Does It Hurt? (58)

“Sawyer,” he snaps, spinning me around to face him. But my vision also spins, and all he accomplishes is sending me teetering on two left feet. I think I feel sick, too. My entire body is full of alcohol, and everything inside me is sloshing around in it like they don’t have assigned seating.

I giggle, imagining myself telling all my organs to go back to their seats or else extra homework for them.

Then I frown, my brows knitting. Maybe they need the extra homework. It’s going to be a lot of work to get them functioning correctly again.

“Look at me,” he demands, but it’s dark in here. Only the moonlight cutting through the dirty glass allows me to see the outline of his face and shadowed eyes.

Even then, the torrential downpour is skewing most of the light.

“I can’t,” I tell him. Hot breath fans across my lips as he brings me in closer.

“Don’t ever think of yourself that way. And don’t ever think that I will, too. You’re so much more than the people who have hurt you.”

My face twists, not believing that for a second.

“I will make you see that,” he vows. “What happened to you does not define you. It only forged a new path that will take you to a different version of yourself. But no one can force you to walk that road; only you can determine who you will be once you get there. It’s your choice who you become, Sawyer.”

I think there are tears in my eyes, and I’m blanketed by that familiar sadness. Even the alcohol can’t dilute it.

For so long, I had convinced myself that it was clinging to me, despite my desperate attempts to escape it. But now I realize it’s me that’s been holding on, like a child with their favorite teddy bear.

“No more running, baby. I want him to come looking for you just so I can have the privilege of ending his life for touching what’s mine.”

My stomach clenches, and as much as I’d like to say it’s the effect of the alcohol, I know better.

“I wasn’t yours then. You didn’t even know me.”

The pad of his thumb brushes across my cheek, but it’s far from loving. It feels like the placating touch of a killer right before he ends your life.

“You were always destined to be mine,” he says.

His words make no sense. So hot and cold… and as much as I want what he’s saying to be true, it could never happen.

“It doesn’t matter if he’s dead or alive, he’ll always haunt me,” I rasp, sadness ringing from the truth.

“Then I will haunt you worse.”

Just when it seems like he’s going to kiss me, he pulls away.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

A crack of lightning pierces the air, causing me to jolt in his arms and send my heart skyrocketing. Right when I turn toward the window, another strike hits the water, washing the world in a bright glow long enough to see a massive wave hurdling straight toward us.

“Oh my God,” I gasp, stumbling back into Enzo’s chest as it crashes into the side of the lighthouse.

Even as the water drowns out the glass for several seconds, the building holds firm. It doesn’t even creak beneath the power of the wave.

“That… That is a strong window,” I breathe, heart still thundering. Another wave is already swelling, the massive shadow prevalent in the darkness.

“Lighthouses are built for situations like this. Get in bed,” he orders. If I’m not mistaken, his tone isn’t as harsh as it usually is. But I also could just be drunk.

“Hey, Enzo?” I call as he helps me into bed.

“Hmm?” he hums.

“Try to hide the judgment, okay? Kev always used to tell me that no one would believe me, and well… he was right. No one ever did. And I think I prefer that now. It’s better if you think I’m a liar.”

“I won’t judge you,” he says softly.

“That’s good,” I nod, flopping into the bed ungracefully. The room is spinning, and I would like it to stop now.

“Maybe I will stay here forever,” I sigh whimsically. “Live on in the cave with the glowworms and Sylvester as my neighbor. At least then I won’t have to hurt people anymore.”

Whatever Enzo says—if he says anything at all—is lost to me. Darkness already has a hold of my brain, and I’m more than happy to let it take over.



Someone is crying.

My brows pinch, the odd noise filtering past the fog in my ears and the dream that clutches onto my subconscious like a frightened cat.

I stir, my body jerking, finally plunging me back into reality. The muffled crying becomes clearer, though I can’t place where it’s coming from exactly.

“Do you hear that?” Enzo asks quietly.

Turns out, my world is still spinning on its axis just as much as it was when I passed out. I’m not sure I slept off even half of the alcohol.

“What is that?” I mutter, sitting upright and attempting to gain clarity over my surroundings.

Almost as if they could hear my question, the sobbing quietens, and the silence that ensues is loud.

“Non lo so,” he mutters.

“Another ghost?”

Enzo doesn’t answer, prompting me to turn and look at him. The moonlight spears through the glass at a sharp enough angle to highlight his face. He’s staring straight up at the ceiling, the muscle in his jaw pulsing.