Page 140 of The Blairville Legacies

Columns of stone lined a walkway that carried the second open level of the hall, and statues of gods unknown to me adorned the stairway entrances. There were also dark wooden shelves and pretty candlesticks that had been converted into lamps.

It looked like the National Library of France, lumped together with the library of Trinity College in Ireland, and placed in an old temple.

Someday, I would travel to all these beautiful places that literary fanatics had created before my time. Until then, I had to make money somehow, and that only worked if I made something of my scholarship and forced myself to study.

I roamed the hallways lit by warm green lamplights and marveled at the old copies that adorned the caramel brown shelves.

Somehow, I had ended up in theClassics Department, far too far fromPsychologyandEconomics. But whatever. While I was here, I might as well see if they had any works byEdgar Allan Poe. Maybe even some first editions?

Since my parents were gone, I had managed to lose myself in mystery novels and horror stories, and even though my passion for literature was limited, I also enjoyed the seminars with Professor Copeland.

I let my finger glide over the gold engravings on the spines of the books, felt the fibers of the old leather, and whirled around the shelf, landing in the next row.

My good mood dissolved into thin air when I saw who was sitting there on the floor, leaning against a shelf, burying his head in a book namedThe Song of Achilles.

“Nash,” it escaped me far too quickly, and I regretted it right away. And since he immediately looked up and shock spread across his mine, I got the urge to defuse the situation. “You’re still reading?”

Nash slammed the book shut, looked around the hallway, and rose jerkily, as if stung by a tarantula, to place the book in front of him on the completely wrong shelf. Finally, he looked around one last time and then turned to me.

“Damn it, what are you doing here?”

His hostility hit me differently once again. It was like a person to whom you gaveeverythingto, but he couldn’t see your love. And it just hurt, because the feelings for the other were just there, only they had no use, eating you up from the inside, greedily, looking for reciprocation.

“Learning...” I began but realized how this must be affecting him. “Listen, I’m not spying on you. I’m...”

Nash lowered his voice. “Stop it, Mady. I’m not stupid...”

He bent down to reach for his things, and I grabbed his arm. Another mistake.

“Please, listen to me for once.”

Nash looked down at my hand, squinted his eyes as if the conversation was causing him pain, and finally tore himself away from me.

“We broke up, Mady.” The stomach ache returned. “So, get that image of us out of your head and stay away from mefor good.”

He didn’t say it in a loud voice, but quietly and thoughtfully, the way I knew him. And his words, that pain in his undertone, along with that haunting look, made old feelings well up inside me.

But I had promised myself not to think about that time.Neveragain.

So, I turned around, not even allowing myself to look at him again, and ran through the library far too frantically. I didn’t care that all the studying students looked up. I just packed up my stuff and stormed out of the building.

To make matters worse, it was raining, so I sprinted all the way to my dark green Beetle with my bag over my head.

Once in the car, it just burst out of me.

First a tear for my parents, then one for all the friends I had lost since their deaths, and finally countless for the last two years with Nash. The memories of his smile, his warmth, all his words that had mended my soul piece by piece.

“Hang in there Mady, I’ll be there if you need me. I’ll always be there.”

I sobbed softly. Because Nash was gone.Wewere gone.

“I need you back...” I sobbed louder and more insistently, and as if the rain wanted me to stop, it whipped against my windows. “I need you...” my voice broke, and I pulled my knees up onto the seat to rest my head on them. “I gave up everything for you. Please don’t leave me alone... not now.”

He had thought he would be able to let me go, like a bird that had learned to fly. Only he had forgotten that my wings were broken. I was a wreck. And he had known it. He had tried to fix me. ButI wasn’t fixable.

“My Sunshine Girl.”

I didn’t know what hurt more. That after all the drama, I was still trying to live up to my high school reputation and failing miserably at it, or that people had ever thought of naming someone that.