6

THE WIND ROARS IN my ears, deafening. I'm freefalling, waiting, filled with a twisted acceptance that eventually I will hit the ground. Everything around me is dark. The night sky is a mild comfort. The stars are close enough to touch, yet my hands never seem to reach them.

I turn over, falling backwards. Above me, the moon is a haunting pale orb. When I right myself, the ground does not appear.

Instead, the ocean catches me in its cold arms, pulling me down. I see myself, further beneath the waves, drowning. I see someone swimming down towards me.

The next moment I see a graveyard full of fog and rain.

Then a pack of white wolves running through the woods. I writhe around in the water, the surface impossible to break through.

Then I wake up, gasping for air.

"All a dream," I mumble to myself, rubbing my eyes free of sleep.

I glance at the alarm clock on my bedside table. It's five a.m. I don't need to be up until seven, but my body always has a different plan.

I rise from my bed, knowing I won't fall back to sleep at this point. I grab some running clothes and take them to the bathroom.

After I finish my morning ritual, I make my way downstairs, slipping on my shoes. I'm silent, but then I remember my dad is on a business trip and there's no one else in the house to wake up.

I slip my earbuds in and leave, walking all the way over to the next street before I begin running.

Running is freedom.

It lets me forget things I wish would leave my memory forever. It brings closure and peace to an otherwise broken existence.

Priya says I'm insane for purposely running, but I crave the rush it gives me.

When I round back to the corner, I slow down and begin walking home. Letting the burn in my legs and my lungs fade. A quick stretch and one shower later, I'm gathering my things together to head to work.

I stop by Every Brew Café to get a ham and egg breakfast sandwich and two coffees—one for me and one for Priya.

It's still early when I arrive at Darkest Night, but I have a key. Priya comes out of the back room when she hears me.

"It's an hour before your shift. You need a hobby. Maybe you could get back into writing poetry."

I offer up a coffee. "My hobby is bringing you coffee and lounging in the break room before my shift. Besides, my poems are trash."

She clicks her tongue and shakes her head, though she doesn't refuse her favorite latte. "They're not trash and I want to stock your future poetry book on my shelves, so I need you to please write again so we can make that happen."

I laugh. "That's a dream that will never be reality, but thank you for believing in me anyway."

I take a seat, Priya sitting across from me as she looks down at the book she's brought in. The break room is my favorite place in the entire bookstore. Priya has draped dark tapestries of the night sky on all four walls. Strung up around the ceiling and baseboards are fairy lights. All the lights in the room are warm and inviting. It matches the bookstore in the sense that it's decorated the same way. But there are plants in random corners, lockers for our things, and a coffee machine that we never use by the sink.

I sip my coffee and take a bite of my sandwich. Priya frowns into her cup as she takes another sip.

"Did I get the wrong one?" I know that's impossible. I've gotten Priya coffee for so long that there's no way I'd order wrong.

"No, no. I'm just… tired."

"I don't believe that's all."

She sighs. "Matthew wants money," she says, referring to her estranged husband.

"Do you have to give him any?"

She shakes her head. "According to my lawyer, no. But he says he wants to get help. Therapy. And he's suggested couples' counseling. He says he's been living in his car for the past six months and can't get a job, which is why he's asking for money. But I… do I trust him?"

I don't know much about Priya's husband. I remember when they rolled into town, deciding this was the best place for their dream eccentric bookstore. I remember coming in every other Saturday with my allowance. Sometimes, he'd be organizing books or running the register. I didn't know at the time that something dark was going on.

I learned much later that addiction took away his ability to be the guy that Priya loved. Eventually, she kicked him out when she found he was stealing money from the safe to feed his cravings. From then on, she didn't talk about him.

And then I got old enough to work, and I knew this was the only place I could see myself working.

Now, she only brings him up when he's trying to get money, which has been once every few months since I've worked here.

"Do you love him?"

"I always will love him. Our vows aren't meaningless to me. And I don't think they're meaningless to him. In sickness and in health. But this is a sickness that neither of us knows how to fight. I don't want my money going to feed his addictions. I'm going to make a deal with him. He can come live with me—in my guest room—and we will go to therapy. If he needs something, I will buy it for him. But he is not going to touch any of my money."

"Did you tell your lawyer this?"

"I told her my plan. I didn't give her much of a chance to object, to be honest. But she has a concrete plan to help me evict him if I find out he's going behind my back in some way."

"That doesn't seem like a terrible idea," I say, sipping my coffee.

"I'm scared, though. I've missed him. I've wished he was by my side again, running the bookstore with me. Before he struggled, he supported my dreams. I know he loves me…" She falls silent for a moment. There are tears forming in her eyes. This has never been an easy subject for her.

"I know he supports me," she continues, her voice unwavering. "He's just struggling and I want to help him out of it."

I touch her hand. "I think you're doing the right thing, Priya. He's very lucky that you're patient and willing to help. I know if he truly loves you, he'll put the effort in for you."

