It gleamed over his irises, and he’s trying to be gentle with me. Something he rarely does. It’s what I love about him. But even the words that come out his mouth tiptoe around me.
They’re lies, I know they are.
Treating me like I’m a broken vase, waiting for one wrong move to send me clattering to the ground.
I know I’m fragile; I just don’t need to be reminded of it by everyone looking at me.
Eventually, he’ll leave. Tired of trying to hold me together.
He needs to. He doesn’t deserve to be sucked into the abyss with me.
It’s why I need to do this.
I don’t want to, but it’s for the best. He’ll look back at this moment and realise I was right.
I quickly send him a text, asking him if he can come over, and he replies immediately. My heart flutters rapidly. I’m not in my right mind.
Deep down, I know I shouldn’t do this, because this will break the last remaining part of me that’s whole.
I’m destined for a path of self-destruction, and I don’t want him to get caught as my collateral.
I’ve lost track of how long I stare at the wall when the doorbell rings, and I head for the stairs, seeing my mom has let Saint inside. She’s begged us both to go to the police, but Regina hasn’t told her parents.
It’s the shame. I understand. It’s vicious and unforgiving.
A small voice inside you will scream at the top of its lungs it wasn’t your fault.
But the sinister side…it whispers that it’s lying, forcing you to try and trace your steps, finding out where you went wrong.
And somehow, that voice is louder than the other; its words hold you prisoner.
Jenna told Saint to bring us back here, thinking my mom would be working late. I was completely unconscious when she saw me, and I’m glad; I don’t need a reminder of the initial heartbreak she would have had on her face.
She’s been struggling with this. It’s something you don’t realise: how much it affects everyone else around you.
I want to tell them I’m okay, that I’ll get there eventually.
But I hate lying, so silence suits me better.
“She needs you, Saint,” Mom says in a hushed tone, and I feel my heart spasm inside my chest.
I push myself off the wall when she leaves, meeting him at the bottom of the stairs. Those eyes I’ve come to know so well stare up at me, unsettled and uncertain.
“Hello, darling,” he whispers, and I watch his hands fisting at his sides, fighting the natural urge to touch me.
The last time he did was when he held me all the way home. He hasn’t attempted since, waiting for the moment when he feels like he can ask.
I don’t know if that will ever come back, either.
We both walk out to the backyard. The sky is as dark as my mood. Light rain drizzles around us as we head for the swings still firmly planted near the willow tree.
The first time I spoke to Saint was when I was twelve years old. Mom invited my whole class round for a party. He and Rex were halfway up it; she was pleading with them to get down.
The memory tries to nudge a smile on my face, but it feels so unnatural, so I let it fall again.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, a million reasons tied to it.
Sorry for not sticking to my original plan.
