I’d always thought death would be peaceful — it’s not. Especially when the last thing you see before you close your eyes is that of a person ending their own life. You have to wonder. Is anything ever so bad that death seems the only option? —Lisa
Lisa
MY CHEST HURT.
My legs hurt.
Everything hurt.
And it was almost impossible to open my eyes. I tried, but they seemed too heavy, like something was pinning them shut. Flickers of the dream I’d just had resurfaced.
“Tristan?” I sniffled. “Say something!”
“You want me to say something?” he sneered. His blue eyes might as well have been steel as they pierced through every inch of my body. “Fine.”
I braced for impact.
“I hate you.” He said it slowly as if he wanted me to hear each word and commit it to my memory. “I love you.”
“What?” Tears fell across my lips. “What did you say?”
“Both.” He put his hands on his hips. “I feel both.”
I took a tentative step toward him. “Which wins?”
“The one you give power to,” he said seriously. “The one I choose to give power to.”
“Love?” I begged, pleaded, my voice hoarse.
Tristan’s smile was sad as he took a step back and gave his head a solid shake. “No, sweetheart. I’m sorry, but no.”
He left.
Hope died in my chest.
I stared down at the ground, closing my eyes, wishing for snow, wishing for a do-over. Wishing I could go back and make the footprints straight in the snow, wishing I wouldn’t have chosen death.
Because that’s what I was experiencing. Death. Taylor had killed me, and in killing me, he had taken away Tristan.
My eyes stung with unshed tears. Why couldn’t I move?
“I hate hospitals, freaking hate them.” Gabe’s voice trickled into my consciousness.
Wait a second, I wasn’t dead? My fuzzy mind started gaining more consciousness.
“Right.” Wes laughed. “Because out of the two of us, you have a better reason than me?”
“Touché.”
“Shh,” Tristan grumbled. “She’s still sleeping.”
More voices, this time from Kiersten and Saylor, and then another voice, a deep one I didn’t recognize. I tried to open my eyes again but finally gave up. Too exhausted to care. Sleep was coming for me again, but I wanted to stay awake. I strained to stay awake.
Instead, I drifted in and out of the fog of sleep, not sure how much time had passed. When I finally got one eye open, it was to see Tristan and another man — the Secretary of State? His dad? — talking in the corner.
“You tested products on him?”
His father sighed. “Nothing was working. His diagnosis was… well, at the time everything seemed to make him more erratic. The only reason I gave him his freedom when he turned eighteen was because he begged for it, said he’d do better. And I believed him because, until his attempted suicide, he did fine. Stayed out of trouble, spent money, even said he had a girlfriend. I thought things were fine.”