Chapter 39
“When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep…
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.”
—Kahlil Gibran
“Where are you taking me?”
Ambrose navigates the roads snaking through the mountains. “You said you’ve been bored lately,” he answers, referencing my statement from the other night. “I figured I’d give you some excitement.”
This morning, he had instructed me to get ready while refusing to tell me where we were going, advising me to wear comfortable shoes and a coat. I can only assume we’re doing something outdoors.
We pass signs indicating what’s ahead, and it’s clear I was right—we’re going hiking.
He follows the signs, turning onto a gravel road that crunches beneath the tires and bounces us in our seats due to the significant potholes.
Finally, Ambrose pulls into a parking lot where only two other cars are parked, likely due to it being early afternoon on a weekday, and also November and freezing fucking cold.
“I’ve heard of this place,” I say as he turns off the car and glances over at me.
Linville Gorge is a popular hiking spot in North Carolina, and I’ve heard this is one of the best views, but I’ve never been.
I had asked Joel years ago if he’d take me, and even though he promised he would someday, he never did. Par for the course, I suppose.
“You’ll love it.” Ambrose’s soft smile is so dazzling that it steals my breath away. So many times, I forget he’s not entirely human, but in moments like this, his ethereal beauty is impossible to ignore.
I awkwardly return his smile before I open the door and exit the car.
We’ve again entered some weird state of limbo, where we’ve crossed a line we shouldn’t have and now don’t know how to act around each other.
Each time we’ve taken things a step further, either physically or emotionally, he seems to withdraw and become deeply introspective for a day or two before we both pretend nothing happened.
I know for a fact that it’s not a healthy way to handle things, avoiding communication because it’s uncomfortable, but it’s not like our relationship was built on a foundation of trust and respect in the first place.
Honestly, it’s nice to simply feel safe and wanted, even if it is in an incredibly fucked up scenario. So if we can continue this without anyone trying to put a label on it—which would complicate things even more—then I’m perfectly happy.
I’ll be leaving forever as soon as I fulfill my end of the bargain, anyway. That’s what I keep telling myself, though I never dwell on the idea for long. The future becomes more intimidating and overwhelming every time I attempt to think about it.
Ambrose rounds the car to walk beside me, and a minute later, we’re starting at the trailhead. The trail is wide enough that we can walk side-by-side with some distance between us, but the quiet feels too heavy with all the emotions whirling through me.
“Any reason why you picked this particular trail?” I ask, unable to resist the urge to break the silence.
Ambrose’s footsteps are steady next to me as he says, “Yes. This place means a lot to me. I’ve spent many afternoons here, and it always seems to give me some much-needed mental clarity.”
“Is there something you need mental clarity for right now?” I joke, but it falls flat when he glances over and gives me a weak smile.
I imagine he’s thinking, Of course there is.
I just fucked the human woman that I kidnapped after she tried to kill herself, and now everything’s weirdly complicated.
“Possibly,” he answers. “But I also brought you here because I truly think you’ll appreciate it in the same way I do. The last time I came here was about as close to a religious experience I’ve had since I… well, you know.”
“Yeah, I imagine dying, meeting a god, and coming back to life as an immortal would probably be at the top of that list.” It still feels like such a surreal thing to consider.
My comment earns me a chuckle.
“I’ve mostly come to terms with it.”
We continue on in silence as I again consider the implications of Ambrose’s experience, of his existence.
If I had succeeded in my suicide attempt, would I have been given the same opportunity as Ambrose?
Probably not. Why would a god give eternal life to someone who didn’t care to live out their first one? I wonder if this deity simply picks and chooses people at random, or how that works.
The hike is short on a simple paved trail that winds between the golden trees, until we reach a set of stone stairs leading down into a semi-circle outcropping for a full view of the mountains.
Ambrose stays beside me the entire time, and I don’t pull away when he takes my hand as we descend the short set of steps.
When we reach the bottom, my breath catches in my throat.
Before us, the mountains are spread against the sky, rolling peaks as far as the eye can see disappearing into the blueish haze that gives the Blue Ridge Mountains their name.
Before us is the gorge, a steep valley between the mountains where the river cuts through the ravine.
The vast beauty of it all is overwhelming.
“I’ve always loved this place,” he says softly, staring out over the expansive landscape.
The autumn colors are beginning to fade, the vibrant oranges and reds seeping from the leaves and leaving them brown and brittle.
In a couple weeks, this entire valley will be one solid blanket of beige.
But right now, it’s trapped between the forgotten summer and the promise of winter.
I squeeze his hand. “I can see why. It’s incredible.”
“I’ve been coming here for close to eighty years,” he admits.
Even though I’ve become accustomed to his immortality, the number itself is still jarring.
“The path itself has changed a lot as it’s become more popular,” he continues, “but the landscape is always the same. Every time I come back here, it puts everything into perspective.”
I understand what he means. Gazing out over the mountains from so high up, surrounded by them on all sides as they fade into the horizon like rolling waves, has a way of making you feel infinitesimal in the grand scheme of things.
As the minutes stretch on with both of us taking in the view in silence, my thoughts drift.
I think about my life, about how miserable I was for so much of my life, how utterly resigned I was to the hopeless circumstances.
