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I’m not thinking straight—and I lose control of the bike. That piece of metal that I thought I could maneuver, forever steer in my way—it betrays me because one second I’m on the road and the next, it feels as if I’m flying off a cliff, going down, down, down. ..
Except this time, I don’t get a high from it. I don’t feel a thrill from it—nothing but dread embodies every fiber of my being.
“Harvey!”
Quickly. Suddenly. Abruptly.
Death is coming, welcoming me, telling me I might enjoy the next life. Telling me to let go, to lose my fears, to push away this fretfulness.
Mom. Help me, Mom.
Rain and pine trees. Rain and burned tires. Rain and pain.
The pain—it overtakes every other thought—it sears through me like a metal blade before I lose consciousness and finally give in to darkness.
W-Will you come . . . back?
No.
So, I’ll never see you again?
Unlikely. But when you close your eyes—I’ll be there.
So you won’t remember me?
Go to sleep.
It takes a few seconds when I wake up before my stomach turns into knots. The dream of my angel is so vividly clear in my mind, I wish he’d save me from my reality.
Simply remembering what I’m doing with Damon, what I’m doingtoHarvey, is enough to make me feel sick. I think of all the decisions I have to make and how I need to figure out what I want.
And which man I want.
Harvey kissing Claire. Harvey drawing Claire. Harvey laughing and smiling with her. Harveywalkingwith her.
I don’t know how long I stay in bed, staring at the ceiling until the alarm I snoozed goes off again and I know I shouldget ready. With the snow outside, I always need to leave earlier in case.
I waited until Harvey came home late last night from his hangout with Hen before falling asleep, so today’s Monday feels grimier already.
I shower and wear a black sleeveless dress. One that clings to my body. I put on more makeup than usual, even using concealer to hide the circles darkening under my eyes.
A part of me is nervous to face Damon. Nervous to face Harvey.
I start up the car to heat it up. When I turn around from the entrance window, I see Harv.
He looks as rough as I do.
I wait for him to say something, yet he says nothing. I say nothing. And it hurts knowing that I was expecting a different outcome this time. So I grab my coat from the closet before putting on my boots.
I take my purse and turn to leave when his voice halts me in my tracks, his statement chilling and freezing my blood to the bones.
“Did youfuckhim yet?”
When I finally face him, I not onlyhearbutseethe malice in the undertone of his voice. His eyes hold the iciest particles, looking colder—a frost only Damon seems able to achieve.
“What?”
How does he know? How does heknow?
