33. West
Flashback
Age 16
I ’m in love.
Waking up each day feels easier now. The weariness and sense of detachment that once clung to me have vanished. Amelia is the first thought that crosses my mind in the morning and the last before I drift off to sleep. Even in my dreams, her presence haunts me, refusing to let go.
Yet, there’s a lingering fear at the back of my mind—a fear that my father will discover that we still talk and that I sneak out for dates with her. It’s a constant reminder of his control over my life, a grip I can never fully escape.
But he’s not invincible. He has his weaknesses and can be laughably inattentive. I’m careful, using those vulnerabilities to ensure Amelia stays out of harm’s way.
Spending time with her has become something I eagerly anticipate. It’s like being a kid again, counting down the days until a holiday, marking each hour and minute until I can see her again.
I know it’s selfish to sneak out on dates with her while I’m involved in torturing and killing people, but I will never let her see that side of me. I understand that healthy relationships are built on complete trust, but even those who love each other have secrets. To me, Amelia is an angel descended from heaven, and she could never accept my violent nature. The thought of breaking her heart is something I will never willingly do.
I had to come up with an excuse for her, as I had been showing up at school less frequently and often couldn’t respond to her texts or calls. I told her that my father had given me a job that consumed all my free time, explaining my sudden behavior change. I couldn’t bear the thought of her thinking I was ghosting her.
I don’t want her to give up on me.
Our meetings are rare, scheduled only when I’m certain my father is occupied with work and won’t discover our secret. But even when we’re not on dates, I stay close to her. I watch her on her way to dance practice and back, ensuring she arrives safely. It gets dark by the time she returns, and I make it a point to be there for her every single time.
I worry about her. She’s often alone, and that hurts me.
I wish I could be the one taking her to those practices and driving her home afterward. I long to hear about her day and what she learned while everything is still fresh in her mind. But I know I can’t jeopardize our relationship just because I’m weak for her. I need more time to figure out how to keep her safe while seeing her more often.
I need time to figure out how to protect her so we can leave together.
“I want you to meet my grandmother,” I say, tearing off a small piece of chocolate cupcake and bringing it to her lips for a bite. “I heard she’s getting better, but I haven’t had much time to visit her. We can do it together. She’ll be happy to meet you.”
We’re on a hill, enjoying a picnic, bathed in the soft golden glow of the setting sun. Amelia wears the silver pendant I gave her, the crystals shimmering with each shift in the light. It feels as if we’ve stepped into a movie, the atmosphere so effortlessly romantic that I can’t help but feel a little proud of myself. I always strive to find new places for us—something special, something she will never forget. Since we don’t see each other often, I want these rare, happy moments to stick in her memory.
She swallows the piece of cupcake, her eyebrows furrowing as she looks at me. “That’s a little weird.”
I repeat the process, feeding her another bite before asking, “Which part?”
She takes a moment to respond, and worry begins to curl in the pit of my stomach. I don’t like it when she goes quiet. I’ve noticed her doing it more often lately, and it feels like she’s distancing herself from me.
I hate the sound of that.
“I mean… those who are planning a future together do things like that,” she explains awkwardly. “Meeting parents, grandparents. You get what I mean?”
“Well—” I trail off, rubbing my hand across my face. How do I tell her that I genuinely plan a future with her? It’s something I’ve thought about a lot. It doesn’t have to be cliché with annoying kids running around—just the two of us would be enough. “Haven’t you been thinking about the future?”
She laughs, and a flutter surges through my chest. I love the sound of her laughter—so effortless and beautiful. Before Amelia, I never realized that simple sounds like that could be so pretty.
“West, I really like you,” she says, shaking her head when I offer her another piece of cupcake. I decide to pop it into my mouth instead. “But, um… I don’t want to plan that far ahead. It’s too much. You feel too much. The sex is good, but that’s all.”
The cupcake lodges in my throat, cutting off my breath for a moment. I forget how to breathe, a cough rising painfully in my chest as the slight flutter turns into something sharp. Her answer shouldn’t bother me this much, but it does. For some reason, I can’t tolerate the smallest possibility of her leaving me.
I don’t know if I would survive that.
She’s become my sunshine, my reason to wake up, my motivation to be better. With her, I feel like I truly have a chance to change, no matter how ridiculous that sounds.
“And,” she starts, her head thrown back to enjoy the warmth of the sun, “about these scars of yours. What’s up with them? They look a little strange, and—” She pauses, and I feel my throat tighten. She’d avoided the subject until this moment, pretending not to notice, and her tone now makes me uncomfortable. “They’re not pretty by any means, but it’s not your fault. I just, in general, don’t like things like that. Maybe you could cover ? —”
“I love you, Amelia,” I blurt out, the confession slipping from my lips despite my hesitation. My anxiety skyrockets at her words, and I feel the familiar sting of my scars beneath my hoodie, as if they’re reacting to her voice. It makes me uncomfortable. I don’t want her to go any further. I keep thinking about how disgusting I am all the time, and she makes it worse for me now.
She looks at me with an indescribable emotion in her eyes before laughing again. Warmth floods my body, igniting every nerve ending. I can feel my cheeks burning crimson from the way she laughs at my confession, realizing there’s no way to take the moment back.
Why is she laughing? Maybe she’s nervous because she feels the same way, and that’s her defensive mechanism? Laughter in serious situations often means uncontrollable self-defense.
Yeah, that must be it. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be laughing at me now.
Amelia nods at my half-opened backpack. “What about this cheap mini player and headphones?” she asks, abruptly changing the subject. “I thought your family was rich.”
I try to swallow the new wave of unease lodged in my throat—a ball of emotion that only grows. My father’s voice echoes in my head, repeating the words he would say.
Man up, man up, man up.
Right now, I’m letting my emotions take over my rationality, blocking out logic. I need to man up and stop allowing my feelings to hijack my thoughts so easily.
But I don’t know how. I don’t know how to prevent myself from feeling something so pure and confusing when I’m with her. She completely alters the chemistry in my brain, redirecting my thoughts in ways I never anticipated.
“I was in a rush when I bought them,” I finally reply, my voice coming out as a rasp. It’s a lie, but I can’t bring myself to admit that there’s no point in buying something good when my dad could walk in at any moment and break it. “I didn’t think much about it.” I sniff, sensing something wet in my nose.
Am I about to fucking cry?
Blinking away the blur gathering at the edges of my vision, I reach into my backpack and pull out my two most treasured possessions. They may look worn-out and cheap, but that doesn’t stop me from cherishing them like priceless diamonds. “Despite their appearance, they have great sound,” I say, waving the wired headphones for emphasis before plugging them into the player. “I have some good songs here.”
“I don’t like music,” she interrupts, and my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. I knew that, yet for some reason, I had hoped she’d change her mind. It’s strange to realize that music is my only escape to a place with no beginning and no end—a void where I can feel safe—while she doesn’t understand how I can love it.
“There are some rumors going around at school,” she says, turning her head to focus on the trees around us. She keeps looking anywhere but at me, and I take that as a cue to tuck away my obsession, biting back my frustration. “Look, if this gets out… I don’t want people thinking I’m dating some homeless guy.”
Confusion tightens around me. “I’m not homeless.”
She purses her lips and looks down, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “I know. But that’s what others think. The way you look… Always beat-up, torn clothes, and these barely working headphones,” she counts off. “The point is, you need to take better care of yourself. Okay?”
A strange swirl of emotions churns inside me, and for some reason, it feels as though she doesn’t care about me—only about the image I project and how it looks to others that she’s with me.
Still, I nod in agreement. “Okay. I’ll do that.”
At the very least, I’ll try. I’ll do anything for her.