She smiles softly, but I can see the doubt clouding her eyes. She stands up and throws her empty cup in the trash. "I'd better finish setting up the store. You take your time in here."

"Thanks."

When she leaves, I find myself pulling out my phone, going through the pictures I took years ago. Maybe it's the thought of Matthew coming back to town and trying to rekindle his marriage with Priya, or the longing for someone else who I think I saw yesterday. I scroll to the pictures that still sit in a folder on my phone, hidden at the bottom of the folders in my gallery. I've not had the strength to delete them.

Moriah, Atlas, and me, smiling as if we'd always be together. Me and Moriah, her dark hair and tan skin. Her smirk. Her quirks.

Atlas and his smile. His calm and peace. His forest eyes and messy hair.

Tears burn my eyes, threatening to overflow. I blink quickly, refusing to let them fall. I can't. I won't. Not here and not for him.

I rise, throwing away my sandwich wrapper and coffee cup. I will go out there, organize books, put on a strong face, and I will not let the memory of him haunt me today.

"OPHELIA?"

I look up to find Reya, the closest friend I have left in this town, standing in the doorway. We went to the same high school a few towns over, but never ran in the same circles. She was always with her group of eclectic people. I had Atlas and Moriah. Then I had Milo. But near the end, I had no one.

And that's when Reya found me. We've been close ever since.

She struts into the bookstore, a cold breeze pushing in with her. Her shoulder-length hair is a bright shade of pink, a contrast to the darkness in the room. Her hands are tucked into the pockets of her leather jacket.

"You'll never guess who was in the café yesterday."

My breath catches in my throat, and I know damn well that I wasn't making things up in my head. My heart knows, beats rapidly at the thought of him.

Him who I vowed to let go for good.

A ghost, haunting my town and my heart once again.

"Who?" The question is heavy on my tongue as I await the inevitable.

I don't want to know. I truly don't.

Priya glances up from her book, and I know my suspicions about the faceless voice are true. She saw him, too.

He did come inside yesterday.

And he was sitting at the café when I walked by.

"Atlas Jameson. I cannot believe he's back in town. I'm not going to lie to you; these five or so years gave him time to glow up. He didn't recognize me, but man, when I tell you there were at least a few of my coworkers staring at him like he walked off the pages of a magazine. His eyes—"

Priya clears her throat. Reya suddenly seems to remember who she's talking to. The girl whose heart was shattered by him.

"Right." Reya shakes her head and crosses her arms. "Atlas being hot isn't important. He shouldn't be hanging around town."

I shrug, rising from my seat on the floor where I was organizing middle-grade fiction. "I don't care if Atlas comes to town," I say defiantly. "His mom lives here. He has every right to visit her. I don't need everyone walking on eggshells around me. I'm not broken up about his existence."

Reya sighs. "You're the strongest person I know. You don't have to pretend like it doesn't hurt."

I look over at Priya. "I'm not hurt, and I know he came stumbling in here yesterday, too. I doubt he's in town for too long."

Reya shrugs. "I live a few houses down from his mom's house. I saw him leave this morning with his duffle bag. I assume he's already gone."

"Then why does it matter that he came into the coffee shop or into the bookstore?"

Priya sighs. "Because, Ophelia, we want to protect you and back you up. We both don't like what he did to you."

"And I don't like when the people I trust act like I'm going to fall apart any second. What happened was five—almost six—years ago. I'm fine."

It's enough to get them off my back. Enough for Reya to mumble something about calling me later as she leaves to go back to the coffee shop; her shift is likely starting soon. Enough for Priya to go back to the book she was reading in between customers.

But the lie lacks the conviction it needs to convince me.

Atlas was here.

And he didn't even try. Not to make an effort. Not to fix it. Not even to talk to me.

It isn't as though he should.

I'm nothing to him—was nothing to him for a long time before our friendship ended at Moriah's funeral.

But I can't deny that deep down, I've hoped every time he's come breezing back into town that he'd find me. He'd apologize.

He'd say something about this time and space between us.

I know it's foolish to want something I will never have.

Maybe the heart doesn't know how to let go of the first love. Something in me aches at even the mention of him.

"You're not okay," Priya says, sighing as she sets her book down on the counter.

"Of course not," I mutter, the hot tears stinging behind my eyes. I almost laugh at the idea of crying over Atlas again.

Almost.

But if I laugh, Priya will only think I'm crazy.

I cross my arms, willing my heart to stop aching from the memories. "I should be over it, yet here I stand, thinking of him being here."

Priya sits straighter. "Maybe he was looking for you. He looked… uncertain. Like there was something more to the visit than just browsing books. And he didn't really browse."

I shake my head. "He came because he has memories here, too. I don't own the town."

"His memories here are with you."

I turn back to the shelves. "I need to finish up the young adult section," I say, ignoring the flashbacks trying to take over my mind. I don't have the time or energy.

I need to let it go.

And now that he's left town again, likely until the next major holiday, it will be easy.