So I stay there. Breathing him in. Counting his heartbeats. Letting the stars burn into my memory. Loving him so fiercely it hurts, because loving him has always been the easiest thing I've ever done—and losing him will be the hardest.
Chapter 9
Willow
Another night passes without sleep. When I finally drift off, it's never truly restful—it's a trap. Memories pull me under, vivid and cruel. I'm back there again, watching my dad fade away, counting his breaths until there are none left to count. His hand is in mine, and the room is too quiet.
Then it twists.
His face changes, the softness gone, his voice no longer gentle. In the dream, he looks at me like I’m something regrettable, something wrong, and he tells me I was the biggest mistake he ever made. I’m the reason he's dying. The words cut deeper than the loss itself, because some broken part of my brain wants to believe them.
Since he died, I usually lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, exhausted but too afraid to close my eyes—because sleep is where I lose him all over—and where I lose myself too.
I roll onto my side, body heavy with exhaustion, and glance down at Sassy curled up next to me. Her sparkling blue eyes flicker over me like she's reading my soul, and I let out a quiet sigh. My fingers tremble slightly as I stroke her soft fur, seeking comfort in her.
Last night, I caught fragments of Elijah and Rose yelling somewhere in the house, their voices angry and loud. I didn't even try to make sense of it—not that I cared enough. It's too much drama for me.
For a fleeting moment, I wondered if they would even notice if I let the grief swallow me whole. That thought turned into me finding a sharp object and cutting my wrists. Even that pain was numb to me. Everything is.
A loud knock rattles my door, but I don't move—River won't be back until later, and I can't be bothered with the other two who live here. The knock comes again, louder this time.
“Willow, open the door, right now.” Her shrill voice makes me roll my eyes, and I stay put. She's the last person I want anywhere near me.
Minutes crawl by before the door swings open, and she strolls in like her ass is on fire. She stops at the end of my bed, eyes darting between me and Sassy, her expression a mix of disbelief and disgust.
“What on earth is that thing doing in my house?” she sneers, pointing at my cat.
I level her with a flat, unimpressed stare as I sit up, Sassy shifting behind me, a low warning growl rumbling from her chest.
“I ask myself that same question every single day since I've been here about you.”
She clicks her tongue. “You think you're so funny, don't you?”
I lift one shoulder in a careless shrug, refusing to give her the reaction she wants. “No, just being honest. My dad always told me never to lie.”
The mention of him makes her expression harden. She draws closer, her fingers curling around the foot of the bed.
“Do you know what I think?”
“I couldn't give a shit.”
I push the covers off and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The room tilts for a second as I stand, knees trembling beneath my weight, eyes burning. I force myself upright, pridestiffening my spine when all my body wants to do is curl into a ball and forget the world.
“Get out of my room.”
I cross the space to the door and wrap my fingers around the handle, knuckles whitening as I hold it open, a silent challenge. I don't want her here. I don't want her anywhere near me.
Every time I look at her, it's like staring into a warped mirror, and it makes my stomach turn to think I’m her daughter. How could anyone like her exist in the same family as me—stuck up, shallow, and utterly insufferable.
She smirks.
“It's a shame you didn't grow up with me. You’d probably have better manners and actually take care of yourself. Lucky for you, I’m such a good mother—I even found you a job. Once you get paid, I can take you out and do something about… this.” Her hand gestures up and down, dismissively, sweeping over my hair and face.
“Are you actually serious right now?” I grit my teeth, my blood boiling.
Her hand reaches out, fingers hooking around a loose strand of my hair. I bat her hand away without looking at her. She laughs like I’m the one being dramatic.
“Don't be like that. I’m just trying to make you look pretty. My friend Olivia—have I told you about her? Anyway, she has a son. Plays football, like River. Very handsome. He could look after you, give me some pretty grandbabies. We just need to fix you up a little.”
