I grit my teeth. “Fuck.”
With a low growl, I press my palms to my temples before dragging them down my face.
What the hell was I thinking?
Through the window, I catch a glimpse of Annie’s silhouette evaporating down the hallway, her shoulders drawn tight, arms curled around herself. She’ll probably spend the rest of the night convincing herself I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. That I wasn’t implying anything. That I was just being supportive.
Or maybe she won’t.
Maybe she’ll let it fester until it picks apart the foundation she’s been teetering on for years.
I shake my head, sinking into the chair she abandoned and gripping the arms like a flimsy anchor. My attention pans downward, looking for a distraction, anything to pull me out of my messy, scrambled thoughts.
That’s when I see it.
Her notebook, half open, forgotten on the floor of the deck. A few crumpled napkins are stuffed inside, scrawled with ink.
Scribbles in the margins. Crossed-out lines. Colorful doodles.
And at the center of the page, a partially written song.
Unfinished and raw.
[Verse 1]
I used to chase the sun
Abeaconfire, bold and bright
But now I’mchoking on the fumesstanding in the ashes of a hollow, wasted fight
Every promise turned to smoke
A matchstick in the sky
Flickering out(??), a smothered flame
Our pieces drifting by
[Pre-Chorus?]
But you, you never faded
Even when
The words stop there.
Like she lost the nerve, or the hope, to write the rest.
But in my head, the song keeps going.
Chapter 14Annalise
I’m a walking zombie the next day.
Dishes clatter from the stifling, hectic kitchen as voices compete for dominance. Oldies croon from the vintage jukebox. Alex barks orders to everyone within earshot, while patrons laugh, converse, tell stories.
But the only voice I truly hear is my own.
