wind or might be the rush of blood. A lapping that barely exists, the smallest kiss of water against the shore.
It feels like I’m being watched. Not by a person. By an idea. Dark and vicious.
I shake my head, sweat flinging from my hair. My ribs hurt with every intake of air.
Suddenly, I’m at the edge.
The toes of my sneakers dip under, and the water ripples out, breaking the glass surface. My stomach twists. I should move back.
The water is cold, I look down, and the reflection warps. A man who doesn’t look like me stares back—hollow-eyes, jaw set. For a second, I think I see him, Kyle, but it’s only me, stretched and broken by the water.
I blink. My shoes are deeper. Dread slinks through me.
The chill climbs, numbing and burning my skin at once. My calves ache from it. My breath saws loudly in my throat, but the rest of the world has gone soundless. Even the breeze has died. It’s just me and the water.
Pathetic. Needy. Too much.
His voice again. So close it may as well be whispered into my ear. My shoulders jerk like I’ve been shoved, and another step carries me further.
I slam my hands to my temples. I need his voice gone. I need silence.
Knees under. Thighs. My shorts cling wetly to my legs, skin pebbling as the cold settles higher. My arms twitch at my sides, wanting to hold on, to anchor myself, to grab something solid. But there’s nothing to hold me here.
I tell myself to stop. I tell myself to turn back, to fight it. But I’m not in control.
