The Truths we Burn (The Hollow Boys Book 2)

Sage

“What are you doing in here?”Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

I spin from my open suitcase to see two shorter Silas look-alikes, with light brown skin and dark hair that is styled differently on each. One has a basketball shoved beneath his arm, while the other is gazing at me with his arms crossed.

“Well, it would appear I’m breaking into your spare bedroom,” I say humorously, hoping my joke will somehow break the ice between me and these teenagers who are watching me like a hawk.

When they don’t laugh or grin, I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.

“I’m, uh,” I trip out, “Silas’s friend. I’m just staying here until my dorm room is fixed. Mold is a bitch.”

I decide that telling them the same white lie as we told Silas’s parents is the best route. I’m sure they wouldn’t understand if I told them I’m staying here so I can be monitored. That I had been deemed a liability and now they’re taking precautions when it comes to my motives.

“Silas doesn’t have friends,” the one with the basketball says. “Not friends like you, anyway.”

“Touché,” I admit. “We’ve recently become friends. It’s been a slow process.”

“You’re Rosie’s twin, aren’t you?” the other one asks. “You look like her.”

I think that’s the one named Caleb, and the other is Levi. But I’m not sure because they look very similar, only one is just a few inches taller than the other.

It had been a long time since someone asked me a question like that.

Are you a twin? Are you Rosemary’s twin?

I nod. “Yeah, I am.”

Their shoulders seem to relax, leaving them less tense like they realized I’m not a threat all because of my sister.

“She used to take us to the junkyard with her when she was looking for materials she needed in her sculptures.”

“And then we’d get frozen yogurt. Which is so much better than ice cream,” Levi adds, cracking a stunning smile at the memory.

“Did she show you our super-top-secret froyo combination?”

Their eyes light up a little. “No!”

“Well, I guess that means we have to go sometime soon so I can pass on the tradition.”

Our secret is a pretty common combination, I think, but to us as little girls, we thought we were just genius. It’s cake-batter-flavored frozen yogurt with gummy bears. We used to be able to eat gallons of that stuff.

This home reminds me of simpler times between me and Rosemary. When we were little kids and the possibilities of the world were endless.

Everything about Silas’s home is a surprise to me. He’s this quiet, brooding, and angry man, while his home is quite the opposite. His mother had been in the kitchen making dinner when I came in, and his father was just coming down the steps from removing his suit. They were warm and welcoming.

Zoe and Scott had always been nice to me in passing. At events, at school when they were around, football games. I’d sadly thought they were just like everyone else, playing a part, pretending. But I can feel there’s real love in this house.

And I’d felt bad that Silas had to lie to them about why I’m staying here. They’d been told my roommate had gotten sick and my dad was so busy at work that I didn’t want to stay alone in the house. I think they thought it was because of Rose and my mother. That I was sad because it was lonely inside there, not because I’m plotting my own father’s death.

“Do you miss her?” Levi asks me.

“I do.” I nod gently, a smile on my face. “A lot.”

Levi purses his lips. “Us too.”

It seemed that all the boys in the Hawthorne family had two shared traits. They were men of very few words. And also like their older brother and everyone else, they were fond of Rosemary.

Which isn’t unexpected. It never has been.

Rose had always been the kind of person that you can’t help but fall in love with. Her empathic energy and calm soul seemed to call to people. Anyone who knew her, really knew her, was aware of just how special she was.

“Caleb, Levi, leave her be.”

Silas walks from up the stairs, coming up behind them and towering over their growing bodies, and the way they look up at him, it’s more than just because of his height.

They really look up to him.

They admire him.

“See you around,” they both say at the same time before disappearing down the hallway.

Silas follows their trail as they leave before turning his concentration on me. Walking only a few steps into the room, he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed in front of his chest. I never knew he had tattoos because most of the time he wears long sleeves. A lot like me as of recently.

Except I’m hiding scars, and he’s just, well, hiding.

I’m uncomfortable with the awkward silence that settles between us, so I try to make simple conversation. I need this to be a painless process. A few weeks inside of his house to prove I’m not a snitch, a few weeks until my father is dead, and we can all go our separate ways.

It will be over.

“Are they twins?” I ask, referring to his brothers, grabbing some of my clothes out of my suitcase and walking them to the dresser against the wall.

“No, they are a year and some change apart. Caleb is the older one, he just never acts like it.”

