10. June
June
The forced celebration was finally winding down.
The house, which had been filled with balloons and the smell of birthday cake, was slowly returning to its quiet, empty self.
The last remnants of cake were boxed up, leaving only the cooling evening and the heavy promise of a long night.
Nineteen felt like a huge number, an age where the rules of the world were supposed to change, but I just felt tired…
I retreated to the porch, seeking the comfort of the old wooden swing.
The predictable creak of the chains was the only sound that brought any solace.
For a few hours, the surprise celebration had provided a momentary distraction, a brief shield against the grey fog of the last six months, but now that the house had fallen silent, the fog was rolling back in, quicker than ever.
Then Julian appeared. He moved with a grace that always seemed too grown for someone his age, stepping out of the screen door holding a small, flat box wrapped in deep blue ribbon.
He sat beside me, careful not to jostle the swing.
“Happy Birthday, June,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest. His honey-brown eyes held that unwavering, open affection I had relied on since I was small, the look that told me I was the centre of his world, even when I felt like I was fading away.
He handed me the box. “It’s not much, but I wanted it to be something meaningful.”
The box was covered in dark velvet, elegant and simple. My fingers fumbled with the ribbon. When I finally lifted the lid, my breath was torn from me before I could catch it.
Inside, resting on a silk cushion, was a beautiful silver heart locket. It was delicate and aged, looking like a cherished heirloom from another century. I carefully lifted the necklace, the cool weight of the silver settling into my palm.
I turned it over. On the smooth back of the locket, elegantly engraved in a flowing cursive script, was my name: June.
The sight of it made my throat tighten. With a click I pressed the clasp, and the heart sprang open.
On one side was a small photo of me, laughing carelessly before my world broke.
On the other side was a picture of Julian, smiling wide and genuine.
My only thing keeping me grounded. My shield.
My thumb traced the tiny, happy image of him. It was a physical affirmation of his promise.
“It feels like you’ll always be with me now,” I whispered, the words trembling as they left my throat.
Julian took the silver from my palm and stepped behind me, I shivered as his fingers lingered along the nape of my neck, his touch slow and tender as he worked the clasp.
I closed the locket, pressing the halves together, as he pulled his hands away, a genuine smile spread across his face.
“I nearly forgot,” he whispered, his voice a low vibration that seemed to pull us closer. “I have something else for you.”
He reached beside him and pulled out a slim volume bound in weathered black leather. I nearly squeaked as I read the title embossed in silver: The Raven and Other Selected Works by Edgar Allan Poe.
I took the book from him, my fingers trembling as they traced the cool grain of the cover. Julian was the reason I had fallen in love with poetry in the first place, he was the one who had taught me that darkness didn’t have to be frightening; it could be beautiful.
As the weight of the leather settled in my palms, a memory hit me, I was fifteen years old, hiding from the world in the library. Julian had found me there, tucked into a window seat, and without a word, he had handed me a borrowed, tattered volume of Poe.
“Read this, Junebug,” he had whispered back then. “It will give your shadows a name.”
I had lived in that borrowed book for a month.
Now, holding this version—my version, the ache in my chest shifted.
I had always been jealous of his articulate ways, the effortless, flowing grace with which he navigated the labyrinth of a poetic mind.
I often wished I could express the tangled, frantic mess of my feelings with the same clarity he did.
To me, he was the foundation of the beauty I found in words.
He had built the very rooms my mind lived in.
“Thank you, Julian,” I said, clutching the book to my chest.
“You know how much this means to me. You remember…”
“I remember everything,” he said softly, his gaze lingering on my face with a terrifying intensity. He reached out, his thumb grazing the edge of the leather before retreating. “I thought you might appreciate some better words than mine to keep you company tonight.”
But then, as always, I felt the familiar shift in the air.
The temperature seemed to drop, sending an ominous shiver up my spine, looking across the yard.
There leaning against an old oak tree was Cain.
His eyes were fixated on us. He was the silent, dark reminder that while Julian offered me silver hearts and poetry, it felt like there was a much darker price being negotiated in the shadows.
I gripped the locket and the book tighter, the edges digging into my skin.
Later on that evening, we moved through the kitchen, the four of us falling into a strange, domestic motion. Nana moved slowly, her exhaustion written in the slump of her shoulders, while Julian followed her like a shadow.
I was at the sink, the hot water grounding me, when I heard the rustle of paper from the dining room. Cain was clearing the last of the dessert plates, but he had stopped at the corner of the oak table where my applications were laid out in neat, white envelopes.
“What’s this?” Cain asked.
I dried my hands and stepped into the doorway. “Oh, just my Uni applications. They’re ready to be posted.”
Cain didn’t look up. He traced the edge of the envelope. “You’re still going to go?”
“Of course, Cain. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Finally, he looked at me. His eyes were dark, filled with a cold, analytical intensity. “I just thought you’d change your mind, that’s all. Given everything.”
“Everything is exactly why I have to go,” I countered.
Cain’s expression didn’t change, but he picked up the stack of envelopes. The movement was smooth, almost predatory. “Let me post them for you. I have to head to the post office in the morning anyway.”
I hesitated. There was something in the way he held them—too tight. “Are you sure? It’s out of your way.”
“I’m sure, June,” he replied almost too quickly.
"Like I said, I was heading there anyway. It’s no trouble."
He stepped closer, the magnetic pull of his presence making the air feel tense. He didn’t wait for a response. He tucked the envelopes into the inner pocket of his dark jacket, the white paper disappearing into the black fabric.
“Goodnight, June,” he called out, his voice returning to its normal, detached tone.
As they walked out the door, Julian gave me one last lingering smile.
But it was Cain’s silhouette I watched as they crossed the yard, the way he walked with my future hidden against his chest. I was too tired to chase after him.
I told myself it was just Cain being Cain—cryptic, dark, and difficult.