Page 22

Chapter Twenty-One

Jonathan

The cliffs of Ravensreach Point stretch endlessly before me, jagged teeth biting into a slate-gray sky. The wind howls, wild and unrestrained, whipping at my coat like an impatient child demanding my attention. I dig my hands into my pockets, the cold biting at my fingertips as I approach the edge.

I haven’t been here since that night. Not since she leaned into me, her laughter swept away by the waves crashing below.

Annabel.

Her name is a ghost, spoken only by the wind now, carried into the distance. I close my eyes and let the memory take hold. It always does.

The sun hangs low in the sky, a burnt orange bleeding into deep indigos.

Annabel perches on the edge of the cliff, her legs dangling over the abyss like she’s daring the wind to take her.

Her hair, jet black in the dying light, whips around her face in a chaotic halo.

She doesn’t bother to push it away. She never does .

“You’re going to fall one day,” I say, leaning against the rocks a few feet back.

She turns her head, flashing that smile—the one that’s half mischief, half melancholy. “Maybe I want to.”

I frown, the humor lost on me. “Don’t joke about that.”

Her eyes soften for a moment, but the teasing edge in her voice remains. “You’re worse than Calum, you know that?”

The name feels like a slap, though she says it with her usual flippancy.

She looks back out at the horizon, her expression unreadable.

“He’d probably tie me to a chair if he thought it would keep me safe.

You can’t kiss me anymore, you can’t act like that.

Calum and I are together, please respect that. ”

“Is that what this is about?” I ask, stepping closer. “Him?”

She shrugs, a motion so delicate it’s almost imperceptible. “He doesn’t mean to be... so much. He just is.”

I sit beside her, careful to keep a respectable distance. The edge of the cliff has always made me nervous, but not her. Never her. She thrives on the thrill. “What do you mean?”

She picks at the frayed hem of her sweater, her nails painted a chipped red. “I mean, he doesn’t know how to let me breathe. Everything is this grand declaration with him—his art, his love, his anger. It’s all... consuming.”

I swallow hard, unsure of what to say. “That’s just how he is, huh?”

“It’s the thing I love about him and the thing I hate about him too,” she says, her voice sharper than I expect. “Sometimes I hate being this... this muse. This object he worships and obsesses over. It’s not love. It’s possession.”

“Annabel—”

“I’m serious, Jonathan.” She looks at me then, her eyes bright and wild, like the sea below us. “He doesn’t love me. Not really. He loves the idea of me, the version he’s created in his head.”

Her words hang heavy in the air between us, the truth of them undeniable. But it’s not my place to agree. Instead, I reach out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She doesn’t pull away.

“What about me?” I ask before I can stop myself. The words spill out, raw and unfiltered. “Do I love you, or just the idea of you?”

She tilts her head, studying me with a faint smile. “You’re different.”

“How?”

“You just... see me.”

Her hand brushes mine, a fleeting touch that sends a jolt through my entire body. I want to pull her closer, to kiss her, to tell her everything I’ve kept bottled up for years. But I don’t. I can’t.

“You could leave him,” I say instead, my voice low. “You don’t have to stay.”

She laughs, but there’s no joy in it. “And then what? Be with you? You think that would solve anything?”

The words sting, but I don’t flinch. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

She sighs, leaning back on her hands. “You’re sweet, Jonathan. Too sweet for your own good. But you don’t understand. Calum and I... we’re tied together, whether we like it or not. It’s messy and complicated and probably toxic as hell, but it’s ours.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Of course not,” she says, her voice cracking slightly. “But I don’t know how to untangle myself from him. Or if I even want to.”

The admission cuts deeper than I expect. I look away, unable to bear the sight of her so raw, so vulnerable. She’s always been a hurricane, tearing through everything in her path, but now she seems... lost .

“I just wish things were simpler,” she whispers, more to herself than to me.

I don’t respond. What could I say? That I’d make things simple for her? That I’d sweep her away from all of this, if only she’d let me? She’d laugh in my face.

And yet, I can’t stop myself from hoping.

The memory fades, leaving me hollow. I stare down at the rocks below, the waves relentless in their assault. She’s gone, and all that’s left is the echo of her voice, the ghost of her laughter.

I light a cigarette, the smoke curling around me like a shield.

The journal Calum brought over sits heavy in my mind, its secrets burning a hole in my consciousness.

But now, standing here where it all began, I pull her words out of the ether.

The pages are worn in my memory, the ink smudged in places, as if touched by tears, her words jumping out at me like accusations.

I love them both, but I hate them too. They suffocate me in different ways. Calum with his intensity, Jonathan with his kindness. I want to run, but I don’t know where.

The words are too much to bear. She was right. I am too kind. Too soft. I never fought for her the way Calum did. I let her slip through my fingers, thinking she’d always come back.

But she didn’t.

And now I’m left with nothing but questions and regrets.