The Oath We Give (Hollow Boys, #5)

by Monty Jay

This woman is not a curse, never has been. She is a fucking gift.

Sage and I, we feel like two sides of the same coin. Two girls who hid who they were for so long because we knew if we showed this place the truth, they’d tear it to shreds. So, we kept it close, too close. She’d just learned a little quicker than me how to let others in.

“I hope you don’t think I’m trying to replace Rosemary by being in this arrangement with him. I’d never do that to him or any of you. I know how important she was. I respect the love he has for her. The love you all have for her.” Which is all true. I don’t want anyone to think I’m disrespecting her memory. I know how important she is to all of them, especially Silas. “You’re not replacing her, Coraline. We don’t see you that way. Neither does Silas. You can’t replace what they had because what you share is completely different,” she says, looking over at me. “I like you, Coraline. I get you. I was you. And I can’t think of a better way for Silas to honor my sister’s memory than by falling in love again. It’s all she’d ever want for him.”

If I could physically remove my soul just to stitch it to hers, I would. And yet, I doubt I’d be close enough.

She’s opium. Some addictive substance that I never want to quit. That subtle, sweet sting of drugs being injected into your bloodstream, its tendrils wrapping around your mind, luring you into that secluded place where subtle whispers and sweet release hide.

Death is not a maybe; it’s a must for all of us. It’s scary knowing at any moment, we can be taken, one second here and gone the next. It’s even more chilling when you think of loving someone, knowing no matter what you do, they’ll die. But she’s worth it. Worth the pain, worth the fear, worth the grief if she goes before me. Worth her weight in gold, and I’d like to destroy anyone that made her feel like she wasn’t. Like loving her is a hard thing to do. Loving Coraline Whittaker is worth inevitable death.

“Why didn’t you say anything to us?” Rooks’ voice is choked with disbelief. Sorrow maybe that he didn’t question me sooner. “Why’d you suffer alone?” I look at him, knowing his soft heart will take the blame for this. That he will leave here and hate himself for not being someone I could trust with this. Like it was his fault. But Rook has never been to blame. He’s always been a solace for me. A person who I could just exist around without being drained. He’s fuel for my soul. Always has been. Forever will be.

i love their bond so much 🥲

“I have a gift for the bride. That needed to be delivered personally.” He grunts, coming to a stop when he’s in front of me. Peering down at me with a smile in his eyes. My eyebrow lifts. “Can you stop buying me shit, please?” “Stop being easy to buy for and I’ll think about it.” He mutters, leaning forward and placing a kiss on my forehead before producing a black box from his pocket. Despite my fear of tomorrow, I let myself have this moment with him. Unsure of how many more I may get. Knowing in my heart that I’d do something foolish if it meant he was safe. Even if it made him hate me. He flicks the box open with a pop. “How very alpha male of you,” I laugh as I look down at the nipple rings resting on top the plush material. “You afraid I’ll forget your initials?” Two silver nipple rings, crafted with the initials S and H on each side, stare up at me. “My mom gave you her shoes for something old. Lilac gave you something blue. This is something new.” His eyes darken. Those eyes like sodden earth, steady ground in which life could grow but chose not to. A place to settle roots and bloom. “As a reminder of who you belong to.” My teeth sink into my bottom lip. “In a fake way or in a real way?” His fingers move to tuck a piece of loose hair behind my ear, a habit of his that I’m growing fond of. “Nothing about us has ever been fake, Coraline.”

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt you. There is something wrong with me.” I mumble. Large palms enclose around my hips, tugging me into his hard chest. “Touching you has always felt like more of a gift than any curse, Hex.” “And if it kills you?” “Would hurt less than never kissing you again.”

