Exiled (Unlucky 13, #11)

by Jessie Walker

“I’m eighteen.” His expression is grave, like it’s something terminal. And I suppose it is. Becoming an adult. Next stop up is a grave.

And my parents…well, they tried everything. I’ll give them that. Everything but what I actually needed: Them.

She then proceeds to feed it through the shredder next to her desk. My eyes widen, bugging out of my head. She does this with the next sheet, then the next… I dart my gaze between her and the shredder currently eating up my life’s story. “Something tells me, none of this is going to help me help you,” she says.

It’s not so much what he’s saying, but how he says it. Like he’s given up. Like he might as well be wearing chains, and walking to his execution.

I know addiction is a lifelong disease, but to hear it put so bluntly, to see it up close without the veneer of literature and glamorized media, it’s a lot less dramatic and just a whole lot of sad.

“Your name. Nolan.” I test the name out for the first time, loving the way it rolls off my tongue. “It’s of Irish origin. It means champion.”

“Let me guess. Your name means sky.” My gaze dips to his shoulder, where a thin gray cotton tee covers the tattoo I spotted yesterday. A small smile tweaks my lips. He has the night sky inked in his skin.

There’s just something very rawr about him.

No I hate that

One thing I wish someone told me before I tried to kill myself, is how much more painful it is to come back to life than it is to die. Maybe if I knew how agonizing it would be if I failed, I would’ve opted to stay. Or, at the least, I would’ve tried to be a little more efficient.

Even Hell didn’t want me…

Maybe I didn’t die because I’m already in Hell. Maybe Pastor Gabriel was wrong, and I’ve already been damned all along.

Failed? I think, my forehead wrinkling. Doesn’t the word attempt imply as much?

He’s not a liability. He’s fucking sad. Since when is that a crime?

And all I could think was No. Don’t hide from me.

“See?” he calls out, smiling breathlessly. Beautifully. Fuck me, he’s… he’s beautiful.

It happens so fast. Faster than last time I died.

I just wanted one last look at him. His wide, horrified gaze will be the last memory I have of him. His voice calling out my name, the last time I’ll ever hear it. No one’s ever looked at me like that. No one’s ever yelled for me like that.

Stars dance across my vision, and I think of the tattoo on Nolan’s shoulder. The night sky. If there’s a heaven, I hope that’s where it is. Embedded in his skin.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “It’s over now. You’re safe, sweetheart, you’re safe.”

I almost died—again—eighteen and never even been hugged properly.

“Sky…” There it is again. Sky. He called me something else too, didn’t he? Sweetheart.

“I’m not married.”

My guy, is this really the best time?

“It’s perfect,” he rumbles. Then so quietly, I’m sure I’m mistaken, he mumbles, “You’re perfect. God fucking help me.”

This was a man—all man—someone rugged and experienced, who took what he wanted and didn’t tell me lies, but praised me, told me how good I was, and growled out my name like an animal pouncing on his prey.

I didn’t think sex could be like that, and we didn’t even go to third base, much less kiss.

Since when is oral sex not third base??? Have the bases changed?

But here I am, ready to sink to my knees and melt into the earth for this boy.

“See this scar?” he blurts and lifts our joined arms, and I find my gaze dropping to the patchy discoloration stretched out across the inside of his wrist. “I got it trying to cook dinner for myself. I was five. My mother was on a business call, and she forgot to feed me.”

“And you know what she did? She yelled at me. Blamed me for hurting myself. And as soon as she got me cleaned up and heated up some leftovers, she left me alone in the kitchen to eat while she returned to her business call.”

“What you did was…bad. Yeah.” He nods. “But my mom…she doesn’t have a disease. She didn’t feel bad. She didn’t beat herself up over it, or try to fix her behavior so nothing like that ever happened again.”

“Yes, Daddy.” He glares at me, slashing his fork through the air. “Absolutely not. Red. Hard. Safe word. Potato. Whatever. No.”

He brings out the animal in me, and I bring out the sweet, submissive good boy in him.

“It’s like magic,” he murmurs. “You touch me, and it all quiets. You hold me, and it all stops.”

I can’t stop, because if I do, then it’s all over, and I’ll never have this again. Forget the ocean—let me drown in him. Engrave me in his bones. Bury me in his veins. Let me die as I lived—as his.

Fuck me. Hurt me. Destroy me. I’m not me anymore. I’m his.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” But you are, you are, don’t you see? You’re killing me.

I can’t do this. I can’t just leave him, not knowing if he’ll be okay. Who’s going to hold him when it gets too loud? Who’s going to still his fingers when he’s feeling stressed? Who’s⁠—

“Someday, you’re going to look back on this moment, and it won’t hurt so much.”

“You beautiful, beautiful boy. You’re gonna break so many damn hearts, I just know it.”

“Someone is going to come along and love you, storms and all.”

I already know. He’s gone. I felt it the second he walked away… The second my heart gave up.

“Why does no one ever want to keep me?” I choke out, my voice breaking off into heaving sobs.

THREE YEARS LATER

I'm sorry, WHAT?!

It’s been two years since Skyler disappeared seemingly without a trace.

SIX MONTHS LATER

BRUH.

Skyler swept into my life like a hurricane. I had plenty of warning. Plenty of time to board up my walls and take shelter. And yet when the storm finally hit, I realized how futile it was. It was always coming for me. He was always going to be my downfall.

“You promised. And you lied. You said you wouldn’t regret it or ruin it. You promised me I’d forget. That I’d move on.” My teeth start chattering, and I can’t be sure if it’s from the cold or the storm igniting my senses. “But you lied. You broke your promise, just like I said you would, and now you’re tainting the memory too.”

Still, she was happy with her knock-off, and called him Gizmo,

Omg I had a hamster named Gizmo too!

“I love you, Nolan,” he says quietly, with all the graveness in the world, like it’s something terminal. And it is, isn’t it? A love like ours.