Page 14 of The Sinners

I read every one, taking in the words, looking for any indication through the photos that this isn’t what she wants—that she didn’tactuallychoose him. That somehow, it was forced.

But there is none.

Every pretty word, every perfect photo, depicts nothing other than happiness.

Fury boils within me, white-hot and pulsating, as I grip my phone and grit my teeth. Slamming my head back against the headboard, I fight the urge to yell out, the anger so thick and powerful it makes me want to bring physical pain to someone other than myself.

It is the first time in months the monster within has grappled with me—clawing his way to the very top and threatening to take over.

I should let him. I should welcome him with open arms and fly back to New York to find August.

The monster's claws scrape against my insides, ripping through the organs and flesh as the pain tears through me, slamming into me so potently my vision swims.

Wrestling with the emotions, I tighten my hold on my phone, wrapping my other hand around it too, as I bring everything to my face and close my eyes. My body rocks in the bed I still sit in, the sheet draped around my waist sitting loose and moving with me as my hips hinge.

It feels as though I’m on the brink of a heart attack, as though it might explode within my chest, and I struggle to breathe.

Finally, I lose all control and a strangled cry pushes through my throat, but I’m able to catch it at the last moment, right before the howl becomes audible. It’s painful as I swallow it down, but I do, my instinct to shatter and my determination to persevere fighting against each other.

I will never let her go—not entirely. A part of her will always be embedded in my heart, my soul, and the very fiber of my being.

But after tonight—after months of holding onto a single thread of hope—the articles have seemed to sever that tiny, thin string.

It’s funny how words on a page can set forth the rawest emotions and gut you deeper than a knife.

Now, as I lay in my bed, bleeding colorless blood, Ifeel myself becoming numb. And if there is one thing left I can do for myself—a simple promise I can make—it’s to allow myself to truly move forward and heal from this, no matter how difficult that may be.

When you’ve reached the very bottom, the only place to go is up. But with the way my heart is feeling, I know I am lower than the bottom. I’m in the grave, and I’m going to bury my heart in it before I claw my way out of the darkness, and hopefully, never look back.