Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 167671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 838(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 838(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
“Sorry, I should’ve told you. A bunch of mail came in for you, so I put all of it on your desk.” Océane’s words interrupt my train of thought. She clutches the door, furrowing her brows at me. “Are you okay?”
I nod, still in shock. “More than okay.”
She smiles. “Good. Let me know if you need anything. I’m here all day. I don’t have classes today.”
“Wait, I wanted to give you this,” I say, handing her the cash I borrowed from her. “I promised I’d give it back.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
When she’s about to walk away, I add, “Can I ask you something?”
She pauses. “Sure.”
“When you got together with Talon … how did you know he was the one?”
She stares at me for a moment, completely befuddled. “I … I just knew. When I thought of him, I could feel him. Physically. Inside.” She points at her heart. “I don’t know, I can’t explain it. But if I had to put a finger on it, I’d picture what it’d feel like if he wasn’t mine, and that eviscerated me. So that’s when I knew I wanted to be with him.”
That sounds awfully familiar.
I swallow. “I see.”
“You still not sure about Max?” she asks.
“No, this isn’t about him. It’s … more than just him.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh wow. Really? Multiple guys?”
“I’m trying to figure that out.” I look at all the letters.
“If those came from your multiple guys, then you’ve got your answer.” She snorts. “Think about it. Whatever it is, you’ll figure it out.” She winks and closes the door while I’m left staring at my letters.
Because what if she’s right?
I open more of them, searching through each one of them until I finally find my answer inside a small box that Océane also brought to my room.
I sit down on the bed and open it up on my lap.
Inside is a knife, covered in blood.
Fresh blood.
I swallow away the lump in my throat as I pick it up and inspect it.
This is … this is Silas’s knife.
The knife drops from my hand and clatters to the floor, spilling droplets of blood everywhere.
But something at the bottom of the box draws my attention the most. A letter stained in blood.
Silas
Ten years ago
I suck on my straw, sipping my coke, while watching my mother pierce through balloons with a few darts at the fair.
Of course, I’m not allowed to do this particular stand. I can hit some clowns with a few balls, but the second I go near any sort of sharp object, no one ever trusts me not to try and hit the guys behind the stands instead.
And I suppose they’re right. It is fun watching them squeal their heads off as I ‘accidentally’ pierce their thighs with a dart.
Grinning at the thought, I take another sip of my coke.
“Yes!” Mom high-fives Mavis and Aspen after she’s knocked out all the balloons in one go.
“Knew you could do it,” my dad says, winking.
The guy in the stand laughs. “Well done. You win. Pick whatever you want.”
Mom points at a plastic flower in the back of the stand, and the guy brings it to her.
“There you go.”
“A flower?” I mutter to myself. Mom turns to look at me, and I shrug. “Whatever.”
She holds the flower in front of me. “For you.”
I scowl. “For me?”
This doesn’t make any sense. Aspen likes flowers, not me.
“Yeah, because I love you, silly.” She attempts to kiss me on the forehead.
“Gross,” I say, wiping it off immediately.
She chuckles. “Don’t be so scared of a little bit of love, Silas.”
“He doesn’t know what to do with it,” Aspen says, sticking out her tongue at me.
“Shut up!” I yell back.
“Silas …” Mom grabs my shoulders. “Just ignore it.”
“It’s getting on my nerves.”
“I know.”
I grind my teeth. “I wanted to throw those darts too.”
“I know that too, but we also know what you like to do with sharp objects.”
I lower my eyes.
“You’re just a little … different. And that’s okay.”
Is it?
Or are they just saying that because they don’t know what it’s like to feel nothing but the instinct to kill?
Mom presses the flower into my chest. “Hold onto it. One day, you will feel what it means. And then you can give it to a girl and make her happy.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t make me smile.
Neither does the plastic flower I’m forced to hold onto for the rest of our time at the fair, wondering if she just picked it so she could give it to me.
To try and get me to feel something.
Anything.
When we’re finally home, I sit on my bed and stare at the box on the floor. The one Mom once gave me to store away memories I want to keep forever.
The plastic flower in my hands feels so goddamn meaningless.
So goddamn worthless.
Love.
Like I will ever understand what it means.