It hurts, like the first crystal fractals of winter. Like fire boiling in my stomach. Like leaping and falling, with cracked bones, like people are supposed to. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep causing death like this.

I try to build my composure like an ice sculpture, cold and strong. I aim for an appearance of aloofness and feel as if my face might crack. Don’t think about it, I chant. Don’t think about it, or you’ll crack again.

That was Clarisa speaking. I traced my thumb over the words and let them sink in. I probably shouldn’t torment myself by reading Adrian’s book, but I’d already gotten into it. And after he said Clarisa and Jóhannes were both parts of him, I couldn’t resist. Maybe if I kept reading, I’d understand him better. At this point in the novel, the heroine Clarisa had decided to rescue her boyfriend Jóhannes from an evil, shape-shifting witch.

I didn’t feel like I had a right to hurt like she did. I shouldn’t be upset over this. Adrian and I weren’t ever anything serious, but I’d been thinking about him all week. It was only made worse by the fact that I kept seeing him. Even when I purposefully tried to avoid him, it was impossible.

“Do you know how difficult it is to find people who can do what we can? We’re destined to be together, Clarisa,” the witch said.

“So this is your love letter, is it? Depriving me of the people I love.”

“Of sorts. I certainly got your attention, didn’t I? I will have you, sweetheart, even if I have to break you first.”

The Hell she will. I lunge at her. My hand grasps a handful of hair, and the witch snaps her head back. I flounder over the counter and fall into her. It hurts. I recoil, trying to process everything. Her skin doesn’t feel right. It’s like stone.

I stretched my legs out on my bed and furrowed my brow at the book. I remembered what Adrian said, about how Clarisa was meant to be unlikeable. But how could he possibly think such a thing? Wasn’t fighting for her loved ones brave? Wasn’t defying evil witches and supernatural beings for her loved ones noble? Was that what Adrian saw in himself?

I tossed Abandon All Hope aside with a sigh. It was seven in the morning. Time to get ready.

I grabbed my costume from my dresser and put it on. With a sigh, I stood before the mirror and adjusted my sword. Showtime. I practiced my best fake smile and winked at myself. Despite my moping and newfound shut-in tendencies, I looked fine. Absolutely normal.

I left my cabin and strode out on deck, adopting an exaggerated pirate swagger. Anything to entertain the children, including Angelica. I wondered if Adrian had told her anything about us or if she’d even noticed I wasn’t talking to her dad anymore. She seemed like a very bright girl, so I wouldn’t have been surprised if that was the case.

Sherri was already at the helm, regaling a group of early arrivals with the story of Blackbeard, the most infamous and well-known of pirates. “And Blackbeard’s beard was really long,” Sherri said, indicating a long beard with a gesture. “And his voice was really loud. Booming! Like a mighty sea dragon! Roar!”

I stifled a laugh, while Sherri continued with a heavily sanitized version of how Blackbeard held the port of Charleston hostage, in return for medicine to aid his sick crew. The people of Charleston agreed to the deal, but when Blackbeard’s crew went to retrieve the medicine, they got drunk in the local bars, nearly missed the deadline, and almost caused the destruction of Charleston.

Angelica was in the crowd, up against the railing, and I saw Adrian standing with a cluster of amused parents. For a split second, Adrian’s eyes seemed to meet and hold mine. I averted my gaze and focused instead on Sherri, as she exclaimed and gestured excitedly.

Sherri turned around abruptly and gasped. “Jolly Jack! Me first-mate! I had no idea ye were there waitin’ for me!”

No, she hadn’t. She’d probably known the second I showed up, but I still grinned at her exuberance.

“Sorry, Cap’n! ‘Fraid I was a bit under the weather this morning!”

“Under the weather?” Sherri put a hand to my forehead. “Me poor first mate! I’m so sorry to ‘ear that! I guess ye had a bit too much o’ the rum last night, eh?”

I grinned. “Guess so, Cap’n.”

It was easy to smile and forget my worries when I was talking with her and following the script. “Well, a’right! If that’s what ye wants, Jolly Jack! I won’t judge ye! But do it again, and you’ll be swabbing the decks. All of ‘em!”

