Chapter 28
Lanston
Ophelia sits beside me.Our legs touch and share warmth between us.
“You first,” I say nervously and pass her my torn page. One of the things I love most about art is that it’s very open to interpretation. I needn’t explain all the darkness behind it. People feel or see what they want—what they need to see.
She gently takes the folded page from me and stares down at it as if it holds the universe’s secrets. Long lashes hood her eyes.
I watch patiently as she unfolds it, eyes greedily taking in the charcoal smudges and crosshatch shading. Her face is impassive and unreadable. My legs become restless, waiting for her to say something, anything.
I drew this one from a place of rage. It has sat in my lungs, heavy and suffocating, for years.
A boy sits curled up with his arms wrapped around his knees. His eyes are the focal point, encapsulating his fear and incomprehension of why he is so thoroughly beaten. The skin around his cheekbones is bruised, darkened, and heavily shaded. A tall, dark figure looms over the boy—the taker of my soul.
Ophelia looks for much longer than I thought she would. She reaches for the boy’s face and gently smooths her finger down the paper as if she can comfort him. Then her eyes lift to mine, forlorn.
“He is just a boy.” A statement, not a question. Her voice is weak with pain.
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek to quell the unwanted tears. Her face is sullen. Somber thoughts reveal themselves in the ache in her gaze and the way she curls her fingers.
She looks back down and brushes the page again. “I wish I could tell him that whatever it is he’s done, it was never deserving of this. I wish he knew that.”
Something old and mistreated in my heart cracks when I hear her say that. How I longed for another to see me, the sad boy, the unloved child. To look and see the misery in my gaze. To say, I will help you. It never came. No one wanted to see me, not until Liam and Wynn.
How many times did I call out for my mother, Please help me. Why do you allow this? And to my father, Please stop. I’m sorry I exist.
It hurts.
It rots the inside of my brain like a disease.
Ophelia reaches for me, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me in eagerly, desperately. Her embrace releases the tears that I’ve kept hidden away. The warmth of her hands spreads into my aching soul and finds where I’m still so cold.
“Can you tell me more about the boy? I’d love to hear his voice, even if he’s a grown man now. Sometimes, we just need to release the broken parts of us. Unchain them and let them be free,” she whispers against the shell of my ear, her soft lips brushing my skin. I wrap my arms around her slowly, fisting the back of her shirt and pulling her closer. My tears stain her shoulder, and she lets them.
Ophelia hums a song I recognize as she strokes the back of my head in slow, affectionate strides. The song is “Death Bed”by Powfu. I let my head fall against her and she squeezes me tighter with her other arm, pressing a tender kiss to my neck.
It’s easier to confess things when you’re not staring into the eyes of a person you care for dearly. I don’t want her to look at me differently, but I don’t want to hide from my demons anymore. I’ve done that long enough.
“It was usually my humor that made him angry.” I start and Ophelia stills; her hand rests softly on the back of my neck for a moment before resuming the languid strokes. “But then, as I got older, it became more things that I couldn’t help. It wasn’t the trouble I caused or even the bad things I said. He hated me. He hated my characteristics. The way I loved to learn literature and art. The hope that glimmered in my eyes as I dreamed of a life better than his. The way I smiled so easily without the weight of the world weighing me down.” I pause, thinking deeply, remembering the awful looks he gave me. “I think he hated that most.”
Ophelia pulls away only enough to look into my eyes. Her nose brushes against mine as she gazes into my soul. I’m scared to find pity there, but I’m met with understanding and a well of rage.
“Your father was a lousy piece of shit. A jealous asshole for your ability to be happy.” Her voice is the most angry I’ve heard it, and it makes my eyes widen with surprise.
“I didn’t know you could curse,” I chide her, but she dismisses it completely.
“You deserve so much love, Lanston. I hope you know that.”
I lie. “I know.”
She furrows her brows and fists my shirt, pinching my skin with her emotions on her sleeves. “Don’t lie. You… You are the most beautiful soul anyone could know. I see the bruises that have long since healed across your pale skin from abuse, the lingering thoughts of death that you bore upon yourself because you wanted it to end. You tried to die. Many times.”
I tried to die. I admit to myself, tears quietly streaming down my cheeks—many times. My eyes lift to her arm, seeing the butterfly and moth chasing each other, hiding many things beneath them that she won’t say. Not yet.
“I know that ugly pain. It yields no mercy for us, does it? I know that illness as thoroughly as I know you. It is cancerous and grows beneath a blanket of flesh, hidden because it’s not pretty. When you try to speak about it, people quickly hush you. They don’t want to see the ugly, bad things inside us. The sickness that takes many of our kind. It steals them away in the night and we wait. We wait.” She pauses, taking a few deep breaths as her eyes finally brim with tears too. “We’ve waited for so long. To be heard. To be listened to. To be understood. We’ve waited for the light. For the morning that seems to be just out of reach. And yet, we’re always reaching, aren’t we? Swaying wearily and always dreaming for that day to come.”
I press my palm to her cheek as she lets those heavy tears fall. She leans into me and I whisper, “I’ll tell you a secret, my rose.”
Her eyes are blurry with tears, but she waits for my words.
“We are the light.”
Ophelia’s eyes widen and then nearly shut as a fresh wave of emotions overcomes her. The ends of her hair are wet; her body seems colder. I run my fingers over her skin, comforting her the best I can.