“Is Levi the one who is into basketball? Or is that just for show?” I slide the clothes inside the drawer, looking over my shoulder to find him already staring at me.

“Yes, and he’s decent. He will get better once he learns to discipline himself and when he realizes that beating his uncoordinated brother does not make him great.”

I laugh, not really thinking before I speak.

“Did you know Rosemary tried cheerleading when we were little? We stayed up all night going over routines, and she still forgot every single one of the moves the next day.”

I’m not sure why I expected him to laugh or even smile. It just feels nice to talk about her, in a positive light. To remember her for what she was and not what happened to her.

But she’s always a sore subject, a gaping wound, and talking about her probably makes things worse for him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring her up.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind. I like hearing other people’s memories of her.”

But it’s not that simple, is it? It’s never that simple.

“I know it’s probably hard for you,” I say. “Having me here. Seeing me. I’m not unaware of our similarities. I could have stayed in a hotel or stayed in the dorm. I don’t have to be here if it’s too much for you.”

He doesn’t say anything immediately, driving me crazy wondering what the hell is going through his mind right now.

I’m the living reminder of what he lost, and for a man in mourning, I’m not someone who he wants to see every day. I know that.

“Everything is hard. Waking up. Breathing.” He sighs. “Having you here isn’t hard. It’s the only easy thing in my life. Because I look at you and I know that a piece of her soul survived. That a part of her lives in you.”

My throat dries up like cotton is being stuffed into my mouth. I’m half-speechless and half-worried. I know that mindset can’t be healthy, not for him. But I don’t have it in me to say anything different.

“I—”

I stop abruptly as I turn around, finding Silas there. His stealth movements have me surprised, but his distance from me makes me uncomfortable. My back hits the handles of the dresser, feeling the wood dig into my skin as I try to put some space between us.

He’s close.

Too close.

“And I will do anything to protect that piece.” His voice tickles my face, and I’m trying to decide the best route in getting out of this situation that I have found myself in.

“Silas, what are you doing?” I ask softly, concerned for him, worried about him.

Those hardened eyes melt, the features in his face visibly softening, and for a moment I think it’s because he might cry for my sister.

I was wrong.

“Baby,” he says, and the word itself sounds like it was ripped from inside his chest. So guttural and painful, but I’m not his baby. “I missed you so much.”

He leans closer into my body, pulling himself further from reality and deeper into a fantasy that will never be real.

I panic as I place my hands firmly on his chest, shoving him back from me with all the force I can conjure up.

“Silas! I’m not Rose!” I shout.

It feels cruel to say out loud to him; I feel cruel just existing in the same space as him right now. I’m not going to pretend to understand what he’s battling inside, but I know this isn’t him. This is his mind playing tricks, his brain putting him through a slow form of torture.

He blinks a few times, grabbing for his head and squeezing too tightly to be comfortable.

“Stop, stop, stop,” he mutters. “No! That’s not right. It’s not right. You can’t do that—”

I know it’s not me that he’s talking to; it’s something much darker.

I never thought my stay at Monarch’s facility would be anything other than a nightmare. I want to forget I’d even stayed there, but right now, being there helps me in this situation.

Because I think of Eddison, the old man who sat by the window.

When he suffered from severe hallucinations, the nurses would do something called grounding. They would try to help him focus on the things that were real instead of the things that weren’t in order to prevent a psychotic episode.

I keep my distance so he doesn’t feel any more trapped than he already is.

“Silas, it’s me, Sage,” I say softly, “We are in your house, and you are safe. I know it feels real, but it’s not. They aren’t real.”

His breathing is erratic as he grits his teeth, starting to pace.

I know how damaging a full episode would be for him. He could be trapped inside of it for a few months, years even. I don’t want it to get that far, but all I can do is try to bring him back. To remind him that this is his illness and not the real world.

“We are in your house, Silas. With your mom, your dad, Caleb, and Levi. We are real, and we are here for you, do you understand?”

Silas Hawthorne is the prime example of love not being enough.

If love was enough, he wouldn’t seek out trouble and darkness. His parents’ love should have been enough to keep him grounded. Keep him in line. But it isn’t.

If love was enough, Rosie would still be alive. Because even if you took away all the love in my heart for her, all the love from Rook, Thatcher, and Alistair, Silas would have enough stored inside of him to last for an infinite amount of time.

It would have been enough to save her.

If only love were enough.

