Chapter Thirty-Six
Ava walked slowly to the theatre the next day. It was the route she and her mother had always taken together, past Custom House, and along the river – today a glittering thread of grey against a roiling sky.
As a child, Ava had taken all the stories she’d heard about ancient civilizations and lost cities and assumed Custom House, too, was as precious as the Athenian Acropolis, as steadfast as the Roman Forum.
Dark, stone pillars watched out towards the docks, and Ava removed her glove – running her bare palm against the bevelled stone.
It was cool against her skin, but somehow it did nothing to soothe her as she thought of what Damien had said, all those weeks ago.
I know your kind, Ava. You shape the world into the place you wish to see.
He’d meant that she saw sunshine when there was only cloud – but now Ava knew he was wrong. She saw clouds despite the sunshine. She looked up at a cerulean sky and saw only the storm that would follow.
It wasn’t that he had kissed her. That she had kissed him back. It was that it had felt …
Different.
With Jem, it had always felt as though she could never quite twist herself into the right version – the best version – to keep him.
But Damien … Damien hadn’t wanted her to try and be anyone but herself.
He hadn’t wanted her to hide, he’d wanted her to be honest – about her craft, about what she wanted, and why she wanted it.
And perhaps that was why this, now – all felt so overwhelming.
Because with Jem, at least she’d had somewhere to hide.
She could say that she’d tried to be a different version of herself, and it was that version he did not love.
It wasn’t her – not truly – it was a performance, and if he did not love it then it was only a reflection of her as a performer, and not her as a person.
But if Damien walked away from her now, he would be walking away from the truest version of herself. And she did not know if she had the strength to survive something like that.
But he didn’t walk away, did he? Not until you pushed him.
Ava sighed. It was moments like this she wished her mother were here.
That she could run to her – and let all the thoughts screaming in her mind spill out.
Her mother had always been so good at that – for she wouldn’t just listen, she would hold each thought up to the light, and have them look at it together.
Have them question where it came from – what purpose it served – and in doing so, she’d help Ava sift the true thoughts, those rare glimmers, from amidst the worry, the shame, the fear.
And now, Ava had no voice to turn to but her own. She wanted it to mean something – she knew that from the way her breath caught in her throat when she thought of it, thought of him – but she was afraid. Afraid that it would happen, all over again.
And she would be left alone once more, to try and pick up the shattered shards of her heart.