“Together, we are no longer a small, insignificant candle against the dark pillars of the world. We are an inferno—a growing, living beast that demands to be witnessed, to find our kindred souls,” I say gently.
She studies my features before murmuring, “Like phoenixes—the symbol of rebirth after tragedy.” The corner of her lip lifts into a hopeful grin.
I return the sad smile. “The real question is if we’ll ever truly fly.”
Her eyes flicker with long-lost flames. “I hope so.” She hands me her letter.
She swallows and a worried crease appears between her brows.
“Are you sure you want to stay while I read it?”
Her nod is firm.
I grab her hand and pull her into my lap. She relaxes against my chest and sighs with relief at our connection. Our fingers interlace and I hold her lovingly—how a phantom as precious as her should be held.
Lanston,
Hey you, where did we leave off? Oh yeah, the beginning of the end. The sick game death likes to play before we ripen.
Where do I start my story? I guess where it begins… when I was five, my cousin died by suicide. I didn’t understand the gravity of that yet, but my family said horrible things about her after her funeral. They said she was selfish and was going to hell for “committing the ultimate sin.” That she would burn for what she did.
Even at a young age, I thought to myself how unfair it was of them to say. She was a kind person, that is all I remembered of her, but I knew that she wasn’t bad. She was the most generous and caring human I’d known.
But I also remembered the things they said about her. I kept it locked away in a compartment in my brain for the day my brain started to turn on me too.
Patrick was the first boy I fell in love with. He wasn’t very nice, but we dated for a few years until I turned seventeen. That’s when I learned how much a person could wound you without a weapon. He cheated on me with some tall blonde and that was the end of it. A betrayal that I’d carry with me for the rest of my life.
“You aren’t a good person. You know that. It was bound to happen,” my stepmother told me.
Little did I know that someone else had their eye on me, on my suffering, like a reaper drawn to rot, waiting patiently for me to ripen. Someone watched me until I fell into ruin.
My murderer was always close. Always near.
I wish I’d known.
The pages fold as I loosen my grip around them. Ophelia doesn’t lift her head from my chest. She breathes evenly, surely hearing the falter of my heartbeats.
“How did you die?”
My question is raw and her body tenses. When she doesn’t reply, I take it as her answer that she’s not ready to talk about it. But then she slowly lifts her head and sits back on her haunches to look at me.
“I’ll tell you, I promise I will. But you need to hear the full story first. Otherwise, I’m worried you won’t understand,” she says meekly, keeping her eyes lowered on her hands.
I give her a small nod. “When you’re ready.”
We sleep with our hearts pressed together. My arms wrapped around her shoulders and her face buried in my chest.
I dream of her drowning, her hair swaying in the waves. I’m startled awake, breathing heavily, but she’s here, sleeping soundly in my arms.
Lowering my head back down to hers, I lie awake and stare into the dark. Too afraid to close my eyes and dream of her demise.
Ophelia holds down her beige sun hat as a gust of wind threatens to lift it from her head.
“Which pub were we meeting them at?” I shout over the howl of the Cliffs of Moher. My eyes are narrowed at the smartphone we brought along with us in case we needed to contact the two of them.
“It’s called Old Stones, in Galway.” She hangs over my shoulder and points to it. Her lips brush against my cheek before she pulls away, and I grin.
“I can’t wait to see Jericho and Yelina. I hope they’ve made more progress than we have,” I say. It’s been a little under a month since we’ve last seen each other. Time has never moved as fast as it does when I’m with her.
Ophelia laughs. “I hope they haven’t. That would mean they won’t show up and we’ll be left waiting all night.” Her genuine smile lifts my spirits.
The cliffs are wet and cold like much of Ireland is. The clouds bear low in the sky, meeting the earth and rocks. The greenery of the world here is bright and loud. Much more breathtaking than the photos, but it’s fucking cold.
We explore the castles along the roads to Galway, taking giftshop knick-knacks and finding new books and notepads to bring with us. Funny, the things we cherish most on our journey aren’t at all expensive. They are things of the heart.
Galway has those cottagecore streets you love looking at on Pinterest. They have tightly packed townhomes, two-story shops, and music. Everything closes early so people can flock to the pubs.
Ophelia’s excitement is uncontainable, and honestly, so is mine. We walk up and down each street, taking in everything we see, going into each shop and trying pastries or sweets. By the time the sun begins to set, we head to Old Stones. The pub is packed to the brim. Anywhere else, my anxiety and stress would be through the roof, but here, the people are cheerful and loud. Boisterous energy with laughter and dancing fills the air, quickly bringing smiles to both our faces.
“I should’ve dressed more casually,” Ophelia says loudly through all the hollering and singing. Her dress isn’t fancy by any means, but I see what she’s saying: jeans and a T-shirt would’ve been more appropriate. Though, no one can see us, so it doesn’t really matter. But it doesn’t hurt to feel more like we fit in.
“You look fucking amazing,” I blurt out without really thinking and her eyes widen. Her cheeks redden and I decide to just roll with it. “You already know I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” My smile hurts.
Ophelia opens her mouth to reply, but we’re interrupted by a woman clamping down on her. Ophelia shrieks before registering that it’s Yelina, and the two burst into laughter.
I look up and find Jericho coming in for a bear hug. “Are you guys ready to have the night of your lives?” he shouts. I accept his ridiculous hug and chuckle.
I say back, “As long as we aren’t going to end up wasted and stupid.”