The smoke steals the air from my lungs, and my heart withers inside my chest. Death is close. The end is near. Then the pain will finally be gone.
I surrender like I have for years. But right as I can feel the end approaching, the fire closing in on my body, I catch sight of a picture on the dresser. It’s of Mason and me during the one trip we took to the beach, one of the rare, happy moments I’ve been able to give him. As I stare at it, the fire begins to char the edges, ready to melt the photo away with me.
“Oh, my God, what am I doing?” I leap from the bed, snatching up the picture as I bolt out of the room.
Potent smoke floods the entire house, and by the time I reach the front door, my oxygen supply is dwindling. Gasping for air, I stumble outside beneath the night sky and the stars and look back at the damage. Flames swallow the entire back section of the house.
What have I done?
I need to call the fire department, stop what I’ve done.
I stagger toward a payphone at the front of the trailer park. My bare feet are scalded, and the gravel pierces into the open wounds. Everything hurts, even my soul, broken, battered, beaten down, down, down. So heavy, but I keep running, even as my lungs constrict. I make it to the phone and fumble to retrieve a quarter from my pocket.
“Help,” I gasp for air as I tell the operator. “My house is on fire.”
“What’s the address?” she asks. “Ma’am, I need the address.”
I sputter it out, then hang up and the phone spits out my quarter. I pick up the coin before my final breath leaves me and I fall.
Fall.
Fall.
Fall.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Into a blanket of stars.
Leaving the world.
My life.
With a silent cry echoing behind me.
Help me.
Chapter 35
The day I was saved.
Tristan
I’ve finally done it. Finally pushed the boundaries of life too far. There’s no going back now. This is the end.
I’m going to die.
“Tristan, can you hear me?”
I can hear Quinton from somewhere, but it’s too dark to see anything. My body is broken, worn out, used and abused to the point of no return. Too many drugs course through my system, and I think I’m ready.
To die.
“Come on!” Quinton cries out. “You can’t fucking die on me. I can’t lose another fucking person in my life!”
I feel bad for leaving him, but not enough to fight for my life. I’m not scared of death, just tired. So fucking tired of being alive yet never fully breathing. Of always sinking further into despair. Of drifting. Of being lost. Of messing up.
It’s time for this pointless journey to end.
I take a final breath as my heart flat lines.
Then I fall.
Fall.
Fall.
Toward something I don’t understand.
To the stars.
All I see are stars.
Is this what death looks like?
Am I dead?
The revelation crashes against my chest like a jolt of electricity. Slams into my soul. Jumpstarts it again. I’m dead. Gone. I’ll never breathe again.
I don’t want to die.
Panic sets in. I stretch my arm out, reaching for something, but I can’t feel my hand. I try to breathe air into my lungs, but I’m not even sure I have a body anymore.
Please don’t let me die.
Please save me.
Please.
Help me.
Present day…
Chapter 36
I think I’m starting to understand the meaning of life.
Tristan
She looks like a ghost standing in the moonlight, her expression haunted by her past. Scars crisscross the flesh of her stomach and ribs, marks of how badly she was broken. Her anguish stabs at my heart, ruptures my soul, fills me with a helpless need to help her. I just don’t know how I can.
“Avery, I’m so sorry that happened to you.” My bare feet sink in the sand as I inch cautiously toward her. The entire time she recollected the day of the fire to me, she kept her distance. The space still remains as she stares helplessly at me, her chest rapidly heaving as she fights for air. “But what happened—even the fire—wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes it was.” She doesn’t step back as I approach her, but she tenses, gazing over my shoulder at the bonfire down the beach. “I should have walked away from Conner a long time ago… but I didn’t. And then…”
“None of that was your fault.” I clench my hands into fists. The thought of someone hurting her like that is unbearable. God, I thought I’d been through so much, but it seems unbelievably trivial now, unimportant. She’s the one that’s important now.
“Some of it was.” She angles her chin, her neck arching back as she looks up at the midnight sky as if she’s speaking to the stars. “And that’s something I’ll always have to pay for.”
“You don’t owe the world anything. You only owe yourself a good life.”
Her gaze collides with mine. “I know I do. I didn’t understand that for quite a while, but now... I think I’m getting that I deserve to be happy.”
I relax as she starts to loosen up. “I’m glad you understand that. You deserve every ounce of happiness there is.”
“So do you,” she says, inching toward me. “You know, for a while, I thought it was you… that I was supposed to help.”
That part of her story really got to me, but I don’t—can’t—think too much about it. The concept that both of us could have died and crossed over at the same time only to be brought back and reunited is mind-boggling. And, honestly, I don’t want this—us—to be about anything other than her and I anymore.
“Even if it wasn’t about helping me, you’ve helped me. A lot.” I dare another step toward her, yearning for her closeness, desperately needing to touch each of her scars, feel the realness of her. “You’ve helped me so much… more than you realize or even I realized until I started to think about it.”
“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear.” She relaxes more, her shoulders unwinding with each even breath. “Whether it was you or not, I still wanted to do something good, you know? With all the bad that’s tainted my life, it’s been good to have some happiness.”
“But what about you?” I have to ask. “You deserve help too. I know you get stressed sometimes.”
“I’ll be fine,” she promises, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. “I survived. I’m thriving, and that’s what really matters… that I’m”—she turns her back to me—“alive.”