Page 31 of Chalk Outline
“I’m here to listen.”
“You listen all the time. I just… wish you could tell me more.”
I look away for a moment before my eyes meet hers again. “What do you want me to tell you?” My voice remains steady. “That I didn’t have the best childhood. That my parents didn’tlove me half as much as your grandma. That I wish things could’ve been different.”
“That’s a start.” She looks at me with the same expression, as if nothing I say will ever change that.
“Well, there you go. That’s all you’re going to get,” I say, and before I finish my words, I get yanked into the pool, swallowing some water but still smiling inwardly.
Her little squeal is warped underwater. We wrestle, and that little brat bites my shoulder.
She never plays fair.
I guess that’s what makes it more exciting.
My fingers curve around her waist—it’s like touching a live wire and expecting to be electrocuted, only to find out it’s not going to hurt or kill, but instead breathe life into me.
I pull her up with me. Our heads break the surface. I slam her back against the pool wall. My chest rises and falls.
“What are you doing? Looking to start a fire?” My voice cuts through the tension between us. The heat of her body goes up, and the prickles from our touch run wild.
Blinking, she lifts her gaze from my soaked T-shirt to meet my eyes. “It already crackles. You can’t extinguish it, no matter how hard you try. It’s the kind of fire that consumes you. That becomes you.”
I cup her mouth, banding to level me with her face before I press my lips to my hand, watching as her pupils dilate, reflecting her dire need for more.
I wish I could kiss her.
Winona is the person who truly saved my life. Something inside me would have died a long time ago without her, but it didn’t, because she kept it alive for me.
She was right.
That flame cannot be extinguished.
It courses through my veins.
The hollow echo of plaster between our rooms instantly captures my attention. She knocks on the wall to let me know she’s okay.
We texted all night again. She told me about her nightmares that have recently returned and her sudden fear of snakes slithering in her dreams.
I calmed her down and said I would slay them all.
She asked me what my favorite memory is. No one ever asked me that before, and honestly, it took me a few moments to respond. But I knew that my favorite memory was meeting her for the first time.
I spent most of my life playing survival, so the peaceful pauses in between were the ones I tried to chase—until all I wanted was to chase her.
But I ended up telling her that my favorite memory is about the first comic book I got and reading it with my dad. I always hold myself back and only let her see glimpses of me when she exposes her deepest emotions daily.
It’s not fair.
Maybe deep down, where the twisted roots of the past bloom, I’m a fucking coward. Or maybe I just don’t want to drag her down with me because she’s already hurting.
I turn from bed and knock on the wall to let her know I’m here.
I slept for an hour, but I don’t feel tired. I’ve been reading a book since I woke up, and I need a break. I set it aside, jump out of bed, and walk to the arched window.
Taking the cigarette from behind my ear, I place it between my lips and bring the lighter to the end. The smoke fills my lungs as I take a deep inhale and stare outside the window. With her face in mind, I blow the smoke out.
Soft rays of light shine on the circle of trees surrounding the property. The air smells like her musky scent—warm, sweet, and sensual.
