I was just a child, doing chores, and smiling up at my grandmother.
I was a little older trampling through the stream from the neighbor’s.
I was older still, smiling at a boy from across the pew in mass, and deciding I might not think they are so gross after all.
I was eighteen, staring at the stars and feeling more out of place than ever before. Though it wasn’t the place, the town—it was my skin.
I was twenty, with a shadowed Titan standing behind my back.
To now as I stood here, the image of me looking into this very well.
To tomorrow.
Close my eyes. Close my eyes.
To . . .
My lungs tightened. Please stop . . .
“Please stop,” the well mocked.
To my future. To darkness.
“Look into that well .
. .” spoke back at me on a reel.
I closed my eyes tight, shutting out the images, but they still played in my mind. The sound of a ticking clock in my ears. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
I pushed myself away from the well, sucking in a large breath.
Anger, frustration, it all welled up in me and came out in tears down my cheeks. I looked up to see a crowd watching me hesitantly.
I walked away, down the street.
I never screamed.
I walked away, knowing what my future held for me, and knowing that I couldn’t change it. That the path I was walking had already been laid beneath my feet and I couldn’t take another one.
When the church bell rang eight times, I barely recognized it until the very last one.
My perspective had changed from looking into that well. And I realized I had nothing to lose. Not when I could see my future in front of my eyes. Dark. Alone.
I headed in the direction of the northern docks with resolve, but with an unwavering sense of unease. I might not have had anything to lose, but that didn’t mean I didn’t fear rejection.
The heat wave had been letting up, a slight breeze carrying the hotter temperature away, and I sucked in a large breath, calming my trepidation.
The sun was falling behind the ocean, the silhouettes of ships floating on the water. I walked down the docks toward the Titan vessel at the Northie harbor, trying to find Weston’s form among the sailors loading the ship.
I stilled, my heart pattering when I saw him walk down the ship’s ramp into the loading area. As if he felt my stare, his gaze flicked in my direction.
He was wearing a western leather jerkin, and it made my heart feel heavy. I had no idea how’d I’d gotten here, but I had. What was it about this man? Why couldn’t I merely forget him? I didn’t know. But it didn’t matter because it wasn’t happening.
I knew there would be no happily ever after, no matter how my grandmother’s story went. But I couldn’t let the words I never said haunt me forever.
How did you even begin to tell a man how you felt, a man who you knew had never shared those words with anyone and probably never would? How did I hang on to my pride and admit it? And then it dawned on me: I would always have my pride.
I realized at that moment, bravery and honesty were much more important in the long run than pride ever was.