Chapter 14
Fourteen
Beibhinn
The Present
There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion.
—Edgar Allan Poe
Broken-hearted, my tears bleed down my cheeks, marking my face with streaks of black mascara. My head falls back against the closed door, hoping to block out Cadden’s presence, but it’s useless, especially when everything in this room reminds me of him. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to contain the flood behind the dam before it completely erupts, but the pressure of my emotions are too strong, and eventually, my resolve shatters. From beneath me, my knees buckle as what little strength I have left departs. I can’t hold myself together for another second. Earlier, I’d been determined to keep a level head for my brother’s sake, but now that I am alone, I can let it all out.
I permit myself to break, and then, everything hits me at once. Losing Liam. Cadden’s betrayal. It’s all too much. Before I know it, my spine is slipping down the door until I’m sitting in a heap on the carpet, chest heaving with uncontrollable tears.
Through the door, I hear Cadden’s muffled pleas as he begs me to let him in, but I don’t respond, blocking him out with the violent crescendo of pain tearing me to pieces. Drawing my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around my legs and bury my face in the hollow my arms have created. Sobs rip my lungs apart until the only thing I can breathe in is the sharp knives of destruction that ferment the air.
In the space of a weekend, my life tilted and then flipped on its axis. How can I find gravity when there are no pieces of my world left to tether myself to?
I have no idea how long I sit there, face burrowed, purging the sorrow from my soul. But when I finally lift my head from the crook of my elbow, my gaze lands on a piece of paper wedged beneath the door. The edges sticking out just enough to retrieve it. I glare at it as though it’s on fire, knowing Cadden slipped it under the threshold for me to find. I should leave it there. Whatever he has to say, I don’t want to hear, or in this case see. So, why is it that my fingers tease the edge of the note, sliding it closer? I know the answer, even if I refuse to believe it.
Once it’s finally in my hand, the page feels heavier than it should. Air fills my lungs as I breathe in cautious breaths. Finally, I unfold the paper with shaky hands.
In a world full of roses, I fell in love with her thorns,
A beautiful phoenix from ashes reborn.
She wants me to leave her, she begged me to go,
But while she is on fire, she won’t be alone.
My eyes sting as I read over the poem he wrote. My tears continue to fall with a vengeance, because the one person who could help me get through the worst day of my life, could very well be the source of my pain. I want to believe he had nothing to do with the explosion, but how can I when every red flag points towards him?
For the longest time, I thought hating Cadden came naturally to me because, from our very first encounter, I always assumed we were destined to crash and burn. Just two kids with giant chips on their shoulders, forced to spend time together.
Then, somewhere along the way, the lines blurred, and the hate became nothing more than a mask we wore to disguise how we actually felt. We knew it was love, but we never called it what it was. We hid behind the cloak between us and the real world, shielding ourselves from the syndicate rules and what was expected of us. We played our roles so well, we almost believed it.
But lingering in every I hate you was a love so fucking rare, I once believed it was impossible to find, until I was there, in it with him. Behind every sneer was a stolen kiss. Beneath every insult was a craved touch. But above all else, he was mine, as I was his, two old souls loving each other with young, naive hearts.
Sure, we despised each other in the beginning, but somewhere during that first summer we spent together, we became the purest versions of ourselves. No matter how hard we tried, there was no denying we were irrevocably, unimaginably, and inevitably in love. Pushing myself off the floor, I pull myself to my feet. My bloodshot eyes glance around what was once my favourite place in the world—a place Cadden helped me decorate.
As I walk towards the bookshelf, memory after memory assaults my mind. Visions of long summer nights, curled up under chunky knit blankets on my daybed with Cadden as the moonlight bled through the floor-length sash windows. My head on his bare stomach while he read me stories of love, laughter, and bravery. Days spent with him singing in the car as we travelled the length of the country visiting old bookstores, searching for a thousand lives we could live together. Early mornings, watching the sunrise beyond the horizon while he whispered poems against my neck. One after the other, flashes of the years we’ve spent learning everything there is to know about each other, a love we kept secret, a sacred oath we made at the end of that first summer. Nobody but those closest to us knew the depth of our relationship. We pretended to be a transaction when in reality we were infatuated. For over two years, we hid our weakness, terrified it would be taken away before we could make it permanent. By the end of this summer, Cadden would be my husband. I never thought I’d be the one who wished that wasn’t true.
