Page 14 of Laced in Longing

For just an instant, I swear he’s standing on the roof of the building opposite mine. A tall figure in black, white fabric obscuring his features, watching me through the window.

I blink, and he’s gone. Just a trick of the light, a manifestation of my preoccupied mind. But my heart races anyway, pulse pounding in my ears as I search the empty rooftop.

“I’m losing it,” I mutter, setting the mug down with trembling hands. “Completely losing it.”

CHAPTER SIX

MAVEN

Snow whips against my face in icy pellets as the wind stirs my hair into a frenzy. I’ve only been outside for ten minutes, and already my toes have gone numb despite the double layer of wool socks and boots.

The address saved on my phone claims the crystal shop is just a few more blocks. Some place called Mystic Minds, with a five-star rating from people who probably think carrying a hunk of rose quartz will fix their relationship problems. But the empty silence of my apartment was too much, and I am in desperate need of distraction. My lungs heave as people hurry past, heads down against the wind, shoulders hunched into their coats. No one makes eye contact or acknowledges each other.

But someone is watching me.

A prickling in my spine alerted me to eyes tracking my movements. One’s I’ve grown semi-familiar with. Because they’re not just any eyes.

They’re his.

I don’t turn around. What would be the point? Either I’d see him and confirm I’m hallucinating, or I’d see nothing and feel the tart sting of disappointment. Both options make my stomach flip and contract.

A sick sort of thrill travels through my blood, warming me from the inside. Someone—even if he is an illusion—wants me. Has singled me out and chosen me.

Of course my brain would conjure a ghost to want me. Not a real person with flesh and blood, or actual tangibility.

A small, very small, piece of me wants to call Dr. Voss just to brag that I have something I look forward to now. The woman has been trying to find me a hobby for years. I wager she’d rush to adjust my medications, raise the dosages or add new pills to the cocktail I already choke down each morning. I’ve been on so many combinations over the years, each one worse than the last. They never make me better, only different. Less sad but more hollow. Less anxious but more distant. They smooth out the peaks and valleys of my emotions until I’m left with nothing but an endless, featureless pain. A numb desert of a soul.

And without the meds, I’m a raw nerve, too sensitive to everything. Bright colors, white lights, mild to loud sounds—all of it suffocates.

Right now, as the cold seeps through my layers and the wind rips tears from my eyes, I wish I weren’t alone. I wish I had someone walking beside me, their arm linked through mine, their voice a distraction from the bitter cold. Someone to laugh with about how Canadian winters are as brutal as everyone says.

Someone like him, maybe. Even the thought of his voice settles me a bit.

The thought makes my cheeks flush hot despite the atmosphere. Ridiculous. Wanting companionship from my imagination.

But…isn’t that what my brain is for? To do things that would keep me from ending its meager existence? I mean, it’s done a pretty shit job at it so far, but maybe it’s learning, and he is just what I need.

The muscles connected to my sternum constrict. God, I’m pathetic.

I turn a corner, and my feet instantly lock in place, refusing to carry me forward another step. My breath stutters, the sound of my pulse drowning out even the chorus of the wind.

He’s there.

Standing in the middle of the sidewalk about thirty feet ahead of me, his tall figure unmistakable even through the curtain of snow. The long black coat hangs to his knees, perfectly still despite the wind that tosses everything else on the street. The white fabric covering his face remains equally undisturbed, defying the physics of the storm around him.

People flow around him like he’s encased in a bubble, never breaking stride, never glancing his way. They swerve to avoid him without any apparent awareness that they’re doing so, their paths curving naturally as if his presence exerts its own gravity.

Do they see him? Can anyone see him? Or is he visible only to me, further proof that I’m losing my grip on reality?

The crowd between us thickens, but my focus narrows to him alone. The rest of the world fades to an inky gray—the buildings, the snowflakes, the bustling pedestrians—all of it receding until there’s nothing but him and the beautiful contrast of his coat against the bright backdrop.

I don’t move. Neither does he. We stand frozen in our respective places, separated by distance and people but connected by an invisible thread that pulls taut between us. I still can’t see his eyes, but I feel his gaze like a physical touch, shivering as it breezes over my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

The saliva in my mouth disappears as tingles overtake my fingertips. The cold becomes a distant concern as heat spreads through me, radiating outward from my core. It’s the same sensation I feel in the dreams—that peculiar mix of fear and anticipation, of wanting to run away and needing to move closer.

Why am I so entranced?

This is the first time I’ve seen him while awake and fully conscious. He’s here. Solid and undeniable.