CHAPTER 35
AMBROSE
October
While I’ve made it a point to always learn, grow, and experience what the world has to offer, I think I’d forgotten how beautiful life could be until now. Brielle has brought a warmth and passion into my life that I’ve hardly felt in decades.
After losing Emma, I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to love again. It was a pain I was prepared for, though the predictability didn’t make it hurt any less. But one thing her death made evident is that I would forever be cursed to outlive anyone I ever love until I made the choice to die myself.
It’s difficult to choose death, though, even though the idea of slowly fading away isn’t as terrifying as it once was. Before she passed, Emma had made me promise that I wouldn’t waste this gift given to me, that I would experience all the beauty of life for as long as I possibly could. I had promised her that I wouldn’t stop living until it became a chore rather than an experience. And somehow, life still constantly finds ways tosurprise me.
Brielle is the ultimate example of that. People have always been fascinating to me—their personalities, their fears, the choices they make—but I’ve never been drawn to someone in the way I’ve been drawn to her. An immediate curiosity followed by a consuming desire.
She brings a light to my life that I hadn’t even realized was missing.
If I’m being honest, it might kill me when she’s gone. The gut-wrenching pain from even imagining the day she leaves, whether it be willingly or not, is enough to bring me to my knees.
But at the same time, I can’t ask her to stay in a place she so clearly resents. All she wants now is her freedom, and I will give it to her. Every time she mentions the bargain we made, the guilt cuts me deeper, but I keep reminding myself that I can’t let it consume me. I’m doing all of this for a good reason. At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself.
I have no doubts that Brielle feels something for me, but it’s difficult to determine the legitimacy of those feelings. Does she love me in the way I love her, or has she tricked herself into feeling something more for me because of our proximity? Can love be freely given when she still, to some degree, considers herself a captive?
I want to tell her how I feel, but that would feel like yet another form of manipulation on top of the transgressions I’ve already committed. Even if I did profess my feelings to her, it would be difficult to trust the truth of her response. Would she return my sentiment simply out of fear of what I might do should she reject my feelings? I would never pressure her into admitting to anything she doesn’t feel fully, but she might not know that. Even if I tell her that’s the case, she might assume I’m playing more mind games.
But it’s all my fault; I’ve dug myself into this hole ofmanipulation and half-truths, so I cannot blame her for any assumptions she might make.
Despite all the lingering mistrust, though, there’s something that tells me she feels the same as I do, even if she can’t bring herself to say so. Brielle used to look at me like I was a monster, as evil as they come. Now, I often catch her watching me when she doesn’t think I’m paying attention, and there’s something in the way she looks at me that gives me hope.
She wears her vulnerability on her sleeve, but it’s one of the things I love about her. Even after all the trauma she’s experienced, she still manages to open her heart, if only a little.
It feels ridiculous to hope that she might end up loving me enough to stay here. Hope is such a fickle thing to cling to, but I can’t help the way she makes me want so many things I’ve not dared to consider in such a long time.
But, deep down… I fear I’m breaking my own heart by loving someone who could never truly love me back.
CHAPTER 36
We’ve gone back to pretending that things are normal between us—in whatever twisted definition we have of “normal”—after I had woken up in Ambrose’s bed late in the afternoon a few days ago. Neither of us has mentioned it, likely because neither of us knows how to approach the topic. Something has shifted between us, and it seems as if neither of us knows what to make of it. It’s almost better that way, though. It’s easier to ignore the intimate thing that happened between us rather than risk naming it and discovering it meant something different to each of us.
Regardless of the awkwardness lingering between us, it seems we’ve come to a sort of truce despite our circumstances. After the events of the last week or two, it feels unnecessary to continue pretending to hate him. He’s grown on me, which I hate to admit, but I find myself seeking him out more often than not, content to spend time with him as we read or watch movies or go for walks through the woods.
The angels never show up when he’s with me, thankfully.
This evening, I’m curled up on the couchtrying to read, but my eyes have glazed over the same page for the third time without really taking any of the words in. It’s a book about a serial killer, which I thought might inspire me for my own future plans, but nothing is holding my attention right now. Ambrose is across the room with his leather-bound notebook in his lap, lost in thought as he writes. I wish he’d leave the notebook out on the table sometime rather than locking it away, because my curiosity about what’s inside those pages grows every day.
I sigh loudly, closing the book in my hand and dropping it on the coffee table with a heavy thud.
Ambrose looks up from the armchair across the room. “Something wrong?”
“I’m bored,” I announce. “I’ve read three books this week. I’ve plotted multiple potential murders. I think my brain is starting to melt.”
“That didn’t take long.”
I glare at him. “I’m serious.”
“Are you saying you want me to entertain you?”
I ignore the innuendo that’s made evident by his smirk and answer, “Yeah, maybe.”
He stares at me for a moment before closing the notebook in his lap, standing, and reaching high on the bookshelf to secure his notebook in the locking case, alongside the dozens already inside.
