There’s a flicker ofsomethingpeeking through the fissures in his chiseled, masculine shell. My claws itch to sink into those crevices and pry them apart. To reveal the animal beneath. Dissect his mind. Peel away his layers. Unravel his past. Strip him to his core.
I want to know who Sebastian Holt is in the dark.
Which is dangerous for a whole host of reasons.
His stubbled jaw flexes.
“Does Declan know you smoke?”
Takinganother drag, I shrug. “No, but I’m sure you’ll happily tattle on me.”
He bristles and crosses his arms, his broad frame casting welcome shade from the setting sun.
An unspoken challenge of dominance.
Unmoved by his power play, I plop my ass on the top step facing the canal, brackish water lapping at the algae-stained cement walls. It ripples like green-black glass— glittering and menacing. I'm drawn forward, straining to catch a glimpse of anything lurking beneath the surface. I’d have to immerse myself to unveil its secrets…
Sebastian’s elongated shadow overlaps with mine and suddenly the canal is forgotten. A different kind of temptation hisses in my ears. It’s a compulsion— a visceral need. But to get what I want, I’ll have to risk the shred of sanity I've reclaimed.
Morbid curiosity will always be my downfall.
I tap off the ash to hide the trembling in my hand. “My mom smoked after she painted. Kinda like a ritual. She said it grounded her.”
The weather-worn deck creaks.
My molars clamp on the inside of my cheek.
Sebastian sinks into the space beside me with a sigh, arms on his knees as his callused fists unfurl. Palm fronds hush in the breeze, interrupted every so often by the splash of a mullet jumping. I puff on my cigarette. The whispers subside. Surrounded by the music of our new environment, we sit side by side, adjusting to it and each other’s presence until our shadows dissolve into the night.
Four
ANDREA
“You sure?”she asks again.
Silver shears glint in the mirror’s reflection as the stylist’s plastic comb passes through my wet, waist-length locks. I stare blankly ahead at a ghost I don’t recognize, fluorescent strip lights emphasizing the purple bags under her puffy eyes.
Then she morphs into someone much more haunting: a boy with messy brown waves, tears streaming from his fractured hazel eyes, staining his splotchy cheeks as he whispers the same things over and over.
“I’m too sick to be what he needs.”
My best friend’s words form a noose around my throat and bind my hands behind my back. I can’t reassure him or hold him close enough to shoulder his pain. This agony— in his mind, his heart, his soul— is his alone.
I fucking hate it.
“He was mine. And I was his. Do you understand?”
Every unanswered prayer cycles through my skull. I begged God to hear me, to ease his suffering, but only received screaming silence. It’s a cruel, unnecessary punishment. And for what? Because he fell in love with a boy? A boy I’d found on his knees, beaten, broken, and preyed on by so-called pillars of the schooland congregation. A boy who looked at my best friend like he was the sun.
“I love him, Drea… Even after everything. I don’t know how to stop.”
My eyes sting, but I refuse to let another tear fall. How dare God abandon one of His ‘precious creations’ for loving another? How dare He stand aside and let one of His children break beneath the weight of things too heavy for someone so young? And how dare He expect my faith to be unwavering through His negligence?
My gaze shifts to the hesitant stylist.
“Do it.”
Her scissors cut through the first section like nothing, but the shackles loosen with each clump that floats to the floor. Piece by piece, the ghost comes back to life, the dwindling candlelight in her eyes scorching with renewed strength.
