Page 113 of When Hearts Ignite

So. Much. Pain.

I wanted to call Grace. So many times, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. To blow her world up just as mine did. And like a coward, I’m burying myself under the haze of alcohol, trying to delay the inevitable.

I keep hoping this is all a dream, and when I wake up, perhaps everything will miraculously be a nightmare, a fevered hallucination.

The imagination of a sick, twisted mind.

“Give me the bottle,” I lunge toward Ryland, who holds the top shelf whiskey above his head out of my reach.

Maxwell grabs onto my waist and holds me back. I should be honored. His Majesty is making an appearance from his Upper West Side mansion for me.

To witness the King of Wall Street bleeding on the ground, his crown in the sewers, his body flayed by a thousand whips, blood draining from every orifice.

My head is woozy. Heavy. The world spins around me in a tempest of darkness and dim lights. The smell of gasoline and screeching of tires skidding on asphalt reach my ears, but they sound faint. I wish the world would burn and take me with it.

I’m once again underwater, the hole in my chest cavernous, as if a shotgun blasted pellets at point blank repeatedly over my heart. Unlike a year ago, this time, everything hurts. The crippling agony robs me of my breath, strangling my lungs in a tight grip, squeezing, twisting, pulling.

“I can’t let you drink anymore,” Ryland murmurs, his voice sounding far away as I sway and topple sideways, and a flash of blond hair and light eyes appears in front of me, strong arms stopping my face-plant to the ground. Charles.

“How did you guys find him?” His voice is gravelly. Worried.

“I saw him at the race, attempting to get behind a car while looking like this. Fucking asshole has a death wish. He gave me a right hook as I dragged him out of the driver’s seat.” That was Maxwell…I think.

“Rex and the others are on their way,” Ryland adds as he tucks his arm around my waist and, along with Maxwell, carry me to the sidewalk and slumps me against a building.

“Fuck, you’re heavy,” Maxwell mutters.

“He’s dead weight right now. I doubt he even knows his name.” Ryland lets out a ragged sigh.

I laugh at that, my shoulders shaking, tears streaming down my face. My cackles sound loud in the night. I grip my stomach, curling over my body as I bury my face between my knees.

“Fuck, what’s wrong with him?” Maxwell sits down next to me.

My body trembles, my breathing coming out in heavy pants as my tears wet my trousers, my nose running, but I couldn’t care less. “I-I’m Steven fucking Kingsley…” I laugh again, my voice delirious, sounding far, far away. “I wish I could forget my name. I wish I could forget me. I wish I was anyone else other than Steven Kingsley.”

My sobs blend with my chuckles and I’m sure I look like a madman. Deranged. Someone who should be committed to a mental institution. I wrench the bottle of whiskey away from Maxwell and take a big swig—it’s my second or third bottle for tonight; I lost count—the burn barely registering. It can be water for all I care.

It’s not working. I’m still awake. I’m still here. I’m still living this farce of a life.

My phone buzzes once again.

Maxwell tears the bottle from my grip as I retrieve my phone, swiping it open, and stare at the text notifications.

Thirty missed calls from Jess, Emily, and Mother. I don’t want to talk to Mother and hear her sad, pathetic attempts at consoling me after her and Father failed me in every way that matters. I don’t want to face my sisters, who I know would cry alongside me when they put the pieces together.

Ten missed calls from Grace.

The remnants of my heart spasm in agony as I think about my beautiful girl with breathtaking eyes and the warmest soul. The person who brought me back to life.

I read through my darling’s messages again, my chest heaving and clenching in pain. I’m a masochist, intent on snuffing out the last bits of life within me. There’s no way out of this swirling madness, this pitiful existence.

I can never forget her. I can never live without her.

I can never be with her.

Grace

I got a call from Emily. She got my number from Millie. She said your father is in the hospital and you didn’t seem right when you left. But you aren’t picking up her calls. I went to your apartment; the doorman said you weren’t there. Please tell me what’s going on. We’re a team. I’m worried about you.

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