Haunt Me (Heartbreaker Duet #2)

thirty-four

I, who have refrained from using the Internet for years, have been looking things up on it nonstop these days. First it was Eden’s poems, now it’s Spencer’s words.

I know I am treading dangerous waters by going online—I am bound to stumble on a photo of my own stupid face any minute now, but I don’t care. The need to know what Spencer said is greater.

I search for ‘Isaiah sixty twenty-two’ .

I find it.

‘A little will become a thousand

And a small thing a strong power

I will make it happen

When the time is right.’

My whole body gets covered in shivers. What on earth is a ‘little that will become a thousand’ ? I mean, the words are obviously poetry, but what do they mean? The need to know consumes me, makes me lose my mind—which can be the only explanation for my next stupid decision: of all the things, I call my brother.

“What,” he says instead of hello.

At least we are one time zone apart, and I know for sure I woke him up instead of guessing—so that’s something.

“What does Isaiah sixty twenty-two mean?” I ask him.

He yawns.

“Should I read it to you?”

“No need,” he replies. “I know it by heart.”

Of course he does. For James, having faith is like breathing: he does not exist without it.

I wait. He won’t yell at me for waking him up. He has told me several times that he will always be there for me; and now he is showing me that he means it.

“What do you think it means?” he asks me slowly.

He doesn’t ask me why I am looking for answers in the book of Isaiah, I who have publicly admitted to losing my faith a million times.

I swallow. I can barely get out the words .

“I think it means to wait,” I say, closing my eyes. I can’t stand the weight of promise these words carry. I can’t stand the possibility of hope.

“It does mean to wait,” James agrees. “But not just to wait. It means to wait and hope, Zay.”

There it is. The word I am terrified of. Hope. Saint Hope .

I look out of the window of the plane. There is nothing but black night up here, so the window has become a mirror, showing me my own face. It looks worn and tired—hollow cheeks, discouraged mouth. But my eyes are on fire with hope. My heart is burning with it.

I am going to change.

I am going to heal. I don’t know how, but this is new: hope. Who knows what it can lead to?

I am going to become a person I am proud of.

And then, I am going to fight until there is no breath left in my body; fight to win her back. That’s what this new hope does to me. It makes me want to fight for my life. And for hers. I’m going to fight for her, for us. And even if I don’t win her, at least I am going to win one thing: The battle against myself.

The minute James and I hang up the phone, an entire album drops as if from the sky into my brain. I’m not exaggerating. I struggle to keep all the songs and melodies straight in my head, treading water, gasping for air as they come to me, and I know I won’t get any sleep, I won’t eat, I won’t talk, until I have written everything down before I forget it.

But one thing I know I won’t forget: the title of my new album.

‘Isaiah’.