It physically hurts me watching him fight it. And I can do nothing but watch and hope he can pull himself away from it. That he can come around and not accept his delusion as reality.

The pacing slows, and he inhales through his nose, out through his mouth, over and over again until his breathing regulates. The mental exhaustion on his face is evident, and I can see just how tired he is.

“Silas,” I say gently, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m fine,” he breathes. “I’m fine. I just, I need—” He stops rubbing his temples.

“Can I help? What do you need?”

“Sleep. I just need to get some sleep. What time is it?” He reaches deep into his front pocket, pulling out his phone and lighting the screen up. “I gotta take my meds.”

I release the breath I was holding, relieved that he’s still taking his medication. I knew that hallucinations were a part of his everyday life, and sometimes they were worse than others, but I’m still concerned.

“Maybe you should think about talking to your doctor about a new medication or a different schedule? Or even talk to your parents about it. Rook?”

He snaps his head up towards me, making eye contact. “It’s not the medication.”

“Then—”

“I’m just tired. I haven’t slept in a while. The hallucinations get worse when I haven’t rested. It’s not the medicine, Sage. It works fine. I’m fine,” he assures me. “I’m sorry for that. It wasn’t—” He pauses. “I know you’re not Rose. I know that.”

The heavy bags beneath his eyes partially back that story, and I have no clue the details of his diagnosis. I know that the overwhelming stress from all this can cause them to be worse, and I want to accept that he is okay.

But I’m afraid for him.

All it takes is one bad hallucination.

“It’s alright, I understand,” I say, feeling just how fast my heart is beating inside my chest. “Go get some sleep.”

He nods, shoving his hands inside of his pockets and walking towards the door. He pauses, grabbing the frame.

“Sage,” he mutters. “I’d like to keep this between us. Everyone has enough on their plate right now, and I don’t want them worrying about me because of one hallucination. Especially Rook. He freaks out enough.”

It doesn’t feel right keeping that from him. I’d kept enough secrets from Rook, and I don’t want to do that again.

He barely believes me as it stands now. I don’t need to give him another reason not to trust me. I wouldn’t forgive myself if something were to happen to Silas, knowing I did nothing to prevent it. Rosie would never forgive me for that.

“I won’t tell him,” I say. “You’re going to. I’ll give you a few days, Silas, but if you don’t tell him. I will.”

“Come on, Sage!”

Her voice tickles my ears, her laughter ringing through the trees. I spin around, looking at the heavy layer of snow coating the ground.

“Rosie?” I whisper, squinting my eyes trying to adjust to the brightness of the light reflecting from the snow. I wrap my arms around myself, a short-sleeve shirt and shorts the only things covering my body from the elements.

My breath comes out in visible puffs as I look just beyond the tree line to see Rosie standing in the middle of the Tambridge River. I’d only been here a handful of times, mostly during the summer at day parties when I was in high school.

I stumble to the river’s edge, seeing a thick sheet of ice over the typically rushing river. My brows furrow in confusion, and I look up. “Ro! Come back over here. It’s not safe out there!”

But she doesn’t say anything. She stands motionless, arms dangling by her side. Her dark hair stands out from the pale-colored dress she’s wearing. Soon, she begins to spin in a circle, slowly at first, but she picks up speed.

“Rosemary!” I call her again, but she still doesn’t hear me.

I inhale sharply when the ground gives beneath her spinning feet, and she drops into the water below. I can hear her body crash into the stream, and adrenaline zaps through my veins.

Uncaring about my own safety, I take off across the frozen river, only noticing now that my feet are bare. The cold air burns my lungs with each breath as I pump my arms faster to propel me forward.

I feel like I’m running in place. No matter how hard I push myself, I’m still so far away from her.

She’s gonna drown.

She’s gonna die.

“Rosie!” I scream, finally reaching the hole in the ice, finding nothing but pitch-black water. My heart thumps inside my ears, sweat pouring down my forehead. I drop to my knees, crawling frantically, looking for where the current might have dragged her.

Panic sets in, pricking my skin like needles.

My hands burn as I swipe them across the frost, searching for her beneath the surface.

Don’t let her drown.

Don’t let her die.

Hope flickers when I catch a glimpse of her hair. One of her hands reaches up and presses against the ice like she’s trapped on the other side of a glass wall.

I start to compulsively slam my fists into the frozen water. Blood pours from my knuckles, the crimson red a bold contrast to the stark white, and it just continues to pour out.

