The torrential weather we’ve been having is gone, replaced by the familiar rays of the sun warming Neverbound Academy, but it does nothing to change the swirling tension and frustration inside of me.
Does she really think that? Does she truly think I want her dead?
What have I said or done to make her think otherwise?
My fingers curl around the arm of the chair as my lips purse.
I don’t like feeling helpless or out of control, yet when it comes to Ivy, that’s all I’m left with.
Sitting here isn’t helping me, but I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. The others left hours ago, straight after she disappeared with Hugo, but I can’t seem to find the same strength.
Watching her in that bed, I knew she was safe. Sitting at her door, observing everyone who entered, gave me purpose, and arguing with her fed my soul in a way I can’t describe.
The reality is, watching her die, burn, and resurrect plays on repeat in my mind, haunting me. Archer was right. That might be her magic, and a relief at that, but I never want to see that happen to her ever again. My chest tightens at the thought.
Maybe that’s where I lost a piece of myself?
Sitting here isn’t going to fix it, I know that, but the discomfort that resonates inside of me and the sense of loss that’s consuming me is undeniable.
I feel like a shell of myself, and I don’t know how to fix it.
Ivy has flipped my world upside down, and now I’m left sitting in her hospital room, staring at the bed, reminiscing about the bliss I felt simply watching her sleep. Knowing she was safe and within reach offered me calmness and peace. Watching her leave has created a tsunami of emotions inside of me, crashing against my soul over and over again.
I need to get out of here.
Even if that means leaving a piece of me behind.
Rising from my seat, I hover at the foot of the bed for a moment, envisioning her there, the sheets all crumpled and her blonde hair spread in every direction, but all I’m greeted with are pristine sheets and a deeper air of loneliness.
With a grunt, I turn for the door, stomping down the hall without a backward glance. I hear a few members of staffattempt to greet me as I pass, but I’m too lost in my emotions to pay enough attention to what they’re saying.
Reaching the exit, I slow to a stop the second I’m basking in the gentle sun. It warms my skin, igniting my veins, but one thing remains perfectly clear: I can still feel a piece of me is missing. But now that I’m outside, it’s clear it doesn’t linger inside those doors; it’s somewhere else on campus.
It’s withher.
Unable to comprehend the truth, I stuff my hands in my pockets and move, stomping across campus in a blind march until I find myself at the exact spot where one of my many mistakes unfolded.
The clifftops.
Anger burns through me as I recall the horror that anchored inside of me, leaving me to gape in disbelief as she tumbled off the edge.
The simple truth is, for the first time in my life, when my survival instincts took over, I didn’t fight first, and I didn’t even consider running. Instead, I was left frozen and broken in place as I watched my world fall apart.
Not that she would believe me.
Not that I would blame her.
Tugging the hair tie from my head, I let my hair fall around my shoulders, attempting to hide from the pain that has taken root somewhere I can’t reach.
I can feel the tendrils of self-destruction thicken with the need to hurt as much as she has. Pressing my palms into my temples, I try to calm the battle inside of me, but the war has already begun.
Ping ponging back and forth between regret and indecision, I can’t bring myself to acknowledge the state I’m in. It’s embarrassing. It’s real. It’s desperate.
Do I want to make things better with her?
Do I want her to know the pain I feel too?
Do I want to expose my vulnerabilities?
