Page 102 of Under the Waves
His words rang in my ears. He didn’t know what darkness lurked behind them—the nightmares that slivered between dreams, swallowing them whole. My entire being was nothing but a black hole.
Tugging my old headphones over my head, I let the music drown out the world—let it cradle my mind and soothe away every tumor of darkness inside my head that had been growing and festering ever since the night I learnt why even ghosts couldn’t look me in the eyes.Just like him.
All my life I’d spent toeing the line between who I was and who I was becoming, and somehow, Jasper Ridge had taken all my worries and blown them into the wind like dandelion seeds.
A million different alternatives ran through my head, each passing with a certainty that nothing good would come from picking up my phone and saying those dreaded two words.
In the end, all it took was one glance at her closed door for my fingers to type out the letters and press send before I could even register what they were doing.
I’m in.
I threw my phone across the room before I scrambled to delete it. What was done was done now. I just had to hope it was the right thing to do.It was. It had to be.
Staring down at my hands, I glanced at the open gashes coating my skin. At the marks left behind that told more stories than words ever could. I was decorated in stitches. Bathed in a million lost dreams. These were the hands of a girl who had fought and lost in every single way. Who had kept losing, and losing, andlosinguntil she had nothing left to lose.
Wincing as I brushed them against my legs, I made a headlineto my bedside table, pulling out a small white box I’d hidden there. Carefully unwrapping it, tugging at the small pink ribbon bow curled around it, I took out the small vanilla cupcake from inside. It wasn’t anything special, but it would have to do.
The small, vanilla-white frosting was topped with pink heart sprinkles and a singular rosy strawberry with a white candle in the middle. For every birthday since Oliver died, I’d used this singular candle. It was barely surviving the flames anymore; a small, delicate thing it’d become,just like me.
Retrieving a match, I lit the candle and watched as the wax started to melt and drip slowly down the stem. Heat fanned across my rosy cheeks, and I blew once, watching the flame disappear. My eyes closed as my lips pursed.
“Make a wish, Pops!” Oliver grinned up at me, his small cheeks glowing.
Ruffling his hair a little, I smiled right back at him. “Okay, okay, but just for you, monkey.”
I closed my eyes. “Are you ready?”
He nodded giddily, and in one swift breath, we both blew out the candle.
“Happy birthday big sissy,” he giggled, crumbs coating his mischievously grinning lips.
I smiled right back, ruffling his already messy hair.
“Happy birthday to me, indeed.”
35
Poppy Wells
“Jasper Easton Ridge, I swear to god if you are pranking me right now, I am going to hate you until my last breath,” I breathed, hand squeezing his until he yelped.
When he turned up at my window a few minutes ago dressed in white linen pants, a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt, and red glasses the size of an elephant residing atop of his head, I thought I was dreaming.
That this was all some weird, trauma induced fantasy of mine that had stolen all my thoughts completely…until I realized that hewasindeed dressed like that and standing in my childhood bedroom, lips parted as he couldn’t tear his eyes off my exposed body that was barely covered by my light cotton pajamas.
I didn’t know what I was thinking when I let him sneak me out of my own house and place a blindfold over my eyes. For allI knew, he could’ve been leading me into the deepest part of the woods to perform some crazy satanic ritual, which definitely would’ve been Jakson’s idea because he was the only one out of them all who could’ve came up with something soinsane.
“I’m not pranking you, Wellsy,” he laughed, and I could picture him so clearly throwing his head back, eyes crinkling the way they did every time he smiled. “I’m wounded you think so little of my pranking skills. Maybe I should give you a reminder.”
“Don’t you even—”
“I’m joking, vita mia.”
I fought the blush that threatened to paint my cheeks in the brightest shade of red.
Stupid Jasper Ridge and his stupid Italian.
“Just a little bit further,” he whispered, giving my hand an encouraging squeeze. “Ti mostrerò quanto il tuo io più giovane meritava di essere amato, Wellsy.”