“You can do it. You can save her.”

I lift both of my fists above my head, then heave them down. My arms begin to ache and spasm. My lungs aren’t able to inhale quick enough, and the blistering pain in my hands thrums through my entire body. But I keep going, slamming my hands over and over again, until it finally shatters.

Water bubbles up, and I immediately reach down into the frigid stream, slashing around to reach for her. I let her know that I’m here and I’m going to save her. That she’s going to be okay.

But I never feel her body.

Not until she shoots from the water, hair matted to her scalp with eyes that don’t look human. They are rotted and black, leaking dark sludge from the sockets, and all I can do is scream as her nails dig into my arms like daggers.

“It should have been you,” she hisses with a mouthful of black soot, oozing like tar.

“Rose!” I gasp, springing from the pillows, my hand clutching my t-shirt just above my heart.

My breathing is erratic, and I can feel sweat trickling down my lower back. I aggressively kick the blanket off my body, pressing my palms into my eyes and rubbing the sleep away. I haven’t had a nightmare since I was in the psych ward.

I glance over at the clock, seeing the green numbers flash, letting me know it’s three in the morning.

I’d thought my subconscious had finally given me a break. That my brain was done with the repetitive nightmares, that no matter how many times I had them, I still wasn’t prepared for.

Apparently, I was wrong.

Throwing my feet over the edge, I wiggle my toes on the chilly hardwood floors. My mouth feels like I’ve been gargling sand, and I’m in desperate need of water. I just hope I hadn’t woken any of the Hawthornes up.

I grab the cardigan I’d worn earlier today just in case anyone else is awake. I’m too exhausted to try and explain the scars on my wrists to Silas’s father if he happens to be up for work.

My door whines as I pull it open, making me cringe. I pad down the hallway, to the stairs, and through the living room until I reach their open-design kitchen. As quietly as I can, I open nearly every single cabinet trying to find a glass, grabbing the door to the very last one before I locate one.

“Of course,” I whisper. Why does everything in my life have to be so fucking hard? I can’t even find drinkware without a challenge.

I turn on the faucet, making sure it’s running cold before filling up the glass to the brim. Bringing the rim to my lips, I stare out the window in front of me as I gulp down half of the water. Rain is making soft pitter-patter noises against the glass, and I hope it continues because I always sleep best when it’s raining.

I refill the cup and spin on the ball of my foot to take a step, but then I see him standing there. Rook is cloaked in darkness as he leans against the refrigerator door, staring at me. My grip on the glass loosens, the cup tumbling to the ground and crashing onto the tiled floor. Large and tiny pieces of glass scatter across the space, and the sound coupled with his presence in the shadows makes me jump.

A needlelike pinch makes me lift my foot from the ground, cursing in discomfort as I do. With what little light is inside the kitchen, I can see a piece of the glittering glass has sliced the bottom of my sole open.

I hear his footsteps approach me, knowing the sound of his walk. I look up to see the moonlight casting a dim glow on his face, and my entire being starts to ache.

His brown hair is tossed from sleep, eyes hooded and hazy, but somehow his gaze remains sharp and keen. The shadows of the night contrast his naked upper torso, highlighting every cut and grove. Those narrow lines of his body look like they’d been etched in stone. Everything from his shoulders to his lower abdomen that flexes every time he inhales is hard and defined.

My core throbs so badly, I could cry.

I run my tongue across my chapped lips as he starts to come closer, my hand reaching out to stop him before he steps on the sharp pieces that lie between us.

“Don’t,” I whisper, but he does what Rook does best.

Ignores me.

He takes another step, unbothered by the glass as he curls an arm around my waist, hauling me up and into his warm frame. My eyes follow the snake tattoo that adorns the side of his neck and disappears down his back.

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, having to physically stop myself from pressing my nose into his skin and inhaling his scent. The leftover cologne from the day and the earthy smell of cannabis stick to him like a glove.

His hoodies used to be my favorite thing to sleep in because of the smell, because of the warmth, the comfort. With surprising gentleness, he places me onto the island, my feet dangling over the edge.

“Stay here,” he orders, his voice gravelly probably from just waking up or because he’d been smoking. Either way, I wanted to hear more of it.

When he turns away from me, the moonlight catches his back, and this time it’s not the toned muscles I’m caught off guard by.

It’s not even the tattoo that spans from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. The wings of the angel kissing each tip of his shoulder and the body of the tethered man they are attached to are inked down the center of his spine.

