Prologue - Sophie
Two Years Ago
Summers in Hamilton have always been…simple. Ordinary. Nothing noteworthy or special in any way. Nothing has ever left a lasting impression on me, and every year has simply bled into the next one, the months billowing off like the crispy leaves in autumn. Even the people here are as bitter as the icy winters, and then there’s spring with its floods, the memory of my mother’s last breath in the hospital bringing with it a storm renewed even after three years.
I’ve never really been one to care for the seasons; my routines only adapt for the sake of my wardrobe choices and being comfortable in my work clothes.
But this year has been different. A monumental year, even if we’re only eight months in. For me, the year started last winter, during Christmastime, when a group of mercenaries was rushed into Bitterroot Health-Daly Hospital, some of them needing stitches, while others seemed to be on the brink of death….
A knock on my front door snaps me out of my thoughts, and I giggle to myself as I twirl once more in front of the mirror. The yellow summer dress screams “happiness” and “hope,” while delivering a clear message like an inside joke only I understand. It makes me blush, because for the first time in my life, I care about what I’m wearing, and even took the time to paint my lips a neutral shade that makes the rich brown color of my eyes twinkle as if reflecting light.
I hearhisvoice when the thought comes to mind, and I’m about to embark on a journey through the memory of whenhe first opened his eyes in the hospital after doctors spent ten hours operating on his leg. Mine was first pair of eyes he met, and he never locked eyes with another, even while he stayed in the hospital for another two weeks. But there’s another knock on the door, and butterflies flap their wings in my tummy, because there’s something better than a memory waiting for me behind my front door.
The soldier himself—the one who’d been on the brink of death and nearly lost his leg—is standing outside now, waiting for me.
With excitement bubbling in my chest, I pull the door open to meet him with an eager smile.
But the corners of my lips don’t lift when I read hostility in his blue eyes.
“Damian…?” I murmur, as if the man standing in front of me isn’t who I was expecting. His name is the same, because he responds to it, but his behavior is different; instead of the warmth of his arms enveloping me, I get a brisk nod, as if I’m just one of the soldiers who’d been rushed into the hospital with him.
My blood turns cold, my heart already cracking in my chest like a fragile object being squeezed too tightly. Damian tears his gaze away, runs a hand through his blonde hair, and his shoulders slouch as if he’s nervous.
He’s not acting like himself, that’s for sure. The Damian I know doesn’t get nervous about anything. It’s why we’re here, six months into a relationship that was steadily turning into something serious. He wasn’t nervous when he needed to learn how to walk again with the help of some physiotherapy, and succeeded in a week. He wasn’t nervous when he pursued me once he’d been discharged from the hospital, and he definitelywasn’t nervous the first time he made love to me and discovered that I was a virgin.
So, what is he nervous about right now? It can’t possibly be because of our picnic date in the mountains. We’ve already had a few of those.
“Can I come inside?” he asks, voice rough and ragged, as if his throat is dry, scorched by the burn of too much alcohol.
“S-sure,” I respond, hesitant since his energy is off. It’s not like he hasn’t been in my apartment before. It’s not like he hasn’t carried me through the door with his tongue down my throat.
Now, I’m not even getting a hug, and it feels like my world is crumbling around me.
Damian walks in, his hand brushing past my arm and sending goosebumps pebbling across my skin. His indifference right now has a lump forming in my throat, because it’s unlike him to be so distant when every other encounter between us has been passionate. We’re rarely able to keep our hands to ourselves, so wringing my hands together awkwardly after closing the door behind him feels strange.
An unsettling coldness slithers down my spine, as if it’s suddenly winter in the midst of summer, as if the season I’d come to despise suddenly swooped in and now threatens to swallow the peace I’d found.
I turn around slowly, my heart cracking with every second that ticks by until I’m facing Damian again, facing the man who defied all medical laws and walked again after that brutal, gruesome injury to his leg. He didn’t offer any explanation, except that he and his team had been scouting Hamilton, near the woods, for a suspected anomaly when theyencountered a group of scavengers who’d since disappeared from town.
And now, he can’t even meet my eyes.
“Are we…” I pause to gulp down the lump in my throat that threatens to betray my outer composure. It’s hanging by a thread, and so is my sanity. “… Are we still going out?”
“I’m sorry,” Damian begins, and it’s not a “yes” or a “no,” but it’s a heart-wrenching reply that weakens my knees in the worst way. My vision is already blurring as I meet his eyes, the solemn, sad pools of blue appearing like icicles on the coldest winter’s day.
He hangs his head in shame, his shoulders curling toward his neck as he stands rigid and tense. “We c-can’t—” he chokes, unable to get the words out, but I already know what he wants to say.
“Are you… Are you breaking up with me?” I ask, voice hoarse, my throat sliced by the rising shards of my shattered heart. Damian sighs, the sound bordering on sadness and finality. “It’s best this way, Soph. I’m not doing this because I want to, but because—”
“Because what?!” I roar manically, unfurling my fingers and throwing my arms up in defeat, exasperation, borderline psychosis, because I can’t believe that he’s doing this now. Sundays have always been set aside for our picnic dates in the Bitterroot Mountains, where the overlook allowed us to watch the sunset over the panoramic view of the valley and river.
Now, he’s turning it into something I’ll hate.
“Huh?!” I snap at him, and he flinches as if the anger in my voice slapped him across the face. “Don’t give me a speechabout how you don’twantto do this, but you have to, when you’re standing right here, choosing this of your own free will!”
“Soph, you don’t under—”
“Don’tsay my name like that,” I warn him with a growl rumbling deep in my chest, even frightening myself with the way my voice comes out razor-sharp and menacing. I turn my face to the side, my breath coming in short bursts as I see red. “And don’t tell me that I don’t understand. You could have done this last night.”
