Page 97 of From the Wreckage
Instead of heading inside his cabin, I held my arms out, spinning beneath the downpour with my face turned to the sky. I laughed, feeling reckless yet free as I twirled until my clothes clung to me and water streamed down my face.
Everett stood in the doorway of the garage, shaking his head, that half-smile tugging at his lips. Then, without warning, he strode into the rain, his jacket plastered to his broad shoulders.
“Dance with me,” he’d said, holding out his hand like I was something precious.
I melted into him. His rain-soaked leather jacket was cool against my cheek, his arms solid as he spun me slowly, as if we had all the time in the world. His lips brushed my temple, and the way he looked at me—like I was both crazy and the most incredible sight he’d ever seen—burned me alive.
The memory is so vivid I can still smell the leather, still feel the rain dripping between us, still hear the gravel in his voice when he whispered my name.
The tears fall hot and fast, sliding down my cheeks until they’re indistinguishable from the rain streaking the glass. I press a hand to my chest, but the ache doesn’t lessen.
I stare out at the lake, the rain hammering down, my reflection warped and unrecognizable in the ripples.
I miss home. But more than that—I misshim.
Rain drums against the roof of the SUV, steady and relentless. I stare out at the lake through streaked glass, lost in the ache of everything I can’t have. My hand twitches toward the radio, needing some noise to drown out the silence pressing in on me.
Static flickers, then a soft, familiar melody fills the car. Tori Amos “A Sorta Fairytale” plays through the speakers. The haunting notes slip beneath my skin like a ghost, dragging me straight back into the memory.
Everett’s hands were steady on my waist. His lips whispered against my temple. His laugh, low and rough, vibrated in my chest as he spun me in the rain.
My chest caves, breath hitching as I shove the door open. The cold drizzle slaps my face the second I step out. Within moments, I’m soaked through, hair plastered to my skin, sneakers squelching against the gravel.
Still, I walk forward. Then I twirl, the haunting chorus of the song causing goosebumps to race across my skin. I spin again, the rain swallowing me whole. The song pours through the open door, each word carving me raw, each note reminding me of the way he held me like I was the only girl in the world.
But this time, Everett isn’t here.
He isn’t here to pull me against him, to steady me when I stumble. He isn’t here to press me close, his chest warm andsolid beneath my cheek. He isn’t here to twirl me under gray skies and make me believe love is worth every reckless risk.
He abandoned me… just like my mom. And like her, he didn’t fight to keep me.
I spin once more, desperate to hold on to the memory, but the movement breaks apart. My legs buckle, and I collapse into the wet grass at the lake’s edge, my sobs ripped away by the storm. Tears and rain blur together, streaming hot and cold down my face until I can’t tell the difference anymore.
Why wasn’t I enough? Why did he walk away when he promised he wouldn’t?
I curl in on myself, arms banding tight around my body as if I can keep the broken pieces from spilling out. The song still drifts from the car speakers, haunting and merciless, threading through the downpour like a cruel ghost of everything I had—and lost.
The man I thought was my forever… wasn’t. And fate, merciless as ever, carves me open with nothing but rain, memories, and a song.
The storm doesn’t cleanse me. It drowns me.
And as I break apart, I know one thing with bone-deep certainty— without him, I’ll never be whole again.
I stumble backto my SUV, every step heavier than the last. I collapse in the seat, exhausted, soaked, and emotionally wrung out.
By the time I make it back to the apartment I share with Meghan, I’m shivering, numb inside and out.
The key fumbles in my hand, and when the door finally clicks open, I slip inside, dripping water onto the hardwood. I leanagainst the door, my breath catching in my chest, every ounce of strength wrung from me.
I strip out of my soaked clothes, leaving them in a heap by the door. Wrapping a towel around myself, I grab another to wipe up the puddles, because I can’t leave a mess for Meghan.
The shower hisses when I turn the knob. Hot water streams down my skin, but it can’t reach the cold lodged in my bones. I stand under it too long, waiting for the ache to loosen, for the hollowness inside my chest to fill with anything but emptiness. It never does.
When the water finally runs lukewarm, I shut it off and towel dry, pulling on my softest pajamas. The cotton is warm, but it feels like armor too thin to protect me.
I collapse onto the couch, switching on the TV just to drown out the silence. Cartoons, a sitcom, the weather report—they all blur together into meaningless noise. I flip open a textbook, determined to study, to pretend I can function. But the words swim, smearing into ink stains.
I don’t absorb a single thing. My eyes sting, gritty from tears and exhaustion, my chest tight.