Silas pushes my hair out of my face, painting my forehead with paint by accident as he smiles at me. Teeth and all, giving me my favorite gift. His happiness. “If you don’t believe in the curse, why call me hex?” I breathe, dropping my forehead to his, my limbs feeling weak. I feel his fingers at the back of my neck, rubbing softly. “Hexadecimal.” “Huh?” “It doesn’t mean cursed, baby. It’s short for hexadecimal.” He mumbles, rubbing his nose against mine. “From the moment I saw you leaving that fucking hell house, there was this secret connection between us. I understood you, saw your pain, and wanted to take it away. Like I knew what you needed before you asked. I’m not calling you cursed, I’m saying you’re a special language only I can decode.” Tears burn the corner of my eyes, slipping down my cheeks silently. Knowing that there is no one who understands what I need more than him. In a moment of chaos, he knew how to help me find peace. How he has never once made me feel damaged or broken. He has always seen me as just Coraline, and that’s always been enough for him. My heart cracks. What’s left of it shatters. I love this man. I love him and that scares me. I love him and it’s the only reason I know I have to leave him.

sobbing 😭

Thatcher shakes his head, kissing the top of Lyra’s head softly, muttering under his breath, “What am I going to do with you, little miss death?” They were an unlikely pair but something about them just kinda… worked? Like ice cream and french fries. One was very sweet and the other was very salty. But they balanced each other out. It was similar to how Alistair gave off a very fuck you don't speak to me vibe in his leather jacket and Briar was very I'm super nice, but my scary boyfriend will hit you. He was a shadow, and she was the light. One without the other felt wrong. Any of them without each other felt wrong. Out of place and, I guess, that went for me to now as well. I look at Briar, Sage, and Lyra, knowing in this moment that I hate Stephen Sinclair, but a part of me is grateful for where I ended up. They don't make me want to relive the basement, but they make it worth it. We weren't friends since high school or siblings forced to care for one another. Blood and time spent together had nothing to do with our bond. It was this trauma. A horrible, nasty evil that would live with us forever, but also brought us together. Along the road of pain, we stumbled across one another, clung to each other, and refused to let go. We wouldn't have met without the pain. Wouldn't have loved as deeply as we do without the fear. We hold on tight to one another because we refuse to lose it. We know it's rare and breakable and entirely ours.

Tears leak from the corner of my eyes, not from pain, but sadness I haven't felt in a long time. A deep-rooted sorrow that takes away the ache in my chest. I don't think I'm going to make it back home. But I can't tell her that. Not when the world has robbed her of enough. I don't want her to lose faith in hope. In her future and the light that's waiting for her at the end of this tunnel. No one deserves light like Coraline. No one needs it more. A few years ago, all I wanted to do was die. Now, I can feel my heartbeat slowing. Now, I am dying and all I want is another day with her. Just one more day so I can soak in her laugh, feel her touch, experience her love. One more cup of lavender tea. One more scoop of honey in my coffee. One more day.

"In Greek mythology, Styx is one of the rivers of the underworld." He murmurs, pulling out a bag of frozen peas that he hands to Rook, which he takes happily placing it on his swelling mouth, "In the Iliad and Odyssey, Homer said the gods swear by the water of the Styx as their most binding oath." "Then we swear on the Styx." Rook says quickly, nodding his head, I’m not even sure he knows what it means, but he’s too afraid not to have some kind of binding that keeps our silence. “Wait.” Alistair reaches into his front pocket, digging out a black sharpie marker. He grabs my arm first, jerking it towards him before scrawling a shitty circle with what I think is a skull inside it and words scribbled along the inner lines. It reads, Admit One along the top and Styx Ferryman on the bottom. “What are you doing, don’t draw on me.” Thatcher tries to avoid his touch, but with a little fight Alistair gets him to hold still. “What is it?” I ask, staring at the bleeding ink in my brown skin. “Charon's Obol.” He mumbles around the sharpie cap in his mouth. “To pay our way across the Styx to the afterlife.” My brows furrow as he draws the same image on Rook, then himself. “There.” “What exactly does this shit do?” He shoves the marker back into his jeans, then answers. “This way we find a way back to each other.” He looks at each of us, jaw set, “We steal. We burn. We bleed. We promise that no matter what, we make our way back, even in death.” It’s a silly drawing. A silly pro...

im so done for oh my god

“Hey Silas?” Her voice is a whisper now, the in-between place of flowers starting to fade. The cold is returning to my body and as much as I want Rosie to be happy, I want to go back. I want to go back to Coraline because I can't leave her alone. I'm her curse breaker. I can't be another person she loses. I want to be the person who proves that she can be loved, loudly and endlessly, without it killing me. “Yeah?” I ask. Rosemary's head tilts, a sleepy smile tugs at the corner of her fading face. Drifting off to a place of peace. “Can you carry me one last time?” I wanted to go back, but this? This was the goodbye I never got to say to the person who showed me kindness above all else. This was closure with a person who showed me how to love so that I had it down by the time I met Coraline. Who taught me so much about myself before I even knew who I was. This was a goodbye to my guilt, for not being there. So, I look her one last time, knowing that as long as I live, I'll carry the love Rosemary Donahue and I shared forever. As a testament to her memory, a thank-you for all she did. She died knowing she was loved by many and that’s all any of us can ask for at the end of our days. “Always, Rosie Girl.”

