Chapter 23
Ophelia
The sky isgray and angry. Clouds grow heavy with rain as Lanston pushes us off the dock. The yacht”s engine grumbles, and we start making our way out of the bay. Dark waves lap at the boat, casting spray across my cheeks.
They found me so quickly.
I sit on the bow of the immense and lavish peak of the boat, knees pulled up to my chest, quiet, as the ocean wind greets me with salty kisses.
This was a stupid thing to do. I knew Those Who Whisper would chase me. My gut tells me they’ll cross the sea and world just to have my soul.
What if I stopped running?
What if I opened my arms and let them have me? Would they finally cease? It’s the not knowing, I suppose, that haunts me the most.
There were no words between us as we ran from the hotel. We’d planned on staying somewhere nice for the evening, but nothing ever truly goes how we intend. Murphy’s Law and whatnot.
We decided it was best to find a yacht and sleep aboard the ocean—hoping that this would be safer than resting on land. I glance over my shoulder timidly at Lanston. He stands at the steer, guiding us out of the bay and into deep water. His light brown hair is wind-blown and messy, his hazel eyes alert but weary from our extended day. Still in his state of contentment, he is beautiful. His posture is sturdy and his muscles flex with the grip of the wheel.
He notices me looking and flicks his attention to me, smiling briefly, carefully. I don’t return the sentiment. Instead, I turn to face forward once more. I put him in danger by coming, and even though he won’t say it, I know he’s probably thinking what a mistake this was.
I fist my hand and pound it against my forehead. Stupid. Selfish. Why won’t the world let me rest? I’m so fucking tired… and just this once, I thought maybe I could have the one thing I actually cherish.
Lanston.
It will be difficult to sleep tonight.
I stare sleepily into the dark waves ahead and think of falling to the farthest depths of the sea, where it is quiet and dark, and the universe can digest me until only my memory remains.
“Here.”
My gaze is pulled from the ocean, sparkling in the midday light, and brought to Lanston. He holds out a folded piece of paper and looks nervous.
“What is it?” I ask, taking the paper from him and looking back up at his eyes when he’s quiet for a beat too long.
His cheeks are rosy. “Just open it,” he says with more attitude than I’ve ever heard come from his lips. I raise a brow but do as he says.
Lanston shoves his hands into his pockets and leans against the side of the yacht. His eyes are on the distant line where the ocean meets the sky, and I can tell he’s anxious. It’s the first we’ve spoken since last night. He tried a few times before we slept; I could tell by his uneasiness and pulled brows, but words evaded him just as they did me. So we didn’t say anything. And it was sort of nice just to have his presence with me.
The yacht”s master suite is luxurious, and we fell into the plush sheets like two sick pups, sleeping heavily until midday.
I unfold the paper.
The page is almost completely black, with only the shape of a skull at its center. The paint strokes are long and dreary, bringing so much emotion into my chest. The eye sockets are sagged, almost in a sorrowful expression. Red, cream, and gray are mixed and smeared in a perfect blend of color.
I could stare at the image forever. Lanston doesn’t look at me once while I study his work. It’s raw and dark, but there’s so much more to it than just an image. There is a more profound voice wishing to be heard. What is it you want to tell me? The question sits cumbersomely on my tongue.
But I’ve yet to give him a letter; it doesn’t feel fair to ask until he has something of me to devour as well. So, with restraint, I tuck the drawing into my pants pocket and thread my fingers through his.
Lanston looks down at me, expression unreadable. I know there is sorrow in his heart. It’s in mine, too.
“Can you tell me about them?”
Lanston blinks slowly and a small smile grows. “Who?”
“Your friends. Liam and Wynn. Can you tell me about them?” I lower my chin as he sits beside me. He smiles reminiscently, a bit sad, and nods. The sun’s rays reach us as they peek through the clouds, warming my skin and drawing weariness to my eyes. I lower my head into Lanston’s lap and he sets his arm around my shoulder, twirling my hair around his finger.
He tells me of the fun and bonding they had in the short months they spent together. Liam was there longer, but the three of them had only several weeks to fall into the same gravity as the others. But when you find kindred souls, you fall quickly and not sanely. That’s how it goes.
I long to have relationships as he did. It’s something I’ve always been bad at. Whether it’s because I say the wrong thing or because I’m awkward, I’m unsure. But I enjoy hearing him speak about them, of their adventures and things they’d done.
Perhaps one day, I will shine as much as his fractured soul does.
A week out at sea is lonely. It detaches you from the world.
But we enjoy the silence of it; we welcome the storms that make it noisy and riotous. Lanston’s presence is a constant comfort. The kisses we share and the laughter that’s returned as the days pass have warmed my heart once more. The nights are my favorite—when my bare skin is pressed against his chest and he holds me adoringly.
He never lets his eyes linger too long when he knows I’m up to something. When he walked into the cabin bedroom of the yacht and saw me writing things down on a crumpled piece of paper, he only stared at me for a moment before turning back around and leaving me to my devices. He smiled knowingly, eager for the letter I promised him.
Sometimes, I wish he’d pry.
He must be curious, just as I am about what he draws.
I crumple the letter I’ve written him and hide it beneath the side table in the bedroom. He gave me a piece of him so easily, so carelessly, but I’m not sure if I’m ready for him to see how ugly I am on the inside.
Will he look at me differently? That’s what I fear most.