“Got it, Cap’n!” I replied.

“Great!” Sherri said. “Time to get started for a round of limbo!”

Sherri clapped her hands together and grinned. “Let’s go!” she declared.

I took a deep breath and buried my face in my pillow. My stomach churned. This was a new development, but it was probably brought on in some way by my recent emotional upheaval. I toyed with my phone every few minutes. I could call Adrian. I could text him. But no, I should refrain. Adrian had made it very clear where we stood, and I just needed to move on and let it go.

Idly, I flipped through Abandon All Hope. What did it mean when a man wrote a book where the main couple were constructed from parts of himself and where his omega was in there as his hero’s mother? What did it mean when he wrote a novel entitled Abandon All Hope? Was I just reading too much into it? Or had I stumbled upon the right thing to search for? I just wasn’t sure. I had a book that was too far over my head, and I’d lost my guide.

Die? But I don’t want him to die. I stare at his wide eyes, and the new clarity is all too perfect. I can see every tear tangled in his thick lashes, and his eyes are a darker green by all the red puffiness. He looks so fragile, like a porcelain doll. It’s beautiful and it shouldn’t be. Jóhannes is much stronger than that. God, what am I thinking? This is Jóhannes. My equal, in every way. The clarity fades in an instant, and my power wanes with it.

I closed the book and pressed it against my forehead. It was even stranger reading about one of Adrian’s characters being described as fragile. Adrian wasn’t fragile, but maybe he had been, after Elizabeth’s death. When he was alone with his daughter and when he’d suddenly been cast into the role of father. It must’ve been frightening, and that was a lot to deal with. It made sense that he wouldn’t want to add something else, like me, to it.

Bile rose in my throat, but I didn’t bother going to the bathroom. I’d already tried numerous times to throw up, but it was pointless. Despite all the bile and fire twisting in my stomach, I was unable to vomit. I’d been trying most of the day. What was wrong with me? Maybe I’d eaten something I shouldn’t have. I never should’ve let Sherri talk me into eating sushi. Evidently, the sushi was fighting back with a vengeance.

God, I was as bad as his heroine, pining away for Adrian. But at least Adrian’s heroine had a love interest who returned her affections. I groaned. “I’m pathetic,” I said to myself.

Holed up in my room like some love-struck heroine. Not even an active heroine like Clarisa. One of those heroines written by an open misogynist who believed women were only good for keeping house and pining for their lovers.

With a spurt of strange inspiration, I flipped to the back of the book. The very last chapter. I stared at the chapter title, its print bolder and blacker than the rest of the text. Then, slowly, I read. It was difficult at first because I’d skipped half of the book to get to the end. From what I could gather, Clarisa had successfully rescued Jóhannes from the novel’s villain, and the pair fled through a snowy forest.

I didn’t know why they were in the forest in the first place, and it didn’t seem especially relevant, even though Clarisa’s narration kept heavily focusing upon the snow and the ice. It felt like one of those places where I was supposed to read something into it, but I wasn’t. It just read like snow and ice to me. Was it supposed to be tragic? Adrian said it ended in tragedy.

I got to the last page. Clarisa pulled a knife on Jóhannes and stabbed him to death in the snow. Then, being overcome with grief at such a violent act, she stabbed herself. It was like Romeo and Juliet, but that didn’t make sense here. In Romeo and Juliet, there had been warring families. There was none of that in this book. The villain had been defeated. Everything had looked so happy for them. It should’ve ended with the couple running away and getting married. Having children, maybe.

Not this brutal murder-suicide. But Adrian said he’d foreshadowed this, hadn’t he? He’d said Clarisa was a terrible character, and I shouldn’t want her to have a happy ending. This wasn’t fair, though. I felt robbed. I nearly texted Adrian just to ask why he’d created such a horrible ending.

Instead, I tossed the book to the floor. It was satisfying to throw it and hear the thud it made as it struck the wall. I reached for Arabian Nights, the story that did have a happy ending.