Chapter 18
Ophelia
A lovely Boston Fernsits at the corner of the sidewalk, abandoned by a tenant in a downtown apartment complex. I crouch down and smooth my hand over the wilted ferns. Sadness draws at my heart in the abandonment of it.
“I’ll bring you home,” I whisper to it and carry it back to the opera house.
I think of Lanston as I walk across the bridge. It’s always him occupying space in my mind and making my chest ache. His curious eyes and the rise of his lips each time he sees me. The lovely kisses his lashes leave across his cheeks.
My eyes skirt over the bench by the rosebushes. Ever since he visited, I make sure to check the bridge earlier in the day. I’ve found that I am waiting patiently and hopelessly for my beautiful ghost to return. Even though it is me who left and keeps him away, I crave his presence like darkness wants for light. I am the moth, my eyes linger over my tattoo, he is the butterfly. His light is blinding.
I have to shake my head to clear the thoughts of him away. He hasn’t come, not since then. He didn’t come outside when I visited months ago in December, so why would he show up now? I pushed him away and away he’s remained. The cold stare he gave me chilled my veins that night.
But one thing is sure. We are tied together. Tethered. Manacled. We cannot part.
The longing hurts worse than any heartbreak I’ve endured—I think it’s because I know he’s as starved for me as I am for him. It is I who keeps us apart.
He’s not here.My legs slow as I reach my home.
I set the fern next to its new plant family and lie down on my worn red sofa, exasperated from thinking and hoping. Each day he’s not on the bridge, I lose more of myself.
My annual performance is tonight, but the thought of him not being there frightens me. Tonight will mark one year since we met—since my world halted and everything I loved about being a phantom ceased.
Because after him, I found that there is nothing to love about being a phantom if I cannot be near him. The fear I once felt so immensely of facing the awaiting darkness has waned. I think I would face the nightmares and the punishments if it meant I could be with him.
I sigh and let my head fall to the side. What a mess I’ve made. A shadow flickers across one of the boarded-up windows. My breath catches in my lungs, stillness and fear rising through my veins.
No one comes out here to the abandoned part of the city. Has the whispering dark come for me in daylight? My heart hammers in my chest and drowns out all reason.
I sit up slowly and wrap my arms around my knees, narrowing my eyes at the door as it ominously opens—a head peers around the corner. Soft brown strands of hair fall over his forehead as he steps inside. His hazel eyes, holding anguish and sadness, find mine and I immediately stand.
“Lanston?” I whisper his name in disbelief.
“Ophelia.” His voice is low and tense.
Emotions swell in the dusty air between us, flakes drifting slowly in the golden beams of sunlight that stream in through the darkness.
I’ve run into the arms of many men in my day. When actual air still teemed through my lungs and blood pumped wildly through my veins.
I will not go to him. I will not show him how much I crave to be held in his arms.
You’re so eager to be the whore, aren’t you?Cold words circulate in my brain. I’ve heard them so many times before. Your infected mind will drag him down to the depths with you. You’ll be the cause of his ruin.
Because I’m a bad person.
I suck in my lower lip and press my teeth into the flesh.
Lanston stands with his hands fisted tightly at his sides, staring at me, waiting. I’m so tired of waiting.
I open my mouth to ask why he’s come here, but the moment my lips part, he swiftly walks toward me, parting the golden streams of sunlight and disturbing the dust. His brows are pulled low, and his arms slowly lift as he stands before me. Lanston’s palms are warm and soft, spreading over my jaw and threading his fingers through my hair.
Then our lips reach for one another, almost touching but not quite. His breaths are hard and labored as if he ran the whole way here from Harlow. Sweat beads down his pale skin. I’ve never seen tendons and bones as lovely as his, beneath the soft of his skin; they magnify the pink of his blush, the red of his lips. My eyes linger on the effortless curls of his lashes.
And he, this beautiful, ruinous man, says, “I cannot rid you from my mind, Ophelia. It’s as if you’ve instilled an illness of your own into me. You are the sole thought that ravages my mind as I lie awake at night. The ceilings make me think of you. The forest. Roses. Breathing—I cannot take breath without you eroding my sanity.”
Lanston tilts his forehead so it’s pressed against mine. Our lips brush against one another, not yet a kiss.
He thinks of me?
His hazel eyes pierce into my soul and rekindle the fire inside my heart.
“You haunt me too, Lanston,” I murmur against his lips. Chills spread through my entire body and for a moment, I don’t remember where I am. Who I am. Because it doesn’t matter, all that matters is us. I see it now. I understand.
“More than anything?” he asks, greedy for my words. My bones fill with happiness, more than I’ve felt in years.
“Yes.”
“Tell me.” He breathes against my lips.
“More than dancing and collecting greenery. Every song I listen to reminds me of you. Every glance into the sky, the stars, the sunlight—I see you everywhere, Lanston. I feel you in the breeze that greets my cheeks, the scent of pages and books. You’ve haunted me from the day I laid eyes on you.”
He takes a short breath, eyes arching the way they do when one’s heart aches.
“This is the last time I will ask you—” he pauses and swallows, closing his eyes as if making a wish. “Will you come with me? We can find our peace together. I know it in the marrow of my bones. We are meant to be together. We are meant to find our reasons, our tethers to this world, as one. Please. I won’t beg for anything, but I will for you.”
Lanston keeps his eyes closed. I stare remorsefully at him as tears fill my eyes.
I want to go… so badly I do. But there is darkness chasing me. And nothing good awaits me once we pass from purgatory. Lanston has the purest soul. I know he will have his golden fields and peace, but me? There is only fire awaiting my soul.
I’ve sinned. I’m not good.
But my heart wins out against the fear that’s lived inside me. I want this one last thing. Him, even if it is only for a short while.
“Okay.”
Lanston looks up at me swiftly, eyes brimming with hope. “Really?” he gasps.
I nod. A beat of silence wraps around us as he studies my features, his smile bright. He traces the line of my jaw before pulling me in, letting our lips connect as I’ve longed for them to, as I’ve dreamed and wished for. The smell of pages and coffee seeps around me. My fingers glide across his neck and jawline, eager to explore his skin with touch and not just my eyes. Lips as soft and engulfing as his should be a sin.
Our kiss breaks, foreheads pressed together. I whisper, “Can you make me a promise?”
“Anything.”
I meet his gaze. “Promise we’ll go together… you know, when we move on.”
His eyes soften and his hands glide down to my neck until they rest on my collarbones. “Together, or not at all.”