Page 103 of Written in the Stars
Darcy stared at the tree, chest burning. She couldn’t bring herself to tear it down, not yet. She’d just try not to look at it. Christmas was tomorrow, anyway. She’d take it down right after.
Don’t think about it.
Darcy moved into her bedroom. Stark white sheets and a matching duvet covered her bed. Nothing was remiss save for the speckled composition notebook full of facts about Elle lying on the nightstand. Her birth date. Her favorite gummy bear flavor. All her planets... placements... houses... something like that. Elle in a nutshell. Darcy smoothed her hand across the cover, thumb brushing the pages at the bottom.
Not true. Elle couldn’t be contained in pages, constrained to paper. She was larger than life, but these pages held an imprint, the closest Darcy would ever again get.
Recycle, it belonged in the recycle. All she had to do was chuck it and her apartment would be an Elle-free zone once more. Neat, tidy, everything where it belonged.Quiet.
Darcy clutched the notebook to her chest and left the room. She opened the cabinet beneath her sink where the trash and recycling resided, and paused.Drop it. It was only a notebook, only paper. It wasn’t Elle. So would it really matter if she kept it? She’d only used a few of the pages, it would be a waste to toss it. She could rip out the front pages and repurpose the rest. And she’d do that later. But for now, she’d tuck it in the backof her closet behind her shoeboxes. Out of sight, out of mind. She’d ignore it, just like the tree.
Darcy shut off the light to her closet and stood in the middle of her bedroom, arms crossed. There was nothing left to do, nothing left to fill her time, nothing to drive away the silence she was desperate to fill with action and noise.
Sitting still wasn’t an option. If she sat down, she might not get back up. Like an object in motion, Darcy needed to keep moving or else the feelings inside her chest that had taken root would branch out. Like some invasive species they’d wrap around her, choking her until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—
Darcy pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. Keep moving. She’d shower, then—No. One step at a time. Minute by minute. Like sands through an hourglass, so were the days of her life.
A desperate, broken chuckle splintered the silence. Darcy clapped a hand over her mouth and breathed in through her nose.
Don’t think about it.
Stepping into the bathroom, Darcy flipped the light switch, then reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head. Her eyes caught on her reflection, something out of place on her face. She dropped her shirt and leaned closer, tilting her head. That wasn’t there earlier, that was—
Glitter.
A speck of glitter stuck to her cheek, beneath her eye where the skin was puffy and swollen, so puffy no eye mask or cold compress could combat it.
Darcy rubbed at her skin with her fingers. No dice. Sherubbed harder, scraping with the edge of her nail. It wouldn’t budge. It was adhered to her skin like glue, going nowhere. She turned on the faucet and splashed her face, gasping a little at the shock of ice-cold water against her flushed skin.
Jesus, was it embedded? Was it stuck beneath the surface? It wasglitter, of course it wasn’t going anywhere. Glitter never went anywhere other than exactly where you didn’t want it, where it didn’t belong.
Turning off the water, she hung her head, sucking in air through her mouth because her nose wasn’t working. Was suddenly stuffed. She couldn’t breathe through it, why couldn’t she—
“Darce?”
She shrieked and jumped back, nearly slipping on her discarded shirt atop the tile floor. Hands grasping the counter, Darcy caught herself, then ducked and grabbed her shirt, tugging it over her head. The tag brushed her chin, her shirt backward.
Brendon.
“What the fuck? Don’t you knock?” Blood pumped adrenaline to her extremities, making her fingers twitch.
Brendon stared at her with wide, frazzled eyes, the crests of his cheeks pink. “I did? I knocked. I called. I texted. You didn’t answer so I used the key—”
“The key I gave you in case ofemergencies, Brendon. Christ. This isn’t... this isn’t an emergency. It’snot. You don’t get to come in here, just waltz in my apartment like you own the place. An emergency is if I don’t pick up for hours or a day or two days. This isn’t an emergency.”
Brendon guppied like a goldfish. “I was worried. I didn’t—”
“That’s not your job.” Darcy pressed a hand to her chest over her racing heart. “Youare not supposed to worry aboutme. I worry aboutyou, got it? That’smyjob.”
“Darce—”
“No. I’m mad. I am mad at you. Do you hear me? I’msomad.” Darcy sucked in a gasp and bit the inside of her cheek. Her vision blurred so she shut her eyes. “God, what’s wrong with me?”
Hands grasped her arms tight, held her as she sunk down to the bathroom floor. She tucked her knees against her body and leaned into Brendon who shushed her with empty words meant to make her feel better.I’m sorry. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.
“It’s not.” She gasped. “It’s not going to be okay.”
She could scrub the apartment from top to bottom. She could rearrange her books and get rid of all Elle’s things, everything Elle had touched. Darcy could burn her whole apartment to the ground, salt the earth, and move halfway across the world but there’d be no escaping the memories, theglitter. Virtual fingerprints she’d never get rid of.