No, it’s not the way it fits his body beautifully.

It’s the scars.

Some are healed completely, sunken, and slightly discolored. Others are a dusty pink, indicating that they’ve just started the process of mending. But there are a few that are still scarlet red from irritation, barely scabbed over, and they look like they could bust open any second.

They run from just below the tattoo, all the way down to the dip in his spine. Multiple ones, some that look like they have been reopened too many times to be healthy.

When he returns, he is carrying a first aid kit that has already been opened, sliding it beside me as he takes some materials from inside.

“I’m fine. You don’t need to do that.”

“Shut up. It’s my fault you dropped the glass. Let me fix it.” He reaches down, curling his fingers around my ankle and lifting it upwards so he can examine the damage better.

Silence falls between us. It’s not awkward or strained. It’s a comfortable one.

Using his teeth, he rips open an alcohol swab, the pungent smell immediately making my nose burn. I hate that smell so much it makes me quiver.

“You alright?”

I nod. “Yeah. Just hate that smell. Reminds me of Monarch. I swear they soaked the halls with that shit every night.” He rubs the pads against my skin, causing a sting to buzz through my foot. I look down at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you’re safe.”

My heart thuds a little.

“Wasn’t aware you cared.”

“I wish I didn’t.”

Ouch. I suppose I deserve that.

“You seem to be pretty good at this. Used to cleaning up wounds?”

A smirk appears on his face. “Alistair has busted his knuckles open quite a few times in the years we’ve been friends. Had to learn at some point, or he’d probably bleed out.”

“And the scars on your back? You clean those up too?” I ask, knowing I have absolutely no right to know the truth behind them but wanting it anyway.

He presses a little harder into my fresh wound, making me jerk a little.

“Don’t ask questions you’re not ready to hear the answers to, Theatre Geek.”

My chest spasms hearing him call me that. At one point, I’d hated hearing it, but when I was inside those four walls, I would have given anything to hear him say it again.

“Who says I’m not ready for them? I begged you for them at one point and barely got anything from you. I have always been ready for your truths, Rook.”

The closer we’d gotten last year, the more I felt like he was hiding from me, only giving me the pieces that he wanted to while I had shown him all my skeletons in the closet. I don’t think he’d ever really trusted me to begin with.

But all I had wanted was to understand him better. To know him and not just his name, like everyone else. I wanted to know what made him tick. His dreams if he had any left at this point. His nightmares.

I just wanted to know him.

“What happened to you?” I ask, hoping he will give me something. Anything.

“Nothing happened to me. I did it to myself,” he grunts, grabbing the gauze next to me, “Well, Thatcher did the cutting, but I asked for it.”

“What? Why?” I furrow my eyebrows, confused.

When I’d first seen them, I’d thought the abuse from his father had escalated to more than just busted lips and black eyes. I hadn’t been expecting him to say one of his best friends.

Their relationships with one another are an enigma. It doesn’t matter how much they tell you, you would still never be able to comprehend the depths they would be willing to go for one another.

And Rook is the trickiest of them all.

A puzzle that only gets more confusing with added pieces.

But even still, I want to unravel him. To probe and decipher every part of him, searching for answers to his mystery every day, because that’s what he deserves.

Someone who would never give up the search in finding him.

With gentle movements, he wraps the gauze around my foot a few times, tying the ends together at the top when he is finished.

“It was a punishment,” he says, still fighting me before he returns the first aid kit back to where he grabbed it earlier. He comes back into the kitchen to lean against the counter across from me, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Why would Thatch need to punish you? What did you do to him?”

“Besides annoying the shit out of him? Nothing.” He tilts his head to the left, cracking his neck violently. “I wanted to punish myself. I wanted him to cut me. I could’ve done it on my own, but that felt selfish. So I let him do it.”

A cold chill racks my bones, and goosebumps scatter across my skin.

“For what?”

He looks me dead in the eyes, and even in the dark, they are still so fucking luminous.

“You.”

The emptiness in my chest throbs. I didn’t think it was possible for anything else inside of me to break, but something did. It shattered.

“I asked him to cut me because I needed to be punished for trusting you. For allowing myself to be weak.”

“Rook, I don’t understand,” I mutter.

“If my father taught me anything, it’s that we all have sins we have to answer for. Repercussion for our actions. I’d rather be in control of the punishment that happens to me for the things I’ve done.”