From up here, my problems—my life—feel insignificant.
Irrelevant. Ironically, it’s that feeling of insignificance that’s so liberating.
When you’re neck-deep in such terrible circumstances—depression, abuse, fear—you view the world through that trauma, which distorts and magnifies reality until it’s altered beyond recognizability.
It’s only once you’re out of that deep, suffocating darkness that you can evaluate life from a clearer perspective.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned lately, it’s that there’s a freedom in realizing that you don’t have to define yourself by your past anymore.
Of knowing that the unpredictable transience of life can be beautiful or devastating, but sometimes you can’t control your circumstances—all you can control is how you react to them.
“What are you thinking about?” Ambrose asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Just life.”
“Care to elaborate?”
I take a breath and consider my words. “It’s just crazy to think about how much things have changed in such a short amount of time.” I don’t have to explain that he’s the catalyst for all of these recent changes in my life. He knows.
“Life is weird that way.”
“What do you think about when you come up here?” I ask, turning the focus of the conversation back toward him.
“The same sort of things you just spoke of. When you’ve been alive as long as I have, so many things change, but even those changes often become predictable.”
“What do you mean?”
“The most significant changes in humanity are momentous to those who experience them—births, deaths, war, volatile politics, poverty. But the longer you live, the clearer those patterns become. Growth then destruction, hope then dismay, progress then regression. Life is cyclical that way, and it all becomes dismally predictable.”
“So why do you continue to stay even after a century and a half? If everything seems repetitive at this point, what else is there to experience?”
“I had begun to wonder that myself until recently.”
“What changed?”
“You.”
My heart constricts in my chest. “I can’t possibly be the only reason you decided to continue living your life.”
“You’re right,” he agrees, “but finding you reminded me that I haven’t seen and experienced everything there is to offer.
I had gotten so comfortable in the home I’ve spent most of my life in that I had forgotten what it was like to feel that spark of curiosity and novelty.
You make me want to experience life again rather than simply allow it to pass me by, to chase that spark instead of staying alive out of a sense of obligation. ”
I turn to face him, and even though there’s affection in his words, a bittersweet expression crosses his face when his eyes connect with mine.
“If you’re feeling such a renewed sense of purpose, why do you look so sad?”
“Because you’re not even mine yet and I’m already terrified to lose you.”
A deep, heavy ache settles in my heart. How devastating it must be to know that you’ll outlive everyone you’ll ever love.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, because that’s all I can think to say. Then I look back out toward the mountains.
I can’t reassure him. He’s right on both accounts; I’m not his—at least not in the way he’s referring to—and he will lose me one day. Whether he means immediately once I’ve fulfilled my end of our bargain or once I die, I’m not sure, but he’ll lose me all the same.
I used to dream about traveling as far away as I possibly could and starting a new life.
Now, the thought of not having Ambrose by my side is strangely disheartening.
I’ve come to appreciate his witty intelligence, his quiet intensity, and the low tenor of his voice as he reads to me in the evenings.
Imagining a life without any of that feels… empty.
But I’m not going to waste my life away in the middle of these mountains after finally having the opportunity to figure out what I want and chase after it. No longer am I paralyzed by fear and indecision, and I plan on making the most of my freedom. It would be a disservice to myself not to.
My current life with Ambrose seems so juxtaposed to the future I’ve imagined for myself, yet it holds an appeal I’ve never felt—the appeal of being home.
Is there ever a world in which those two things could possibly intersect?
Is that even what I want, or have I simply found comfort and safety for the first time in my life with a man who I fully hated and resented up until very recently?
I have no idea.
“I’m still here, and right now is all that matters,” I tell Ambrose, though I’m not entirely sure I believe the sentiment myself.
The wind whips my hair across my face, and I push it back behind my ear. The shorter length still catches me off guard whenever I run my fingers through it.
“If I could live in this moment forever, I would,” he says so softly that I don’t know if I’m meant to hear it or if he’s thinking aloud.
I take a step closer to him, slipping my hand out of his so I can lean into his side.
Instead, he turns and pulls me to him in a sudden movement, embracing me fully.
I relax into him, lying my head against his chest while he holds me so tightly I fear I might break.
There’s a raw, emotional intensity in the way he holds me that sinks deep into my bones and latches on to my heart.
It’s beautiful.
It’s terrifying.
“I love you, Brielle,” he murmurs. “And if you never feel that way about me, I understand. I just need you to know that my heart is yours now.”
Every thread tethering me to logic or reasoning snaps. A part of me wants to say it back, but instead, I freeze. Those three words hold so much weight, not only in the way they’re confessed like a sin, but in the implication of what it means for us, for the future.
Friendship, attraction, and affection between us are easy enough to brush away once it comes time to part. Love isn’t quite so simple. Love is complicated.
Seconds pass, but I say nothing. I squeeze him tightly, wishing I could convey my whirlwind of emotions in such a simple gesture. Eventually, he pulls away slightly, placing a soft kiss on the top of my head.
“Let’s go get some lunch,” Ambrose says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s trying not to show emotion, but his face is an open book.
He’s just as conflicted as I am.
And I don’t know what the hell to do.