Chapter 19
Tai
People talk about the calm before the storm.
That eerie stillness where the wind ceases, and the birds and insects fall silent.
It’s nature’s warning, announcing that trouble is coming and you need to find refuge.
The world holds its collective breath, urging you to hide from the impending disaster.
I got no such warning.
I was thrust straight into the chaos, never given a chance to seek shelter. Now I’m in the calm after the storm—the part of the story no one ever mentions.
It’s the peaceful devastation that settles once the trees and houses have been flattened and entire towns lie buried beneath mounds of debris and rubble.
The quiet mourning of the breeze blowing over the bones and skeletons of what was once something more than dust. Sunlight timidly emerges from behind dark clouds, not wanting to shine a light on the brokenness that lies before it, but understanding that this, too, is life.
It’s nature.
As much as we’d like to rebel against it, we aren’t permitted.
We aren’t allowed.
And me?
I stand at the horizon, begging the storm to return and sweep me away.
The party is a carousel, spinning around me as I sit at a table in the back of the room.
Round and round they all go, with Eric and Dmitri at the center of the dance floor, so wrapped up in each other that the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Their wedding was beautiful—low-key and intimate, despite Theo’s multiple attempts to add pizzazz to the ceremony.
This was a simple affair, celebrated only with close friends and family.
Not a lilac suit in sight.
They didn’t have a wedding party, since their group of close friends is shared. Instead, I was behind the piano, with Dante and Theo joining me for a few pieces. We planned the music for months, but in the days leading up to the event, Eric kept worrying that I wasn’t prepared to play.
A million times, he asked if I was sure.
A million times, I told him to fuck off, because despite my heartbreak, I would never miss the most important day of his life. He finally got the hint and stopped asking.
Playing the piano helped keep my mind off Cho’s wedding, but now that my hands are no longer occupied, the memories creep through my weak defenses like smoke under a door.
I run my fingers through my shorter hair, still not used to how little resistance there is. My plan backfired. Instead of setting me free from Connor’s hold, the short strands only remind me exactly why I did it.
I’m stuck.
Numb.
I shove my hand into my pocket, clutching my phone as the party spins around me. Everyone else moves and twirls, laughing and dancing, but I remain motionless in this sea of activity. I pull the phone out and fixate on his number.
This has become my daily routine—staring at those digits like a hidden message waits inside them.
Like there’s a secret code I have yet to crack, some undeciphered explanation that might finally give me some relief from this constant, gnawing pain.
My fingers move over the keyboard before I can stop myself, and my thumb hovers over the send button for a split second before I push it.
I’m so fucking mad at you. Mad that I can’t stop thinking about you, and mad that after every horrible thing you’ve done, I still miss you.
I think about you all the fucking time, and I hate it.
But most of all? I hate that I’d do it again.
I hate that if you just asked, I’d forgive you for everything. I hate that I’d still choose you.
The little circle spins for a few seconds, then a red exclamation mark pops up. I choke out a bitter laugh when I hit send again and receive a second error. He must have figured out who called him after all, and he did what any man in his shoes would do—he blocked my number.
He pretended it never happened, and that he didn’t steal my heart right out of my chest and run away with it.
Someone calls my name from across the room, and I glance up to find Theo’s smiling face waving for me to join him. I hold up a finger and walk to the bar instead.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks.
My eyes slide over the dozens of bottles lined up on the wall behind him. “Got any banana rum?”
He chuckles, arching a brow as he grabs a shot glass. “Straight?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Give it to me straight.”
I shoot it back in one go, then gesture for another and do the same. A single tear rolls from my eye at the nostalgic bite of the liquor in my throat. I tuck some bills into the tip jar as I rush to wipe it away.
I slide my mask back into place.
Cool. Calm. Collected.
Inside I’m screaming.
I push it down.
Bury it.
Torch it until there’s nothing left but toxic ashes in my veins—slow-moving poison that corrodes my sanity. It attacks my body at such a gradual pace that no one notices I’m dying.
I fake a smile, stitching it to my cheeks in case it tries to fall.
I dance.
And I try to forget.