Prologue

PROLOGUE

PRESENT DAY

The memories of the summer hit me with force, washing over me like a tidal wave, knocking me off my feet and tilting the axis of my world. I sunk deeper into the feeling, unable to stop myself from drowning in the past.

I held the letter I had written six years ago, in a rush of emotions and no straightforward thought pattern, flimsily between my fingertips as I slowly lowered to the floor of my almost empty room, trying to reign in the slow pound of anguish in my heart.

I didn't know what the exact purpose of it was as the pen hit paper. I just wanted it all written down to somehow organise my thoughts. But I hoped it would release the tight hold the heartbreak had on me. Something to allow me to let go. My own sort of closure. The barely legible writing, the scratching of pen lines, and the tear-stained pages almost tell the story of the rollercoaster of emotions, and the highs and lows I experienced, without even reading it.

It served as a reminder if I ever found myself missing those months in the beginning.

But as the years passed, and my belongings grew, it had become a forgotten piece of dust in the back corner of my cupboard.

I've spent the past six years shoving this into the darkest corner of my heart, locking the door with deadbolts and chains to keep it out of sight and out of mind. But with this single reminder, the door burst right open like it was nothing but brittle bits of rusted metal. I tried to shake the memories off whenever they popped into my head, but here, with the physical reminder of those emotions and memories, I couldn't pull myself out of the spiral. No matter how many times I told myself I could handle this alone, I couldn't anymore. Not when all the good moments we had ruled my decisions day in and out on dating.

It was like it happened yesterday, and the wound in my heart I spent so long stitching back together suddenly ripped apart, bleeding over the carpet as if it hadn't been repaired at all.

It was short. It was sweet. It was all-encompassing. It burnt me in many ways I never dreamed of. Never in a million years. Because I never thought I would be stupid enough to fall for words unsaid. That I would be safe from the fear that has held onto me. But he had a way of ripping right through my shields and sneaking his way into my heart. I should have known that he would be different. That there would be no way of resisting him.

Looking at this letter brought back so many things I wanted to forget. It reminded me of why I am the way I am today, and why I prefer to live the way I live. Why I protect myself from ever feeling like this again. It paints a clear enough picture to rattle me. And I don't know what to do with all these bubbling emotions.

Which is why I find myself a few days later sinking into the plush couch of my therapist's office, tension dissipating from my shoulders instantly as I breathe in the lavender and bergamot essential oils in the air. It's the first breath of fresh air that I've had since reopening that stupid letter a few days ago.

It was like this room was perfectly curated with some sort of sorcery to automatically shed the many layers I had built around my heart and leave me raw and bleeding until all my inner demons sunk into the wool rug beneath my feet. I'm sure it also had something to do with the woman sitting across from me, waiting expectantly with warm brown eyes and a soft smile, ready to absorb all the torture I had been putting myself through.

"So, what brought on this impromptu visit today? What's on your mind?"

If it weren't for Callie, the therapist who helped build me almost from the ground up, I think I would still be on the floor, stuck in the moment of the most tragic heartbreak of my teenage years. I would still be right where he left me, broken and bleeding, asserting my fears of love and falling.

"There may have been some things that I left out of our conversations. Some things I tried to avoid."

Callie's mouth twitched. "I'd gathered that from our sessions, yes."

I pressed my lips together, wondering how transparent I was to her. Although it was her job to analyse our patterns and conversations, I thought I had been smooth at avoiding the conversation of him that she hadn't noticed. Clearly, I was wrong.

But since opening that letter, it was like the lid on a glass bottle had popped off and shattered, rocking me with years of heartache and avoidance with no closure.

And I needed to slam that door closed immediately to finally have peace.

It was ridiculous in the way I addressed it as if I would ever personally send it to him. With the raw and emotional details of my heart across the page, it was too vulnerable to be seen by anyone. But subconsciously, I thought addressing it to him could allow me to release the anger festering in me. I could yell at him across the page without being disappointed by the silence.

