Page 30 of The Girl I Once Loved

But even as I revel in my victory, the memory of my little stalker creeps back into my mind. I can’t escape her, no matter how hard I try. She’s like a ghost, haunting me, taunting me, refusing to let go.

I needed something more than a race to forget her, something more permanent. But for now, I would take what I could get—the rush of the streets, the thrill of victory, and the knowledge that I was still alive.

Even while knowing that there’s no adrenaline rush…no high on earth, that compares to loving her.

I don't head home after the race. Instead, I take a loop around the island, tracing the familiar contours of the coastline. The night air is cool against my skin, and the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore fills my ears. It's the same as always, the same as it's been for years, but everything reminds me of her.

She was only around for four years, but it's like she imbued herself into the very essence of this place. Every corner, every curve of the road, every hidden cove along the coastline—it all echoes with her memory.

As I ride, I can't help but think of her the night of prom, standing on the beach with the wind tugging at her hair. She had this way of looking at the world, like she saw something beautiful in every moment. It was infectious, and for those four years, I felt a certain privilege to be able to see the world through her eyes.

I pass by the lighthouse, its beam of light cutting through the darkness. It was our spot, Skylar's and mine. We used to sneak out here at night, away from prying eyes, away from the judgment of the town. We'd lie on the grass, our fingers entwined, and talk about our dreams, about the future.

But the future had other plans for us. It tore us apart, like a storm sweeping across the sea, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake. I can still hear her voice in my head, the way she said my name with that soft, teasing lilt. It haunts me, like a melody that I can't forget.

I take a turn onto a winding road that leads up into the hills. The scent of pine trees fills the air, and I can almost imagine her sitting behind me on the bike, her arms wrapped around my waist, her laughter carried away by the wind.

The road leads to a secluded spot, a cliff overlooking the ocean. Skylar and I used to come here to watch the sunset, to feel like we were the only two people in the world. The memories flood back, and I can almost see her standing there, her hair catching the last rays of the setting sun.

I dismount the bike and walk to the edge of the cliff, the ocean stretching out before me, vast and endless. The moon casts a silvery glow on the water, and for a moment, I can almost convince myself that she's still here with me.

But she's not. She's gone, and all that's left are the memories. The memories of her smile, her laughter, the way she used to curl up against me on cold nights. The memories of our fights, our misunderstandings, the way we pushed each other away.

I sit down on the edge of the cliff, my legs dangling over the side. The wind tousles my long hair, and I close my eyes, trying to hold onto the feeling of her presence, even if it's just a ghost of a memory.

I can still see the tears in her eyes, the disbelief there too, because she’d believed in me, like no one else ever had.

She’d become someone else outside of Thatcher's Bay, but the Sky I’d known was still there. She’d proven that to me tonight.

I open my eyes, and the tears sting. I wipe them away with the back of my hand, angry at myself for still holding onto her, for still letting her haunt my every thought.

But I can't help it. Skylar was my first love, my only love. And no matter how hard I try to move on, how many other highs I chase, she's always there, in the back of my mind, in the depths of my heart.

I take a deep breath and stand up, the wind whipping around me. And then I race back to the place that only feels like home now that she’s returned.

* * *

I get home, my footsteps muffled by the carpeted hallway as I make my way through the darkened house. It's been a long night, and the memories of the race still swirl in my mind, but they're overshadowed by the memories of her. She's all I can think about, and I can't escape the pull of her presence.

I find myself outside her bedroom door, the door that I used to sneak into when we were in high school, just like I'm doing now. It's as if the past has come full circle, and I'm back to where it all began. I listen through the door, my ear pressed against the wood, straining to hear any sign of life.

But there's nothing, just silence. She was always a deep sleeper growing up. And I’m hoping that hasn’t changed. I try the door, and it clicks open with a soft, barely audible sound. I slip into the dark room, my eyes adjusting to the faint light filtering in from the window.

And there she is, lying in bed, her features bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight. She's beautiful, more like a dream than a real human being it seems. Her chestnut hair spills across the pillow like a silken waterfall, framing her delicate face. The curve of her cheek, the long sweep of her eyelashes, the gentle slope of her nose—it's all so achingly familiar and perfect.

I approach the bed with a heavy heart, my eyes fixated on her peaceful form. She's so still, so fragile in her slumber. My gaze falls to the open bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand. Hmmm. She never used to need those growing up. I wonder what keeps her from sleeping nowadays.

I can’t help but hope it’s me.

But just as the thought crosses my mind, so does my guilt.

Fuck.

I hope it’s not because of me she needs those wretched pills.

I sit down softly on the edge of the bed, my heart pounding in my chest, and reach out to touch her cheek, my thumb tracing the curve of her lips. She stirs slightly, a soft sigh escaping her parted lips, but she doesn't wake.

I’m a desperate, foolish man as I lower my head to kiss her forehead, my lips trembling against her skin. She's so precious, so fragile, and it’s torture to be this near to her.

---