7. Julian
Julian
They say time heals, but they’re liars. For June, the last few months have been a slow-motion descent into a ghost world. Her light didn’t just dim, it vanished entirely, and her once lively spirit seems to have buried itself so deep inside her, that I’m not sure it’ll ever find its way back out.
The bed is her sanctuary now, her new best friend.
She exists in the space between waking and dreaming, a place where the reality of Annies absence can’t quite reach her.
School is a memory she’s let go of, and her nineteenth birthday, which should have been a milestone worth celebrating, is just another Tuesday she’s dreading.
I stand in the doorway of her darkened room, watching the slow rise and fall of her shoulders.
If I knew how to take this pain away, I’d cut it out of her with my own hands.
It’s the ultimate irony of my existence, seeing her suffer is a deeper, more exquisite torture than anything I’ve ever endured myself.
When she finally looks at me, I see the change. Her eyes used to be a summer sky—bright, open, and easy to read. Now, they’re a winter sea at midnight, a freezing, turbulent blue that offers no shore and hides an abyss. Cold. Unfathomable. Dangerous.
It scares me.
And then there’s her grandmother. Nana is a shell, held together by the chemical haze of sleeping pills and antidepressants.
Her will to live is slipping through her fingers like dry sand.
She’s staying for June, trying to be the anchor, but you can see the toll of her grief in every line of her face.
I worry about her, and that worry feels like a betrayal of the mission.
I feel the guilt gnawing at me, not just for the lies, but for the way I’ve started to believe them.
I told myself I was putting on an act, a perfect performance of the protective, grieving friend.
But I don’t think that’s what this is anymore.
I let my guard down. I let June in a little too deep, and now the boundaries between the “job” and the reality of my feelings are blurred beyond recognition.
I have to force myself to remember the plans. Cain’s voice echoes in the back of my mind, a harsh reminder of why we’re really here. I have to pull myself out of this false reality I’m building, this fantasy where I’m the man she needs.
I am not her hero. I am her undoing.
She deserves the world. She deserves a life free of the shadow of death and the weight of grief. But more than anything, she deserves better than me and my brother. She deserves to be loved by someone who isn’t already calculating how to end her life.
The house hummed with the heavy, stagnant silence that only grief can produce.
I had spent the last two hours outside, the roar of the lawnmower providing a temporary shield against my own thoughts.
I do the maintenance regularly. I fix the leaky faucets, I trim the hedges, and I ensure Nana’s world doesn’t fall apart physically, even as it disintegrates emotionally.
It’s a penance of sorts, a way to be the hero while I prepare to be the villain.
I sat at the kitchen table, the wood cool beneath my palms. Upstairs, June was sleeping.
She always sleeps during the day now, as if the sun is too loud, too bright for the world she’s been forced into.
I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket and reached for a pen.
The words didn’t come from the part of me that serves the Ritual, they came from the part of me that is terrifyingly, dangerously infatuated with a girl I am destined to destroy.
The world is cold and quiet now,
The stars have lost their glow,
But I am here to hold you, June,
Everywhere you go.
Though shadows lean against the door,
And the winter’s wind is deep,
I’ll guard the space within your heart,
And watch you while you sleep.
Lean your heavy head on me,
Let the weeping finally end,
For I am more than just a shadow
I’m your anchor and your friend.
I climbed the staircase, my boots making no sound. I am an expert at moving through spaces without being noticed. I slipped into her room, the air thick and suffocating with the scent of her grief. I walked over to her window and opened it, letting the crisp, fresh air fill the room.
June was curled on her side, a small, fragile shape beneath the heavy duvet. Her hair was strung across her face in a chaotic web of dark silk, and her pillow was damp, stained with the tears she must have cried before sleep finally took mercy on her.
I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly as I brushed the hair away from her damp cheek. Her skin was warm, a reminder of her humanity, her mortality.
“My sweet June,” I whispered into the quiet room, my voice a ghost of a sound. “This all won’t hurt so much one day. I promise.”
I knew I was lying. The pain would only change shape, becoming something anchored, something permanent. But I needed her to believe in the morning, even if I was the one bringing the night.
I placed the note on her bedside table, right next to a framed photo of her and Annie, and let myself out. As I walked down the driveway towards the manor, I didn’t look back.
I couldn’t.