My eyes started to brim with tears, and I angrily swiped them away.

"I can't do it anymore. I can't keep ignoring it and pushing it away. It's just too much, and I really want to move on. I mean, I have, but I don't think I will ever rid of the mark he left on me. He's like a tattoo ingrained in my skin, and no matter how much I scrub it, it just won't come off. And I need it off."

It's all too overwhelming. No matter how much I swallow and hold them back, the tears just freefall down my cheeks as I stare at my hands, picking the skin around my thumbnail.

I look up when I see Callie move, scooting further forward in her chair, worry etched in her eyes.

"So let me help you. We have a whole hour, and I'll be here for whatever you need, okay?"

I nod, plucking the tissue box she held out for me and wiping my nose with a tissue. "Yeah, okay."

She smiles softly, comforting me as the tightness in my chest squeezes with all the emotions mounting inside.

I've had the same two questions floating in my head for the past six years. Would I do it all again for it to end the same way? Would spending just another moment with him change anything? But the answer remains the same: I don't know. It's hard to choose between wanting to feel alive, free, and happy again, versus saving yourself from the heartbreak that has since overshadowed that feeling.

That summer, I was happier than ever before. I had been overcome with this sense of dread post-graduation that everything was slipping through my fingers. But a hand reached out, pulling me from the trap, and he made me feel like anything was possible.

They say people's first loves aren't meant to last forever. They say it's meant to teach us about love, what we want, and what we don't want in our next love. But I didn't want to believe that. I wanted so badly to be the small percentage of people who ended up with their first loves. I wanted to see if I was invincible enough to live and tell the tale. But unfortunately, I wasn't strong enough.

"So, shall we start from the beginning? Who was he?"

Everything. He was absolutely everything and nothing all at once.

To the one who hurt me,

I used to dream of happy ever after. Dream of the perfect ending with the perfect guy and the perfect life. But it always felt so out of reach when my life felt far from perfect. When I had all this pressure to be that perfect someone.

But you came along and that dream seemed a little less impossible. I danced through the haze and got lost in the green of your eyes and every heart-melting smile you gave me. Everything seemed clearer in the fog you created. In the world you kept me in. In the dreams we shared and the secrets whispered in each other's ears. I almost forgot that none of it was real.

We were living in a burning house from the start, and you did a damn good job at throwing a blanket over us to hide it. But just as good as you hid, you ripped it all away at the first sign of life, of everything that could have been. You left me to burn alone with your ghost, reminding me yet again, that this wasn't real.

You made it so easy to forget all of it had an expiration date when you made promises you couldn't keep. That maybe you had changed your mind and I could keep you in my heart where you so easily wedged yourself. And I hate myself for it.

But mostly, I hate you.

I hate you so much that I don't hate you at all. Three simple, but so very complex, words stuck in my throat the last time I saw you. In the fairyland we had lived in, I had thought you felt the same and I had waited for you to say it so I didn't seem like a fool. I hate you so much that I have to thank you for saving me from the embarrassment of realising you never felt the same.

It was so easy for you to say goodbye. All the little dates and sleepless nights spent in my bed. The sweet words and secret touches, gone within a blink of an eye. All that's left is the crumbling mess you left behind. The tears that stream down my face reflect the things that have gone to waste, and I don't know where to go from here.

Maybe a final goodbye will heal the broken lump of muscle I thought had been broken long before you.

So, here's my goodbye. Goodbye to the person I thought you were and our picture-perfect days we had together. Goodbye to the tears I shed for you when I could only talk to your ghost. Goodbye to waking up next to you as the morning light hit your face, making your hair look golden, and your eyes appear as green as the crisp grass in spring. Goodbye to the jarring silence you gave me when you refused to give me the answer I desperately needed.

And most of all, goodbye to my love for you. Through the time – and the distance – may that all disappear.

Dakota Summers.