There are just some things that don’t deserve forgiveness, Sage.

All this time, he’d been hurting himself for what? Because he trusted me? Because of the things he’d done?

“That’s why you let him beat you?”

“I like the pain. I live for it.” He shrugs, and his admission slices me raw. He’s been going his entire life hurting himself just to pay for mistakes that he himself didn’t even make. He’s so damaged, so broken, that the pain was the only release he had.

“I don’t believe that. That can’t be the reason—”

“Because I killed my mother.” His nostrils flare. “Is that what you want me to tell you? Do you want that ugly, bitter fucking truth, Sage? I killed my mom.”

He releases a sober breath, raking his fingers through his hair. “We were on the way home from school. She was on the phone with my dad talking about picking up Thai food for dinner. It was such a normal day, I never thought something bad could happen on a day like that.” He shakes his head. “It’s not supposed to happen. Not to people like her.”

I sit there, frozen, absorbing every single word, feeling every single bit of his past inside my bones.

“I was being an asshole, kicking the back of her seat. And she turned around to scold me for it.” His gruff voice cracks a little. “There was no way for her to have seen the car in front of us hit their brakes. There wasn’t enough time to slow down. Everything was fuzzy because my head was hurting, but I remember someone had pulled me out of my car seat, carrying me to safety just before the entire vehicle went up in flames. It was consumed in an orange blaze and smoke, so much that I couldn’t even see her inside. I’d thought she’d made it out. That someone had saved her.”

That’s what he’s been carrying around on his shoulders most of his life. The sin he thought he’d committed. That is the root of all his pain, blaming himself for his mother’s death.

“I did that.” He pokes himself in the chest. “I took my mother’s life, and I deserve to pay for that. So yeah, I let him beat me. But it’s a small price to pay when I’m the reason he lost the love of his life.”

I slide off the counter, walking towards him, not caring that he doesn’t like me right now. Not caring about anything that happened before this moment right here.

When I was inside Monarch’s facility, there was a young girl in one of my groups. She’d struggled with depression and severe self-harm, using her thighs and wrists to deal with the problems she had within herself.

It’s a nasty battle to fight, especially when you’re alone.

Rook, he’d been going to war against it, not even knowing who the enemy was.

But him letting his father hit him, making Alistair fight with him, having Thatcher cut him open, it’s the same as her sitting in her room with a razor blade pressed into her skin. He wants to see the pain on the inside reflected on the outside.

He’d become addicted to self-inflicted wounds as a way to cope with the death of his mother, to cope with everything he’d ever lost. Including me.

“Rook,” I almost whisper, reaching my fingers out to touch him, “you did not kill your mom. Was it a horrible accident? Yes, but that’s exactly what it was. An accident.”

With quick reflexes, he snatches my wrist in his hand, squeezing tightly,

“Don’t make excuses for me. I know what I did.” His jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth, and I catch one single tear leak from the corner of his eye. “I know what I am.”

I use my other hand to touch it, the wet drop soaking the tip of my finger. A scorned angel, filled with so much anger and hatred, but on the inside, he’s still that same angel. One that had lost everything when he was cast out of heaven, out of his father’s good graces.

Because Rook hadn’t just lost his mom, he’d lost his father that day too. Everything he’d once known had burned with that car, and he did the best he could with what he had.

He built himself in the chaos and pain, feeling it was better to rule in the darkness than be damned in the light.

“You are human—that is what you are. One that feels pain and sorrow. One that does not deserve what you have been allowing others to put you through. You are not the devil, Rook.”

The walls crumble, and for the very first time, I see nothing but his vulnerability. His eyes are so pure and so raw that it takes my breath away. I see him for everything he is, and it’s so beautiful.

He drops my wrist, grabbing the back of my neck. He gathers my hair at the base and presses up, sewing his hand there. With little power, he drags me into his chest, holding me there, wrapping me in his smell.

“I never wanted to be,” he whispers.

It’s quiet.

For the first time in a long time.

There isn’t anything that needs to be said. No argument to win. I know the harsh reality that awaits us outside of this space, but it doesn’t need to come until morning. For right now, I let him hold me. I let myself fall for him.

Unabashedly in love even if I’ll never be able to say it out loud.

And it’s not perfect. It’s ugly, broken, and when the sun pierces the clouds, he very well could return to hating me. I know that.

But it’s us, and for right now, in this brutal moment of despair, that is enough.