Page 107 of Love Unwritten
Ellie
Despite being worried about tomorrow’s flight to Kauai, today was supposed to be spent enjoying our last full day in Oahu while avoiding my anxious thoughts, but life had different plans for me.
From the moment I wake up, I’m a walking, talking disaster. First, I misplaced my favorite guitar pick, and then I ruined my outfit after my macchiato was introduced to my shirt.
Neither of those calamities compares to the third and final stroke of bad luck. Not even close.
Ava has clearly run out of good song ideas, which explains why she betrayed me one more time with her newest release.
Like a masochist, I replay Ava’s latest song for the fifth time before lying back on my bed. I tuck my tear-soaked pillow underneath my head, fold my legs into a fetal position, and shut my eyes.
“Silver Scars” was never meant to see the light of day, let alone shoot to the top of the music charts overnight, but I should have anticipated that Ava would pull one last killer blow.
Like a gunshot wound to the chest, I’m bleeding out, but no one is around to witness a part of my heart dying.
WILLOW
I had to talk myself out of committing murder since you haven’t been answering your phone.
WILLOW
According to the dark web, there are people you can contact for those kinds of jobs.
WILLOW
Their fees are a bit out of my budget, but who needs $200,000 anyway?
I lock my phone and stare up at the ceiling in an effort to keep the tears at bay. The air feels thinner, and I fight to fill my lungs with oxygen.
“Screw her and Darius,” I wheeze.
Having Ava release an album full of my stolen songs destroyed my whole world a year ago, but I thought I was healing from the betrayal and moving on.
Don’t let Ava get you down again.
I brush a finger across my thighs, tracing the outline of my scars. The midthigh tattoo that I begged my mom to let me get when I was only sixteen keeps me grounded and serves as an important reminder whenever I feel the urge to unleash my emotions on my body to make the ones in my head settle down.
This too shall pass.
The cursive writing always comforts me, helping me center myself.
I hate that whenever I feel like I’m moving on—that I’m finally making positive steps toward a better future—something drags me back into a dark pit of self-doubt and loathing.
Is this how Rafael feels? Because it’s terrible.
With a shaky finger, I outline my newest scar, which is only a year old. It’s one that always fills me with shame, because after years of therapy and positive coping strategies, I crashed from the heavy weight of my emotions and returned to unhealthy patterns I fought so damn hard to overcome.
Unlike the last time though, I don’t give into temptation. I even test myself by grabbing my razor from the bathroom, but I put it on the nightstand and there it remains, untouched and intact.
It’s just a song. You can always write another one, and she can never steal any of yours again.
Except it wasn’t just a song. It was the song. “Silver Scars” was my story to tell, not hers, which was why we both agreed to wipe the recordings and lyrics from the hard drive.
God. How could I have been so stupid and trusting? I should have double-checked the server to make sure Ava had deleted any record of it, but at the time, I believed her because she hadn’t betrayed me yet.
My phone buzzes again, but I can’t find the energy to check my messages, so I silence my notifications and cover my head with a pillow. It doesn’t take long for the tears to come again, and once they start, I can’t seem to stop them.
A faint knock five minutes later interrupts my sobs. My body turns to stone despite my brain screaming for me to run.