20. June #2
He stepped closer, the tip of his polished boot inches from my hand.
His gaze lingered on the book—Julian’s gift.
“You have a penchant for the macabre, June. It’s a dangerous trait for a girl with such…
delicate sensibilities. Poe lived a life of ruin.
You shouldn’t seek to find yourself in his shadows.
The dark has a way of swallowing things that aren’t prepared for the weight of it. ”
“I think I’ll take my chances,” I bit out, sitting up and hugging the book to my chest like a shield. I wanted to run, but my legs wouldn’t move. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked at me over that woman’s shoulder—unfazed, unmoving, and dominant.
“Careful, little bird. Curiosity has a price. And in this house, we always collect.”
“Hey, June bug. Sorry I’m late.”
The relief that flooded through me at the sound of Julian’s voice was a physical weight lifting off my chest. I scrambled to my feet as he approached, coming up behind Cain.
Julian looked… wrecked. His hair was damp from a recent shower, but his eyes were shadowed, the skin beneath them looking bruised and weary.
The split on his lip was almost healed now as he managed a small, forced looking smile for me, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Cain didn’t say another word. He just looked between the two of us, his expression unreadable and icy.
He gave a slight nod, a silent acknowledgement of a secret I wasn’t privy to, and excused himself.
I watched him walk back in the direction of the house, his silhouette stiff and imposing, a dark blot against the vibrant garden.
“He’s such a creep,” I whispered, turning back to Julian.
Julian sat down beside me on the grass in complete silence. He kept his spine straight, refusing to lean back or show even a hint of relaxation.
He sat rigid, his shoulders up to his ears, staring at the rose bushes as if he were trying to count every single thorn.
“Julian? You okay?” I asked, reaching out to touch his arm. “You seem… off. Did something happen? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
I started to make small talk, my words coming out in a nervous rush.
I told him about the passage I’d been reading, about how Jasper had hissed at Cain, trying to coax that genuine spark back into his hypnotic eyes.
But he remained distant. It was like he was a world away, drifting towards a horizon I couldn’t see and wasn’t invited to.
“June,” he said, cutting me off softly.
He reached out and grabbed my hand, his grip firm, almost desperate, almost painful. He looked down at our joined fingers, his thumb tracing the back of my hand with a slow, mournful rhythm that felt like a goodbye.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, my heart beginning to hammer a frantic rhythm against my ribs. My anxiety peaking. A panic attack brewing deep inside me.
“Julian, you’re scaring me. Just tell me.”
He finally looked at me, and my breath caught in my throat. His eyes weren’t filled with the dark, feral hunger I’d seen on the Ferris wheel, they were suddenly filled with a profound sadness. He looked like a man watching something he loved die.
“We need to talk,” he said.
The words fell between us with the brutal finality of a death sentence, severing any illusion of a normal happy conversation.
We started walking, our footsteps heavy and loud against the manicured gravel paths.
The Manor felt like it was watching us, the windows like rows of empty eyes.
Julian was stumbling over his words, starting sentences only to let them die halfway through, his usual poetic grace evaporated into a jittery, panicked energy.
“Just say it, Julian. Seriously,” I said, stopping in my tracks. I couldn’t take the suffocating suspense anymore. It was worse than whatever truth he was hiding. “You’re acting like someone died.”
He took a deep breath, refusing to meet my eyes. He stared at a point somewhere over my shoulder. “I think… I think we should slow things down for a bit, June. Just for a while. This… us… it’s becoming too much.”
My stomach dropped so hard I felt physically sick.
The air suddenly felt too thin to breathe, the scent of the roses now smelling like rot and ruin.
I thought things were going so well, the carnival, the photo booth, the way he’d devoured me on the Ferris wheel.
Was it all a lie? Had he been using me this entire week as some kind of distraction, or had he just realised he couldn’t pretend to want a girl like me anymore?
Whatever the reason, I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces.
“Slow down?” I whispered, my voice sounding desperate. “We haven’t even started, Julian. What are you talking about?”
He continued on, his words rushing out now as if he were trying to get through a rehearsed script he’d stayed up all night memorising.
He told me it wasn’t about me, that it was about him.
He told me how “special” I was, how much I meant to him, and that it would “all make sense one day.” Every word felt like a fresh cut.
He said we just needed to “cool things down” before someone got hurt. But that was too late.
“June, look at me,” he said when I didn’t respond.
I looked up, and I couldn’t stop the hot, stinging tears from blurring my vision. I blinked, and they came pouring down my cheeks in silent, humiliating streaks. I didn’t want him to see me like this, broken, desperate, and small but the dam had burst.
“June, please try to understand,” he said, his voice cracking, his own eyes shimmering with a moisture he was fighting to suppress. “You know how important you are to me. We can still hang out every day. We can still be… friends.”
He reached out, his hand hovering near mine, trying to grab it the way he always did when I was upset.
I pulled back as if his touch were a brand.
I couldn’t even look him in the eye anymore.
The “friends” line felt like a physical slap in the face after the way he had held me, after the way he had looked at me while kneeling on the floor of that carriage.
“Friends,” I repeated, the word tasting like poison. “You didn’t look at me like a friend at the carnival, Julian. You didn’t touch me like a friend.”
“I’ll drive you home,” he offered, his hand dropping to his side, his posture sagging as if the weight of the world had finally crushed him.
“No,” I choked out, shaking my head violently. “I’ll walk. I don’t want to be in a car with you.”
“June—”
I didn’t wait for him to finish. I didn’t want to hear another word of his beautiful, lying poetry.
I turned around and started walking away, my pace quickening with every step as the manor grounds blurred into a smear of green and grey.
I heard his boots on the gravel behind me, heavy yet hesitant.
“Stop!” I yelled, not turning back. “Just stop Julian! Don’t you dare follow me!”
He stopped. I could feel him standing there, a lone, broken figure in the middle of his perfect garden, watching me as I stormed off towards the gates.
The tears I’d tried so hard to restrain finally crashed down in a violent, uncontrollable sob that tore through my chest. I ran then, my lungs burning, leaving behind the manor, the roses, and the boy who had just systematically destroyed the only world I had left.