Finn
N OW
My father once told me that the lies we tell ourselves can either pull us underwater or keep us afloat. I never understood what he meant. Until lying became my dad’s only weapon in a war against reality.
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“We’ll get through this.”
In the year after Mom died, all he did was lie.
To people.
To us.
To himself.
But the lies kept him going. The bullshit he’d repeat like a mantra allowed him to get out of bed in the morning. Back then, it pissed me off. His unaffected façade was like salt to my open wounds.
I wanted to see him break. To see him so crippled by pain he couldn’t function. But now? I’m glad that he lied. We’d already lost one parent; we couldn’t lose another.
I watched him live in denial for months before deciding to give his miracle cure a go. Problem is, I couldn’t pretend like he did. I couldn’t forgive the universe for taking her away.
I couldn’t forgive the moon.
I couldn’t forgive the sun.
I couldn’t forgive the sea.
The whole world was to blame.
Everything.
Everyone.
All the time.
Sure, there were moments when I was drinking with the guys, playing basketball, or burying myself balls-deep into nameless cheerleaders where I managed to let go.
To forget.
But it was fleeting. The meaningless sex, the booze, my obsession with basketball. The relief was always temporary. And to this day, I’ve only ever found one permanent cure.
Her.
Diamond Mitchell.
My medicine.
My salvation.
My Gem.
This girl is a high that never ends. A lifelong treatment you only have to take once. As long as I had her by my side, the darkness was gone. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I lost her. It hasn’t even been an entire fucking day since she got into Aveena’s car and kicked me out of her life. But I can already feel the darkness creeping in. Drop by drop. Little by little.
Which might explain why I’m here, parked across the street from her house at seven in the fucking morning. What kind of sicko gets up at 6:00 a.m. on a Saturday to pull up to his ex’s house?