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“You let anyone else fuck you here, slut?” I
“That’s it, that’s my girl. Fuck, you feel incredible. You feel me stretching your ass? Molding your walls for my cock?”
“I’m keeping you,” I say with a dry voice in desperate need of hydration. Her fingers sink into my hair, tugging at the ends slightly, and I can feel her lips tilt into a smile. “You’ve always had me, Rook. Always.”
My entire world seems to come to a staggering halt as Silas pulls his eyes back to me, and all I see is an emptiness inside. Nothing but a harsh void staring back at me as he raises the barrel of the gun to his head.
“I’m so tired, Rook,” he whispers. “I know,” I say, rubbing his back.
“Why are people always pointing guns at me?” Thatcher sighs,
“I knew he wasn’t okay.” He presses his fingers into his chest. “I fucking knew it and I did nothing. That’s my best friend, Sage, and I almost let him kill himself.”
Go get Thatcher. Call Alistair. Anything. Please, baby, I need to make it hurt.”
“I will,” I mutter, “I want to make you come, babe. Just tell me the truth. Tell me you know.”
“Take your pants off. I need to grab something, but leave the panties. I want to take those off myself.” He mutters, leaving a kiss on the back of my head before he walks to the bathroom.
But they like you, and I know that when I’m gone, you’ll be there for them. I’d like you to remind them that they did everything right. They gave me love. A home. A life.
Do not punish yourself for my death. You were one of the only things that made my life worth living, and if you fuck my memory up with your guilt, I will kick your ass. Know that I’m at peace. That I’m happy. I’m free, Rook, and I’m with her. And one day, when you’re well into your nineties, I’ll be with you again, too. Don’t lose yourself trying to search for the why, especially not after I wrote this entire gaudy thing. Never lose your fire. I’ll meet you at the Styx. -Silas
“I’m going to Frank’s funeral, paying my respects, mourning the dead, doing my Christian duty.”
“What are you thinking about?” I ask, practically seeing the wheels spinning. “Your eyes,” she mutters. “It was the first thing I noticed when I came back here. They looked so empty, but now they are different. Less vacant.”
“Because you were the only one worthy of keeping.”
Rook did not hold my hand for support. I held his.
Silas Hawthorne will not die a sad man.
“No, but when we do eventually die, can we be buried together with our hands like this?” I raise our conjoined palms up in the air. “As much as I’d love to cop a feel in a coffin, I’m being cremated, Theatre Geek.”
Fate might not have chosen me to bear your soul mark, but I will make sure it knows that in this life and all the ones after, I will always be yours. I always have been.”
Lyra Abbott nauseates me. Always walking around with dirt on her clothing, sticky fingers from those cherries she inhales by the dozen, and she has this strange fixation with insects that makes me ill. Everything she does, everything she is, counteracts me. She is sodium, and I am potassium.
“I think it’s time we finally had a chat, my dearest phantom.”
