Tortured by a life I once knew.
It causes my phone to burn beside me, the familiar itch trickling under my skin.
It’s been sixyears.
Two thousand, one hundred and ninety-two days since I last heard his voice in person.
Saint is forever etched in my heart.
Weaved so deeply into its threads that to unpick them would be to unravel the last part of me that survived.
I pushed him away when the darkness took over and now have to live with regret for the rest of my life. I often find myself imagining how different life would have been if I’d had stuck to our original plan that night.
If I had been more aware, questioned the things that didn’t seem right.
If Jenna wasn’t so damn wholehearted, we’d all likely be in the same place right now, not living fractured lives.
Hindsight is both a beautiful and disastrous thing.
A broken sigh frees itself from my lungs. I get up from the sofa and head into the kitchen before the moment swallows me whole, absentmindedly rummaging through the refrigerator to make lunch.
The beep of the microwave has my stare shifting from my phone over to Regina, watching her lean against the counter, her eyes narrowing on me.
“I’m taking that app off you,” she deadpans, and I jolt back.
“What do you mean?”
Her sigh fills the kitchen as she pulls the Tupperware out and makes her way over to sit beside me.
“One thing you’re not good at playing is the idiot, Indie. I know what you’ve been using it for; you’re on it more now than ever.”
I flex my jaw. I’ve never been able to lie to her.
We’re bonded through something much deeper than friendship, and we’ve pulled each other out of the same trenches of trauma. We know the deepest parts of each other and can feel when the other is slipping.
“Hope keeps me sane,” I quietly admit, looking up at her through my lashes, water threatening to teeter over my lids.
I don’t let it though; those tears are reserved for when I’m alone.
“Hope is stopping your heart from healing,” she says softly, and like she spoke it into existence, there’s a twinge deep in my chest.
“I miss him sometimes, that’s all.”
The wordsometimestastes potent on my tongue; it’s a dishonest admission.
“Even after all this time? You never speak about him,” she says, and I force down a swallow.
“He was really it for me. I just realised it too late.”
I wish I’d told him those same words.
When we finally caved to our feelings, we’d been together for over a year before everything went to shit. He was the perfect balance of everything.
He was a piece of heaven, infused with a hell-fuelled desire.
Patient and possessive.
There was always something dark inside him, and deep down, I knew he’d burn the world for me, just to ensure the ground was safe for me to walk on alone.
