Prologue
Willow
I never thought I would be burying my dad at twenty. Yet here I am, standing before his freshly set headstone, flowers scattered around it. My chest feels tight, my stomach is twisted, and my heart is shattered.
Grief hits differently; it's unlike what I imagined it would be. It’s heavy, suffocating and painful in a way I could never articulate. A hollow ache that twists through my bones and refuses to leave. It presses down on you, so consuming like a black cloud of smoke you can’t see through, unable to ever feel anything else. I had known this was coming; I thought I had been as prepared as I could be.
I had been grieving a living man for months. I sat by his side and watched as he deteriorated, holding his hand, watching him lose more of himself in each passing day, trying to create moments that would last beyond his leaving. Moments that I would treasure, that I would long for once he was no longer by my side, but also moments he could cherish in times where it seemed like there was nothing to appreciate, where life was too hard to find the beauty in the day. He was my best friend and my father all at once—the one who watched me take my first steps, and the one who watched me walk down the aisle and collect my graduation certificate and all the bits in between. He was the parent who stayed, who chose me, and who showed me every single day that he truly loved me. Now, in a cruel twist of fate, he’s gone, and I am alone for the first time in my life. I stand here, staring down at my father's final resting place. I reflect on the last few days.
The house felt empty, cold and lifeless. I am so consumed by my grief that I struggle to bring up a single good memory. My body feels numb. Sleep doesn’t come, even as I stare at the roof listening to the tick of the clock as hours pass by. Food is tasteless and unsatisfying when I do have the energy to attempt to try to eat something. My thoughts spiral endlessly, cycling like a PowerPoint presentation through every last smile, every touch, every word we shared and the ones I wish I’d said differently, the things I wish I could change. My body aches as if I’ve spent years carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. Time seems to pass by, making the hours since I last saw him feel like years, and still, my grief refuses to leave me. I can’t focus. I can’t think. I can barely breathe without being reminded that he’s gone.
I try to hold it together, to force myself into pretending I'm okay, but grief doesn’t care about composure. It weighs on my chest and shoulders, drags in my stomach, and gnaws at my bones. I embody everything he loved, yet without him, I feel so small and lost.
The wind tugs at my hair, bringing me back to the present. My heels sink into the soft earth as River, my brother, stands beside me, his hand gripping mine like a lifeline. I don't think I would be standing if it weren’t for him. I can’t tell him how much it means that he’s been here through it all. I might hate my mother and his father, but I love River fiercely, and I could never have gotten through this if it weren't for him being my strength.
He is the last family member I have, and that thought terrifies me.
“You ready to go?”
His green eyes—so like mine—look down at me. I nod, blinking back tears, trying to catch my breath.
I step closer to his headstone, pressing my hand against the cold marble stone.
“I love you, Dad,” I whisper, my voice breaking, tears streaming down my face, my chest aching with every syllable as I stand and leave him behind.
With each step toward my brother's car, I can feel my heart being ripped in two—half staying behind with my dad, half forced to follow me. It's like my feet are made of lead, and the urge to run and curl up and lie beside him for the rest of my days is so strong that I force myself to look forward. I can’t stay here; I can’t live in a home filled with memories that once brought me peace and are nothing but heartache. Maybe one day I will be strong enough to return, but now is not that time.
As I watch the cemetery pass us by, I am reminded that I am heading towards a home that doesn’t want me, somewhere different, far from here and straight to the woman I loathe and her husband, the man who tore my family apart.
Chapter 1
Willow
I had only been at my mother's house for two weeks. In true Rose fashion, she’d taken off on holiday with her husband without an ounce of care for how her daughter was dealing with the loss of her father, once again reminding me that I was nothing but an inconvenience to her. She hadn’t bothered showing up to my father's funeral, claiming she was far too busy.
Although I should never have expected anything different. My mother never cared, not really, not about her marriage, her child, or the family she tore apart with her choices. The only reason I ever saw her, after she left, was because of my grandparents, her parents, forcing her to acknowledge my existence during the Summer when I stayed at their place with River.
I should be thinking about a job or applying to university, but after spending so long taking care of my dad, juggling three jobs, and letting my studies slip, my love for dance had slipped somewhere along the way, too. Leaving those things behind had been easier than trying to hold onto them and watching as it all fell apart.
So, I coped in the only way that I knew would help ease the pain inside me, even if for a short while: drinking until I no longer felt the pain, dancing at every nightclub that would have me, and orgasms, fake ones mostly.
It's not like I was racking up a monumental amount of men that I’d slept with, but honestly, what I had experienced waspretty disappointing. None of them could find my clit, and I doubt they would even if it was labelled in neon lights, and I felt a pang of pity for every other girl they'd been with. I was starting to believe orgasms from men were a myth.
It had been a long two weeks filled with hazy memories from club nights, and if I wasn’t drunk, I was wide awake, staring at the roof while my grief consumed me. I occasionally left my bedroom, even if it was just to give proof of life to River.
I couldn’t tell you what day it was or the last time I ate. Time is meaningless, and I know River is becoming increasingly worried. I can sense it with the way he's staring at me from across the table with some sort of disgusting green smoothie and his usual gym wear.
“What time did you get in last night?” he asks finally, and I shrug.
“No idea.”
“I noticed you didn't bring anyone home this time.”
This time.
I eye his smoothie before meeting his worried gaze. “Been spying on me, Riv?”
He splutters at that, eyes widening slightly.