I turn and look at him, sprawled out on the sun deck, shirtless and taking in the UV rays. His head is tilted back, exposing the soft parts of his throat. My eyes linger on his collarbones, the smooth line that shapes his chest, and the V that dips below his shorts. He must feel my eyes on him because he turns his head in my direction. Face impassive but curious.
I think of our activities on the train and swallow hard. My cheeks flush and I swiftly look away. There aren’t many emotions I cannot handle, but the ones of heat and desire that swell between us, the growing urgency of them, are ones I’m scared to face. Lanston is different from any other man I’ve known. He takes his time, thoroughly enjoying his teasing.
We circle one another. Dangerously. Each waiting for the other to pounce and go for the throat. Once I taste his blood, and he does mine, I’m unsure what will happen next. Our feverish kisses and intimacies on the floor of the train nearly drove us to ruin.
I shake my head and try to think of other things.
It’s fun to pretend with him. Pretend that we’re alive.
And while I’m pretending, I’ve decided to face my fear of the ocean. A little late, I know. But if not now, then when? It’s not like there’s anything actually to fear anymore. Phantoms are immune to pain and death, so why do I still hesitate?
I don’t bother looking to see if Lanston is watching as I let the soft fabric of my dress slip over my shoulders and pool at my feet. I lift one foot and then the other, slowly stepping closer to the edge.
My feet shift nervously on the bow of the boat, and then I dive in head-first. My fears are thrown to the wind, and my bare skin is vulnerable to the world.
The water’s bright surface breaks as it swallows me whole. My body is consumed by the cold, salty water. I’m half tempted to try inhaling it just to see if I can breathe underwater, but I think better of it. Even as a phantom, it doesn’t sound so pleasant.
As my eyes open, my mouth pinches with terror. The vastness of the sea is daunting, stretching as far as I can see—deep blue hues and darker as the depths go. Chills crawl up my spine, thinking of everything the sea takes.
I swim to the surface and inhale the brisk spring air. Lanston leans over the railing, his forearms spread along the metal, his hands hanging limply.
He’s watching me intently. Feverishly.
His eyes draw fire on my skin, lines that will never fade until he smooths them over with his hands. I become aware of my bare chest and fight the urge to cover myself with my arms. I want him to see me. In the daylight and not just in the dimness of the night.
I avert my eyes and take a deep breath, dipping below the surface once more. My purple hair comes to life with the water and swirls around me.
Lanston.
He consumes my every thought, every breath. Even when we’re talking or eating or on the nights he falls asleep before I do, I think of him. While his lashes hide his alluring eyes, and he thinks perhaps of books or the drawings that stain his fingertips black, I think of him.
I feel foolish for it.
You’re a bad person—undeserving of a man like him.
My teeth grit together at the words I’ve heard my entire life. They are irrefutable. I don’t want someone as lovely and pure as Lanston to get caught in my gravity of darkness. And yet, as much as I wish to keep him safe from me, I cannot let him go. I’ll stay as long as he’ll allow.
I open my eyes under water and suddenly find his hazel ones boring into me like anchors, wrapping around my soul and wishing to remain here with me in the heart of the ocean.
Beneath the world, beneath the universe and the stars, it’s just us here.
No words to be spoken or places to hide.
Only us.
He lifts his hand to my face and brushes his thumb over the length of my jaw. His other hand hooks around my waist and pulls me closer until our bare skin is pressed against one another. The hard plane of his stomach makes me swallow and the evidence of his desire for me is nestled between my thighs.
I tilt my jaw up to look at him, finding the eyes of a beautiful, yearning soul. I wonder if he sees the same anguish in mine.
His grip on my lower back tightens, but he doesn’t move; he just stares at me. Waiting. Watching. Starved for me.
Chills spread up my arms. A thousand reasons why I shouldn’t kiss him again race through my mind, but one separate thought is much, much louder.
Hold me—kiss me.
Love me.
Our jaws clench simultaneously, and as I reach up with both hands to clasp his face, he pulls in for the fatal embrace. He kisses me hard, not soft and caressing as all the other times had been, but the surprise only adds to the delight that spreads through my flesh. Our hearts are desperate for each other, aching and beating to an erratic tune of carnal desire.
We part, blinking in a daze before realizing we’re still underwater. I head to the surface first, pushing carefully away from his chest, and he follows.
Once our heads breach the surface, we connect again. Our lips crash together, this time more viciously. I can smell his charcoal pencils, coffee and pages as I run my fingers through his wet hair.
“Ophelia,” he whispers my name on a breath. It is so languid and raspy that it makes my core ache. Any and all thoughts are distant now. He stole them the moment he touched me.
“Yes?” I breathe against his lips. He leans away and presses his forehead to mine. Our limbs tangle as we bob in the water rhythmically with the waves.
Lanston flexes his jaw, feathering the light muscle that lines the bone. “I can’t hide the darkness in my gaze any longer. The things I want to do to you are unspeakable.”
My cheeks warm, but I whisper, “What is it you wish to do?”
His brows pull together in thought and a wicked grin lifts the corners of his mouth up. “Do you want me to tell you, or should I show you?” His hands glide down my ribs, sending chills over my skin.
“Show me,” I say meekly over his lips. Our foreheads remain pressed together and our gaze unbroken.
Everything about Lanston aches. His mind, his body, his heart.
He lifts my hand from the ocean and presses a kiss to the back of it, salty and cold, before whispering, “Let’s get back to the boat.”