Chapter 51 #3
A nice idea for someone who was comfortable with their own thoughts and didn't resist writing. In such an undisturbed place, I would probably be able to finish an entire series within a year.
“I would also settle for a cottage. One surrounded by flower meadows, gardens, tall grasses... Or the coast. A beach, a lighthouse.”
The realization hit me and I remembered her writing from our joint writing session.
Power
Isak Danielson
“You want to go to Wonderland.”
Quill's hand paused. She looked up, and something in her eyes seemed different than usual. They were glossier than before, more alive... and yet it was as if something inside her was breaking at that very moment.
Wonderland. A place she wouldn't look for on this earth. A place she knew she couldn't find here.
Something painful gnawed inside my chest. Realization.
The only journey she was willing to take led to nowhere. And something desperate and selfish inside me couldn't let that happen.
My gaze automatically fell on her thigh, where the three bullets were visible through her pants, pressing against the fabric.
Her eyes followed mine.
Three weeks ago, I had noticed it for the first time and attempted to ignore it. It should give me hope, but the fact that she carried all three with her, as if she might need them at any moment, made me check every night to see if she was in her bed.
She looked up with realization in her eyes. And something else. Panic.
With devastating longing, I placed the piece of wood and the sandpaper on the table next to us.
How could the mere gleam in her eyes tear me apart like that? How could I desire so desperately to keep her in this life when I wanted nothing more than she did?
Unexpectedly quickly, she reached for something on the table that I hadn't noticed until now. A blue box with a blue satin ribbon, which she held out to me with unignorable trembling hands.
“Here, before I forget.”
Hesitantly, I took it.
“Happy birthday, Davian.”
She smiled. But even a blind man could see how much effort it took her.
I wanted to talk to her, all night if she needed it, wanted to hug her, hold her, press my lips in her hair and never let go of her until she fell asleep, wanted to make sure she was safe...
But instead, I did the only sensible thing and carefully untied the bow.
“You shouldn't have given me anything...”
Despite her new job downtown at the local bookstore, she should be saving every dollar she could to make a life for herself outside this town. Instead, she gave the money to Lara so she could give it to me, because she knew I wouldn't accept it from her. And I didn't like that at all.
All those thoughts vanished as I lowered the lid and stared down at the hardcover edition of Batteries of Ink.
“Take it out. Open it...”
I did as she said, speechless, confused, and even more speechless as I began to leaf through the book.
“You... annotated it?”
Trying to keep any despair out of my voice, I continued leafing through the pages in disbelief, only to find that every single page was adorned with blue ink margin notes, comments, and occasional white Post-Its.
“I thought that if I annotated it, you might eventually find some reasons to enjoy the book you hate so much.”
All I could feel at that moment was an overwhelming sense of warmth.
Not only had she read this book again, no, she had taken the time to comment on my writing and engage with my chaotic strings of words on a deeper level, as if they were something worth filling seven hundred and eighty-six pages with.
For the first time in my life, I felt like I hadn't written this book for nothing.
Thousands of people could read it. It could end up on every bestseller list in the world. But nothing could compare to the fulfilling feeling of knowing that she had inhaled all the words I had bled onto this paper, metabolized them into her own words, and then exhaled them onto the same pages.
This book... had never been more valuable than in this moment.
She placed a second, palm-sized package on the open page before getting up.
“Don't open it until I'm gone.”
She walked around the workbench, picked up the coffee, which was no longer steaming, and placed it next to me.
“Why?”
I wanted to thank her, but she didn't give me a chance. And maybe it was better that way...
“So you can’t just throw back at me the only key on your keychain that you'll ever need.”
Irritated, I looked between her and the small package, which gave her the chance to go to the door.
“And I'll go check who won this round.”
She smiled. Then she disappeared. Left me behind. Among sawdust, with a book in my hand that I would treasure for the rest of my life.
Under a surging wave of emotions, I placed it on the workbench, picked up the small package, and opened it carefully.
With my heart pounding desperately, I let it sink onto the workbench as well and stared at the small golden typewriter resting on the blue velvet base. A key ring attached to a dark blue braided cord with a gold ring.
It took me a minute before I was able to lift it out of the box and turn it in the light.
The only key on your keychain you'll ever need...
Ink runs or dries out.
Neither process was ever meant to last for eternity.
– Blue