My fingertips tease the bookshelf before landing on Cadden’s old, tattered copy of Beauty by Robin McKinley, reminding me of the true beginning of our story. Instantly, I’m back in the lighthouse, reliving our first kiss. I remember that day all too well. How the dare fell from his lips, and my heart all but stopped. The expression on his face is ingrained in my mind. Then, he whispered “Kiss me” against my lips, and all bets were off. I didn’t have a choice, the breath he was holding belonged to me, it was mine to steal, so I took it without hesitation. I didn’t expect it to have the effect it did. I’d been kissed before, but never like that. Looking back, that moment was the last time my heart belonged to me—and if it wasn’t, what followed sealed the deal.
Teasing the first edition from my shelf, I trace the rose on the cover and then flick to the title page, just like I had the first time I held this book in my hands. Only now, there is an eighth name scrawled under Cadden’s in pink gel pen. Beibhinn Annabel Devereux, July 13.
My chest tightens when I recall how the book ended up in my possession. It feels like only yesterday when I found it on my bed in Cadden’s guest room the night after our first kiss. I’d just come back from the bathroom after having a shower, and there it was, lying on my pillow next to a red rose he’d made from book pages—which I’d later learn he’d taken the time to dye with food colouring so it matched the red rose on the cover. That night, after I’d climbed under the covers, I finally opened the book and a note slipped out, landing on my chest.
Placing the book back in its rightful place, I release a slow breath through pursed lips, then I cross the room to the small side table between the two large floor-length windows. Sitting proudly in the centre is a glass cloche like the one in Beauty and the Beast . In it, the very first flower Cadden ever gave me—a perfectly preserved red paper rose. My heart beats out of time as I reach for the little drawer in the wooden base. Then, carefully, I pull it open, revealing the note he’d left me that night. For the second time tonight, I reach for a piece of paper with shaky hands. Little did I know the message on this one would become a core memory, cementing my love for a happily ever after.
B,
Not all fairy tales are fictitious.
Lose yourself between these pages.
You might find our reality is a tale as old as time.
Cadden X
He’d sold me a fairy tale, disguising himself as a hero, only to spin our narrative into a tragedy. I should have known better. This is real life, happily ever after doesn’t exist. I crumple the piece of paper and let it fall to the floor, next to my proverbial broken heart. Then, lifting the cloche from the table—a symbol of the promises he made—I launch it across the room. The fragile glass hits the door with force, splintering everywhere as a curse flees my mouth. “Fuck you and your fucking love story.”
Regret washes through me the second I see the now-tattered rose, torn on the floor. At the same time I drop to my knees, trying to piece together the memory I shattered, Cadden kicks the door open and surveys the mess. Ignoring him and the glass littering the carpet, I crawl towards the delicate rose, ignoring the sharp sting of shards piercing my skin. Blood coats my palms and knees, but I don’t care.
“I need to fix it.” The words tear from my chest with a gut-wrenching sob.
Before I can reach the flower, Cadden scoops me up in his arms and carries me towards the daybed. “Fuck the glass. I’ll replace it.”
“But, the flower, Cadden. I don’t want a new one. I want that one.” I bury my face in his chest, and my words muffle against his suit jacket.
“Ssh,” he whispers into my hair. “I’ll fix it. I promise.”
“I broke it. It’s ruined. I destroyed it. Destroyed us.” I repeat the same thing over and over as he places me on the edge of the foam mattress before cupping my face in his palm.
“You didn’t break us, B. I did. But I promise you, no matter what it takes, I will fix this. I’ll fix everything.”
“You can’t fix this. This, us, Liam… It’s irreparable.”
His lips press against my forehead, and I don’t push him away. “I can try. I’m not the enemy, Pretty Poison. I’m still the boy who gave you that rose.”