Chapter Thirty-Two
Idrifted in an ocean of mist. I had no physical body and could not hear, smell, or feel.
Time had no meaning. Sometimes, I opened my eyes, although the word eyes was not quite right since I had none.
But occasionally I saw mist swirling around me, like eddies in a stream, or rivulets of rain on mud and gravel. Mixed with blood.
I fought for that memory. It meant something, but I was so tired, and it was hard to think. It was strangely peaceful, drifting in quiet darkness that asked nothing of me, untethered from pain and fear.
Kira.
Had I heard something? No, I couldn’t hear in this place. I drifted off again.
Kira.
That voice. It was so familiar. Who was Kira?
Kira. Come back to me. The voice was full of a pain so deep I could barely fathom it. It washed over me and through me. I wanted to ease its suffering.
I’ve been told to tell you my stories, which right now are all my memories of you.
Curiosity flitted through me. What were stories?
Where do I even begin? How do I explain what you mean to me? How you’ve changed me?
The voice grew quiet for a moment.
By the time I met you, love, work had become my sole focus, the days blurring together in an endless sea of meetings and schedules.
I wasn’t unhappy, but the accident that left me scarred also left me changed, and most days I felt like I was still buried under the rubble of that village.
Fighting for my life. Fighting to breathe.
Fighting to remember the reason for it all.
I suspect you know what I mean. I think you had been fighting to breathe for a long time as well.
But the first time we met, I felt alive in a way I had forgotten was possible.
You made me laugh, made me wonder. Made me realize there could be more to my life.
Meeting you was like a flicker of warmth breaking through years of numb, grinding grey.
Here’s what I remember about you, Kira.
I remember the first time we had coffee together.
Your kitchen was cozy and lived-in and gently chaotic in the best possible way.
It was everything mine wasn’t but wished it could be.
Because you were there. I realized I had been living in half-light for so long that I had forgotten how to see clearly.
But when you smiled, everything seemed brighter.
I couldn’t look away, love, and I didn’t want to. Ever again.
I knew that voice. It was deep and rough-edged, like a storm barely held in check. It brushed against me and curled into the deepest parts of my mind, reaching across space and calling to me. Pulling me.
And that walk in the woods. I’ll always remember it.
Our teasing touches were driving me to distraction, yet I never wanted them to end.
Your hair blew gently in the breeze, and your skin glowed with a brightness all its own.
Your kindness toward the dogs made me adore you even more.
The day was cloudy and grey, but it seemed to me that you were bathed in nothing but light.
My mind fought me. My body wanted to sleep, but that voice wouldn’t let me. I wanted to follow it and hear more. I wanted to meet the person behind it. I started looking for it, but all I could see was mist. I focused on the words instead.
I couldn’t take my eyes off you in Sylvia’s shop. It was the last place you wanted to be, yet you stood your ground. For Charles. For me. Your bravery and selflessness took my breath away. I watched a hundred emotions play across your face, each one more raw than the last.
I meant a lot to this man. He needed me, and I needed to find him.
There was nothing accidental about that kiss in the shop. I wanted to lay claim to you right then. To make you burn with desire and need. To show you what a real kiss between us could be. To make you feel the same way I felt whenever I looked at you.
You slept in my bed that night and in the morning my sheets carried your soft honey scent.
You bathed naked in my shower and sat at my kitchen counter, smiling and laughing with me over coffee.
You had no idea how much your presence affected me.
You were in my home, but it hadn’t been a home until you arrived.
You brought sunshine, warmth, and joy to my dreary, everyday existence.
I’ve never been one to flirt. Never saw much of a need, to be honest. It’s like dancing around a subject.
Seems inefficient. Impractical. But with you, Kira, everything is different.
I love looking for ways to make you smile, to be fun and playful.
I love how your cheeks get rosy and your eyes twinkle.
I love the sound of your laugh. You let your guard down, and I’ve discovered a side of myself I never knew existed.
When you told me how your parents died, I was humbled by your trust in me.
I felt the pain as if it were my own because I know the agony of watching someone you love die.
I couldn’t talk about Ava then. Not because I didn’t trust you, but because I couldn’t reopen my wound when you had just shared yours.
I wanted to be there for you, to hold you and be present for your pain. But I’m going to talk about Ava now.
Owen. The truth slammed into me, and I remembered everything. I tried calling to him, but I made no sound. I grew frantic. I had to reach him. And then his voice changed, becoming scornful and bitter, although those feelings seemed directed at himself.
Here’s a new story for you. Ava was my opposite in every way.
While she was adventurous, I preferred taking the safe route.
She was the life of the party; I preferred quiet evenings at home.
She was wild and uninhibited; I liked control.
She lived life to the fullest every day and pulled me along for the ride.
I would have loved to have met her. Maybe we would have been good friends.
She dared me to climb that cliff without a harness. I can still picture her standing beside me in the early morning dawn. The sun is peeking over the horizon. She’s looking up at the face of the cliff, her eyes bright with excitement and the invincibility of youth.
“Let’s do this one without a harness today,” I can hear her say. “We’ve already conquered it with the harness, and it’s not that far.”
I say no. It’s not safe.
She says I’m old and boring.
I say, “That’s fine. I don’t care. We’re wearing harnesses.”
She has a look in her eye. I know that look. I should never have turned my back. Why, why did I turn away from her to prepare the equipment?
I hear her call to me. She’s already halfway up the cliff. There’s a morning mist on the rocks. The sun hasn’t hit the cliff face yet, and it’s still wet. Slippery.
I shout at her to come down. Now. She sticks her tongue at me and dares me to follow her. I scramble up after her. I’m moving so fast, barely checking where my feet and hands are gripping, but she starts climbing faster, too. I shout at her to stop. She doesn’t.
We’re about fifty feet off the ground.
She slips, sliding past me. Screaming. Our fingers touch as she passes me, and I almost have her. But I’m not fast enough. Not strong enough. She falls and there’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop her death.
Losing Ava so quickly taught me how precious life is. How it can change in an instant. How those we love can be there one minute and gone the next.
But I’m not losing you, Kira. As long as there is breath in my body, I will fight for you. I’ve told you all my stories. The only story left untold is the one we have yet to live because there is no future for me, love. Not without you. So please, Kira, fight for us, and come back to me.
I wanted to go to Owen, but I couldn’t. Sleep and darkness threatened to pull me under the mists to a place from which I’d never return.
But Owen was fighting for me, and I needed to fight for him.
Panic at the thought of being torn from him made me thrash and scream. At first, there was no discernible difference in the swirling mists around me. But then, ever so slightly, they moved faster as I fought harder.
A vague figure emerged in the mist, an outline with blurry edges.
It reached for me with desperation, and I knew it was Owen.
I stretched my hand out, my fingers splayed, every one of my muscles straining, every nerve pulled taut with effort.
The mists became a storm raging between us.
They were furious and wild, slamming against us, trying to shove us back. Away from each other.
We leaned forward, tilting into the storm, fighting with everything we possessed to close the gap between us. Our fingers were within a breath of touching.
I wouldn’t give up, and I knew he wouldn’t, either.
Our fingertips brushed before the mists surged again, brutal and sudden, wrenching us backwards. But that brief touch was enough to solidify my resolve. Owen was my anchor, and I would not lose him. I stretched as far as I could, my soul reaching for its other half.
The next time we touched, he grasped my hand tight.
And pulled me toward him.