Epilogue #2
On that first terrible night when I had nearly left him for good, I wasn’t sure if I believed him.
I knew that he thought he loved me, even then, but I didn’t think it could last. I would do something, sooner or later, to prove him wrong.
He would see how wrong he had been to bet on me.
After all, nobody loved me. There had to be a reason for it.
And while I was more than happy to stand in conflict with the whole wide world and God himself, I was smart enough to know I couldn’t be right when everyone else disagreed. There had to be some truth in it all.
But I never slipped up. Even when I thought I did, Easton crossed his arms, looked at me furiously, and said, “You are an asshole, Jace. I love you, but you are an asshole.” And I began to believe him.
Time after time, I would think it was coming.
I would see his patience thinning, and I would know he was about to see what everyone else seemed to know by heart.
Then, he would take my hand and kiss each fingertip in turn, telling me that it was alright.
If I needed time to believe the sincerity of his love, there was a flip side to it. I knew how powerful my love for him was in return. I never doubted my resolve and the promises we made. I never questioned the fact that Easton was the brightest star in my universe and the finest hour in my day.
Part of me was sure we were healing. Another far smaller but infinitely more ominous part of me whispered that we were only pretending.
Our first year together was filled with difficulties and defined by delights.
It was a mixture of struggles and rewards.
Ramming two vastly different universes into one was hard work, but neither of us was afraid of rolling up our sleeves and doing what needed to be done.
And when I thought we had built the bridges everywhere where chasms split the ground between us, when I thought we were finally out of the storm, the nightmares came.
I kept losing him, night after night. They beat him until his face was pulpy with blood and bones.
Or he walked out to buy an ingredient I had stupidly forgotten I would need, only for the police to knock on the door two hours later and deliver the news.
A terrible war broke out, and he was drafted, but some heart murmur eliminated my application to voluntarily accompany him and keep him safe.
Six months later, he returned with the flag over his coffin.
The nightmares came, each worse than the one before, but I persisted.
“Jace,” he said sternly, waking me up. “Are you alright? You’re sweating.”
My body was covered in cold sweat, my hair matted and my tattoos glistening black and moist in the light of the lamp Easton had turned on.
“Fine,” I said, my mouth dry. Tears came on their own when I looked at him, so perfect and safe in the bed where nothing could touch him.
I hugged him tightly, not a bone broken in his body, not a hair missing from his beautiful head, and Easton didn’t protest despite the sweat smearing between us.
I refused to sleep again, shutting my eyes and pretending until Easton drifted deep asleep. After, I would sit up and watch over him.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” he asked me some nights later as I feigned falling asleep.
“No,” I muttered.
“Yes, you do,” Easton accused.
I opened one eye and looked at him, then rolled over and put my hand around him. “I think you’re hot.”
He slapped my chest lightly. “None of that, Jace.”
I scoffed and sank back into the pillow. Tiredness of not sleeping—or, to be honest, of catching a few minutes of sleep at a time—was weighing me down like an anvil tied around my ankles and thrown into the depths of the sea.
“You’re not sleeping anymore,” Easton said gravely.
I didn’t insult him by lying.
“We can’t keep doing this, Jace,” Easton said, sitting up, his back resting against the bed’s headboard, his knees bent a little and spread, his torso bare and beautiful. I wanted to forget about all that kept me awake and explore him with my lips. “It’s not healthy.”
“I’m dealing with it,” I told him in what I thought was a tone of complete conviction.
Easton tossed his legs over the edge of the bed and turned his back to me. My tone had stung him, judging by the tension in the muscles of his back.
“I am,” I said, my voice rising, losing me the last of my legitimacy.
“Jace, you’re shivering at night,” Easton said darkly. “You kick and cry and wake up in tears. I am terrified for you.”
My heart sank. “For me? What for?”
“Can’t you see the problems, Jace?” Easton pleaded, getting to his feet and pacing around the bedroom. He faced me, standing tall and beautiful. “You’re suffering, and I’m scared that I’m doing this to you.”
I scrambled out of the bed, the cover tangling around my legs and slowing me down. I got rid of it, standing up and facing Easton. “You?” I would have laughed if he weren’t so serious.
“Yes. Me.” Easton rubbed his face and exhaled. “I think…oh, Jace, I think I trapped you that night. You’re like that eagle, my love, and I stole the sky from you.”
I shook my head violently, embarrassed of the soaring eagle on my chest. It wasn’t a subconscious cry for freedom. How could I make him understand? “Easton, I’m alright,” I promised.