STOP RN

“Ask me what my favorite color is.” “What?” I furrow my brow. “Ask me again what my favorite color is,” he asks again, a smile on his lips like he has a secret ready to share with me. I laugh, wiping the tears from my eyes. “What’s your favorite color, Silas?” Instead of answering, he lifts his hand, removing the wedding band on his finger and tilting it into the light so I can see the engraved marking along the inside. “dd4a3d?” “It’s a hex code.” Silas slides the ring back on, reaching forward to brush a piece of hair behind my ear. “For the orangish-red color named Coraline. I want you. I’ve wanted you for a long time. All of it.” He runs a thumb across my bottom lip. “Curse me. I’ll live my entire life cursed as a reminder that I loved you. That you let me love you. That you loved me.” "I'm your favorite color?" "You're my favorite everything, Hex."

Silas died twice during surgery. He died and came back to life twice. He'd died and come back to me, just to prove I wasn't cursed. I argue that it was him defying death that broken my wicked spell. Silas was willing to cross the grim reaper just to show me I was worth the return. I wanted to spend the rest of my life returning the favor. Proving I was worthy of a love like his. That what I am, Hex?" He hums, turning around to face me, his hands cupping my face, "Your curse breaker?" "You are everything, Silas Hawthorne. Everything." I lean into his touch, smiling as I press my lips to his thumb, "Even if you are painting your office that ugly-ass orange color." He laughs, deep and soaked in whiskey. Addictive. I've slowly learned that the past doesn't matter when you give the rest of your life to someone like Silas. When you know he'll have the start and end to all of your days. Everything before him? It doesn't exist, he won't allow it. The pain, the hurt, the misery. None of it matters when I'm with him. I'm not the cursed witch of Ponderosa Springs. I'm not hard to love. Silas loves me like breathing, easy, naturally, like he was made for it. And I love him carefully, tenderly like he's the only thing keeping me alive. Our love is a living, breathing thing–it fills us up until there's no room for anything else. Those might have been my mother's vows to my father in that courthouse, but they were meant to be said by me to him. I will forever be his peace when the world ...

I never got to choose Rosemary. Our connection was circumstance, a gift from something beyond us to help us through our pain. That will never take away the love I have for her, because it was real and it saved me. But I never got to make a choice. From the second I saw her, I chose Coraline. Today, tomorrow, and every day after. I will choose to love her, to give myself to her. Because it could be no one else but her. It's us, forever. Inevitable death and all.

There were roads of freedom in front of us. Roads where the reputation of the infamous Hollow Boys did not follow. A place where the distant echoes of our tortured past don’t reach. We'll forever be the bastard sons of Ponderosa Springs, but we know now, that isn't all we are. We are more than rage, sin, lineage, and silence. Alistair Caldwell is more than wrath. He is a fierce protecter, an older brother, a shadow that cannot exist without a little light. To know Rook Van Doren is not internal damnation. It's a blessing to witness his burning, his inferno that consumes and releases the embers of the ones he loves. And Thatcher Pierson is not an apple fallen from a sinister tree. He's the reminder that our family's history does not determine our future. That love is action and never words. I am more than words no one believes. I'm a voice to someone who needs it. We are not unlovable creatures of the night with appetites for violence. There are people, our people, willing to convert to the shadows to show us life beyond vengeance and trauma. Beyond the flames of our destructive rage, there would forever lay a single thread of obsidian weaving our souls together. It will linger in us as a reminder. That we were once just four boys, little kids who, in the darkness of our lives, forged a family out of our despair. We weren't blood, but that means shit in the grand scheme of it all. It's easy to love someone who shares your DNA. A true test of unconditional love is who you ch...

"To the Styx?" I offer. In the dawn of death, with a fresh start on the horizon. "To the Styx." This is the echo that is heard across lifetimes.