Page 20 of Light As A Feather
Those were the words Hawthorne uttered when he slipped that perfect onyx and citrine ring on my finger, a promise, a vow, so much more than an engagement. Something precious I broke when I left that ring and a short note behind, then vanished into the night. Guilt gnaws at me that he still wears his. The blood-imbued ring is exactly where I left it.
Stepping closer, I run my hand along the detailed trim of the door that feels like something you’d see in Germany, not on the acreage behind a house on California’s central coast. Like something from that vision board I had for us and our bright future. When I was still that girl who drank from Hawthorne’s optimism like it could keep the shadows at bay. But I should have known an eclipse was inevitable.
“What is this?” I ask, even though it’s obvious, because I need time to process the real meaning behind this.
“A mausoleum.” He licks his lips. “You told me once that if you could choose, this is how you wanted to be commemorated, where you wanted to be laid to rest. Entombed in something beautiful.” Hawthorne takes a few wandering steps away from me, his hand trailing across the stone. “Is it?”
“What?” My mind tries to catch up with his words.
“Is it beautiful? Is it what you imagined?”
“Yes.” It’s all I can say because I’m still in awe. That this is possible. That he remembered. That he was capable of bringing something like this to life—whether he had a hand in building it or hired contractors, it doesn’t matter. This is the singular most thoughtful thing that anyone has ever done for me. The ultimate grand gesture.
“You did this for me?”
“For us.” He turns to face me. “There’s room for both of us inside. Matching caskets.”
“This must have cost a fortune. What if you didn’t find me? What if I didn’t come back?”
“That was never an outcome I was willing to accept. Whether I found you dead or alive, you were coming home. You were being put to rest the right way.”
The vehement love that vibrates from each and every word is undeniable, irresistible.
I can’t keep running. But maybe I can give myself one last act of rebellion. One last gift of selfishness. One final taste of something good and sweet.
I’m not ready to give in to Ivan,but I can surrender to this.
The rightness of it flows through me, unclenching my jaw, loosening my limbs, releasing the breath I’ve been holding since the day I left.
I exorcise my fear and doubt in a plume of mist that evaporates far easier than the uncertainty that still clings to my lungs like the residual toxins that linger within the vital organs. For so long, I’ve been inhaling the second-hand smoke of his noxious existence, all that hatred and all those vile thoughts. An energy like that stays with you, tar-like and irreversibly damaging.
But I’m tired of being sick. I just want to pretend for a bit.
What if I allow myself to remain here? What if I let him take care of me? What if I don’t have to do this alone? Maybe he’s right. Maybe we can finally end this…together.
“Okay.” Breathing heavily, I have to work for each syllable. “You win.” I swallow hard against the acidic fear that rises within me. “I’ll stay.” The resignation is the upheaval of a thousand-pound weight.
The kiss on my temple is a stamp of approval. For better or worse, we’re going to try to do this together.
But if it comes down to it, I will always choose him over me.
I’ll do what needs to be done.
“I’ll stay.” It’s the hard-won reassurance, not the rain soaking my shirt, which causes chills to erupt over my skin.
She did always know how to reach me bone deep.
“Say it again.” There’s no shame in my desperation as I step closer to her, needing to see the honesty in her eyes when she says it. “Make me believe it.” Sliding her hands up over her head, I pin her against the wet stone structure.
Through her shuddering breaths that mist in the air, she grants my request. “I’m staying.” Her chest heaves with the effort to submit.
I can almost taste the fear, hope, and something defiant in the air. I don’t dare assume that it’s going to be this simple to keep her here, but I allow myself a few moments of relief.
Rolling thunder growls overhead, nearly drowning her out, but I read the words on her lips all the same. A smarter man might consider it ominous, but nothing between us has ever been sunny skies. We were made to weather the storm.
Besides, the first night she let me hold her—the night I died and came back to an entirely new understanding of the world—was one just like this. Cold, raining, with the winds of change whipping around us, and something ominous looming just beyond our sight.
Instead of menacing, I prefer to view it as symmetry, a reassurance that this is how things should be.We’re on the right path.
