Page 8 of Cry Madness
That’s the bittersweet irony.
I’ve always held everyone at arm’s length. I’ve pushed them away, creating barriers strong enough to keep the world at bay. But Alice… For her, I carved out a special place. I offered her trust and my heart, and for one night, I held her surrender in my hands.
But suddenly the weight of her father’s death hung over us, breaking the fragile link that connected us. All the beautifulthings she’d freely given to me were now rotting with Luther Knightly in his fucking tomb, where they would remain forever.
“I don’t understand why you couldn’t talk to me, but you could speak with Ivory,” I urge, my voice trembling with exasperation. “We would have listened.”
They’ve been best friends since we were kids. Ivory was the other person in our tight little friend group that Alice drew close to, and when Luther’s sickness became too much to bear, we tried to be there for her. But she wouldn’t let us and instead forced us to stand by while she suffered alone.
And here we are now.
“Please don’t be mad at me.”
Her anguished plea shatters me into a thousand shards of heartache. I remove my top hat, placing it on the bed. Her eyes remain cautious, fixed on me as I lean closer. A whimper escapes her lips when I lightly press my mouth to her cool forehead, memories flooding back of our first and last kiss—a precious moment stolen in the maze behind her house.
That night had been… perfect. A fleeting dream beneath the moon and stars.
“Mad at you?” I lean back, my tongue tracing my lips, trying to chase away the metallic taste of Alice’s sorrow, regret, and guilt that lingers like ash in my mouth. “I could never be mad at you.Never. Not even if you took a knife and plunged it right here.” I bring my palm forcefully to my chest, right over my heart, feeling its frantic beat beneath my fingers. “I’m the sorry one.”
“For what?” Her voice, so fragile and tinged with despair, cuts through the air. “You did nothing wrong.”
I tug at my messy, shoulder-length hair, pushing it back off my face in an attempt to gain some clarity. “To you, I did. To you, I’m a reflection ofwhat you lost.”
My raw confession slices through the fragile air, and her silence is a harsh nod to the truth.
“Maddox…” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”
I shrug, the gesture meant to mask my hurt. “It was… bad timing.” Nature has a cruel way of fucking up our plans. I reach for my hat, positioning it back on my head, and then, with unexpected tenderness, let my finger glide along the delicate curve of her nose. “Get some rest.”
As I scan the dismal room one last time, my gaze settles on the vibrant display of flowers crowding the space—gifts from the McQueens, friends, all of us stitched together by the smallness of Wonderland. Yet, conspicuously absent is anything from her mother.
Some people truly don’t deserve the title of parent.
I pivot to leave, but Alice’s whispered plea halts me. “Wait.”
With my hand gripping the doorknob, I resist the urge to turn back. “What?”
A pregnant silence hangs, heavy and swollen, before she hesitantly adds, “After I’m released, I’m leaving.”
A wave of resignation washes over me as I close my eyes, the metal of the doorknob biting into my palm. “Of course you are.” The words come out strained, barely recognizable as my own.
Over our years at Hilltop, Alice painted vibrant dreams of attending Krobes Art Academy in Riverton, envisioning a future bathed in color as an artist. My ambitions were painted in much duller tones. I saw my future as a dead end, stuck in an endless cycle of living two lives. I pretended to be ‘normal’ while simultaneously allowing Roman to exploit my mania for his own gain.
However, I had also envisioned a future with Alice and me standing side by side as we grew older, her brilliant smile servingas the glue that holds my shattered sanity together. I have a broken image of that existence inside of me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers again, the sound a near-crushing weight. “But I can’t stay here.”
I force myself to open my eyes, determined to appear indifferent. “You do what you need to do.” I tear off the ridiculous guest tag, crumpling it into a forsaken ball.
“Tell me you understand.”
I shake my head with a terse finality, my voice low and unyielding. “Can’t do that.” Refusing to confront her gaze, I let the ruined tag slip from my fingers, falling to the floor like my hopes.
I pull the door open and feel her voice reverberate in the air. “Maddox…”
I stop, frozen in place, unwilling to turn back. God forbid she sees the betrayal of my tears.
“Please tell me you don’t hate me.”