Dear Ava

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

No matter the road you take, it doesn’t matter if it’s beautiful or ugly, hard or smooth, paved or pitted with ruts—it’s your road to take. What matters is how it ends.

“Steel yourself,” I whisper. “Beyond these doors lie hellhounds and vampires.” I smirk. If only they really were. I’d pull out a stake and end them like Buffy.

Yesssss always happy for a buffy reference

Come on, little Ava. Come closer to me, fierce girl. One more step. Let me touch you. On the arm. Your hand. Anything. Please.

Emotion, something unnamed, rare and beautiful, brushes down my spine. I tense. Rein it in.

“Why did Hades fall for Persephone?” “Read your textbook, Shark.” His voice is low, his eyes liquid metal. “I did. Seriously, I don’t get it.” His gaze lingers on my neck, staring at my locket. “Come on, answer me.” Oh, what the heck. If it will make him stop bothering me… “Hades was lonely in hell. It’s a dark, isolated place. She symbolizes light and good. Opposites attract. Why can’t a devil want an angel? They were in love. Happy.” “Opposites, huh?” He taps his pen on his desk, thinking, and glances at Chance a few rows over. “You and Chance—serious?” Ah, so that’s what this is. “Does it bother you that he’s with me? You think I’m not good enough for your best friend. Chance is perfect. He isn’t a devil.” His lids go to half-mast. “Like me.” I look at his scarred lip. “Ah, low blow. You know just how to cut me, charity case.” “Ava is my fucking name,” I hiss then flip back around. Asshole!

“I kind of like Cold and Evil. Fits me. Truthfully, I’d prefer Hot as Fuck, but you do you.”

But you can’t take a beautiful, soft flower and crush it under your cleats, not when she’s halfway to broken already.

My phone pings with a text, and I snatch it up. I can’t breathe, beautiful girl. Give me a minute. To catch up with you. Wait for me.

“Dear Ava, today is the beginning of anything you want,” he says in my ear. I clutch his shoulders. “You. Always you.”