20. Paint Everything Black
PAINT EVERYTHING BLACK
ASHER
A s if Lichenmoor endorsed his escape, Asher fled the castle without notice through an overgrown conservatory. Outside, the sun sparkled off windswept waves, and the layer of fog on the horizon hadn’t budged.
Good.
He had plenty of time before the ocean’s watery hands wrapped around Lichenmoor and drowned the road into town, and he’d cover far more ground without the fog to slow him down.
Lev hadn’t been bluffing when he’d said Asher could have fallen to his death that first night. The path drifted unnervingly close to the edge of the cliffs. Far below, thistles lined a sandy path to craggy rocks that would hardly break his fall.
He wasn’t afraid of heights, but the call of the void lobbed intrusive thoughts at his head. What if he slipped on loose sand? What if he tripped? How fast would he fall? What if he leapt? Would he regret it? What if someone pushed him? Would he even have known who’d done it?
The path sloped downward, curving away from the cliffs and through a copse of dense trees. Asher sped into a jog. When he emerged from the pocket of forest, the wind had dragged a blanket of fog over the road into town.
He shivered and wiped cool sweat from his brow. His hand shook. Shit. He’d forgotten to eat or drink anything since breakfast, too swept up in his thoughts and broken heart. And Lev.
With an irritated huff, he took off at a run, chastising himself, because this wasn’t the first time he’d forgotten to eat or drink, or even pack anything.
Normal people had crushes, not limerence.
Normal people weathered broken hearts without forgetting to take care of themselves. But Asher wasn’t normal.
With each step forward, the fog seemed to take two steps closer, until Asher was surrounded. The ocean churned louder, and the suffocating sense of claustrophobia he’d battled on his first day tightened around his chest.
Lev’s last words played back in perfect cadence with Asher’s running stride. This was a mistake. A mistake. A mistake.
The path descended at a sharper angle. Asher slowed, sliding and skidding on slick bricks layered with mist. Waves lapped menacingly closer, but sound carried across the moors.
The path leveled out, and he reached the gate, now locked with a chain. Why? Instead of taking it as a sign to turn back, Asher threw his bag over and squeezed through the narrow gap between the locked gate leaves.
The statue guarding the gate pointed to the castle. What the fuck? It had pointed to the exit when he’d arrived, right? Whatever. Lichenmoor’s eerie mysteries weren’t his problem anymore.
He picked up his duffel bag. White sparks crawled in his peripheral vision. If only he’d packed lighter and eaten a fucking meal. The flat road out of Lichenmoor shouldn’t take long. He could take a break at the pub in town.
But twenty minutes later, he still hadn’t passed Lichenmoor’s borders, and the ocean was frighteningly loud. A frothy wave licked at the side of the road up ahead. Out of breath and exhausted, he conceded defeat.
Lichenmoor had grabbed onto his ankles and dragged him back— I’m not finished with you yet .
The tide would trap him there until it receded again.
How humiliating that would be… Silver saltwater ebbed over the road and retreated.
With a sigh snatched by the wind, he turned back toward Lichenmoor, and Lev.
He was too weak to run, and settled on a jog, pushing his fatigued muscles as far as he could, too afraid to slow long enough to look. What if he couldn’t outrun the ocean?
Wind whipped sea spray at the back of his neck. If the shallow waves nipped around his ankles, he’d have to abandon his bag.
Would Lev even notice if he went missing? Probably not. He’d assume Asher went home and had given up art.
Or… Nausea roiled in his gut. What if his body washed onto the beach, all bloated and disgusting, and nibbled by fish? What if Lev saw him like that?
Asher would be dead. He wouldn’t know, wouldn’t care, but the threat of that indignity forced him faster up the hill, and he finally reached the gate and squeezed back through.
A raindrop landed on Asher’s head, then another, until a deluge poured from the heavens. What remained of the fog-filtered sunlight darkened like a switch turned off. Just what he needed when he was already walking through a vat of fog soup.
Muffled thunder rumbled beneath the din of the waves. “For fuck’s sake.”
Now he’d have to outrun lightning too. He hadn’t caught the flash of lightning preceding it. Hopefully, that meant it was far away.
A shock of icy waves crashed against Asher’s ankles.
Asher made something between an argh and a shriek.
The next wave climbed to his knees before receding.
With a sigh, Asher dropped his duffel bag behind him, sparing only a second to watch the current drag it away, a morbid promise of what would happen if Asher wasn’t fast enough.
Icy water sloshed around his shoes as he raced on ahead. Thunder rumbled without lightning again. Another rush of waves snaked around his legs before receding, but he was gaining elevation. He could do this.
On he went as sheets of rain pelted him and thunder hammered like a drum. Maybe the sound had been his heart all along.
His chest burned. Pain lanced through his lungs. He stepped into a deep puddle, and his stomach dropped as if he’d fallen through a weak spot in a staircase. Lev should pay someone to fix the potholes. He lifted his foot out of the puddle—and tripped on the lip of the next stone.
He fell forward, hands and knees slamming against the cobblestones so hard he saw stars. He tried to stand, but like a predator stalking the straggler in a herd, the tide rushed in for the kill and waves shoved him back down.
Asher jumped to his feet too fast. Blood roared in his ears as it rushed from his head. Darkness crowded the corners of his vision. He swayed.
What a stupid way to die, fainting because he’d been too anxious to eat, too caught up in irrational heartbreak to drink, too dramatic to wait until the next morning to leave. His legs crumpled beneath him. The curtain dropped before he hit the ground, painting everything black.