Page 114 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

I choke on another sob as memories come back to me.Crazy. Me, playing a guitar. A chapel. A hotel room.

My breath catches as my still-trembling fingers type the number into my phone.

It rings, then rings some more. He isn’t going to answer.

But then he does. He doesn’t say hello or hi. But I know he’s there, and he knows it’s me.

“Angel?” he finally asks.

“I remember,” I say softly, then sniffle.

“You do?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I’m nodding even though he can’t see me.

“Everything?”

“Everything…”

NOW

TWENTY-NINE

Alex

The hotel room is empty. She’s already cleared out by the time I get back. She’d done a quick turnaround, considering I didn’t drag my feet getting here. I hoped I would catch her one last time. Not to say anything or stop her, but to just see her. To know she’s okay. Not that she’s okay.

Fuck!

I throw a vase against the wall, not feeling nearly satisfied enough with the destruction it causes.

Brit

Are you okay?

She wants to ask menow?

A

I’ve never been okay, Brit.

Get a fucking clue already.And then I power off my phone because I can’t.

I feel like I’m drowning.

No.

This is worse. It’s like being burned alive. Like my skin is being seared off my body, my being charred to nothing more than a husk of a man. Everything good about me seems to melt away, only existing with her. I’m only good around her. For her.

And Jess is the fire that strips me. Jess and I were that wildfire of destiny, roaring and strong, tearing down everything in its path. Loving Jess was like that. It was like looking into the sun. So goddamn beautiful and powerful, but how the fuck were you supposed to not get burned?

Emma had the magic to take the ashes and the dust and mold it into something new. She took the fire and used it to forge us together. Like pain meeting pain, two halves making a whole. It happened effortlessly, easily, and she sculpted us into something that was greater than its parts.

Emma was the salve that healed you. She was joy. She was the essence ofmylife.

And now she’s gone.

Every day bleeds into the next. Just nothing but an endless onslaught of waking, taking Delta out, drinking, napping, taking Delta out, then going back to sleep. Sleep isn’t the right word, though. I hardly sleep at all. Can’t.