Though Duncan left after he kissed me at sixteen, I’ll never replace him.
Secretly, I figure that if Barclay is within his rights to blow through our savings, I’m allowed this one thing for myself.
The memory of Duncan’s kiss. Of his eyes.
His presence.
Every single good thing about him, I’ve been clinging to it.
Even when the sad, humiliating memories creep in.
Like what kissing me had done to him. After Duncan left, Barclay explained it had disgusted his friend badly. That he’d realized it’d been fucked up to get involved with his best friend’s sister.
That he couldn’t look either of us in the eye and had to leave town.
The truth was devastating.
The fact that he was gone for good was even worse.
Because he didn’t just leave. No one was looking for him either.
When my parents and the authorities asked where he’d gone, Barclay told them Duncan had run off on his own. The grief over his parents had become too much. He couldn’t stay in New York and had relocated to another state. Which one? Barclay didn’t know.
Despite being the worst liar, I stuck to Barclay’s version. According to him, that had been Duncan’s last request before he disappeared. I respected Duncan’s decision out of guilt, even as I ached to contact him.
And so, nearly eighteen, distraught, and with the bank providing footage of him withdrawing funds the morning after our kiss, Duncan was never declared missing.
Everyone forgot about him eventually.
Everyone except me.
It still hurts, having to hold back. Not to reach out to him.
I have to, for him. That’s why I never texted him, fearing I’d make things worse by reminding him of a kiss that turned his stomach.
Not like I’m happy about it.
Losing him has dragged me into a dark, empty hole where pain and guilt were my only companions.
It started when I stopped picking up my friends’ calls. Later, I barely made it through high school. Hardly spoke to my parents or mourned them when they passed away, one after another.
Nothing’s changed since. Stuck in Cobbledale, lonely and aching for someone I’m never going to have, I’ve been drowning in shame and longing.
All because I can’t stop thinking about Duncan.
“Get over yourself, Elowyn.” I roll my shoulders back and continue down the hall.
Just then, a groan rises from one of the patient rooms. The raw and miserable sound knocks some sense into me.
Other people are fighting battles far heavier than a bruised heart.
That truth lands hard enough to briefly shake me free of self-pity.
It doesn’t last.
Because my shift ends in five minutes.
The part I hate most comes next. Securing the pain meds Barclay can’t pay for.
