My canvas is no longer blank. At some point between Jaxon leaving and the first roll of thunder, I zoned out completely and started painting. Staring at the array of browns, oranges, blues, and greens on the canvas, I’m confused about how the painting got to this point.

Sure, I remember sitting down and mixing the colors, but I don’t recall applying the first coat of primer. I always did skip the sketching part of the process since I usually had the landscape before me as my guide. But I also don’t remember applying the paint to the canvas, layering light and dark until an image appeared.

Although somewhat abstract, the image looks like it’s meant to be a cave. My eyes scan the canvas again—searching for what, I’m not sure. But as they scale the rock wall, I pay more attention to the subtleties that only a trained eye would look for. And I see intention. Whatever I was painting was meant to be dark. The lines of the rock are carefully drawn, creating a narrow arc in the center, and the shadows deepen around the bottom edges of the canvas, like a vignette.

It’s only then that I see a full mane of carefully shaded, dark brown hair at the bottom of the painting, the end of it out of frame. It’s the back of a girl’s head. Her hair is the same color as mine, with light waves strewn about in a tangle, like her face is pressed into the ground.

The paintbrush I’m holding slips through my fingers and I stand, knocking the stool beneath me over. My inhale is sharp, the breath that follows shallow, and my heart pounds furiously in my chest.

The moment my legs gain strength again, I’m charging toward the ladder and taking the rungs two at a time before flying to the bathroom and reaching into the medicine cabinet for my pills. Once they’re securely in my hands, I squeeze the bottle in my palm and stare back at myself in the mirror.

Do I really want to do this? Do I really want to toss away over two weeks of progress only to stifle every emotion, every sense I’ve regained since being back? Is it worth it?

No.

I toss the bottle into the sink with a growl and throw on my night clothes. My sheets are cool as I slip between them, my comforter soft and fluffy as I lay it over me. And as another bolt of lightning strikes the air, I curl my pillow up and over my ears, pressing them into the sides of my head, hoping it’s enough to drown out the world, just for a little while. Just until I fall asleep.

 

 

Hope is a flickering shadow against the prison walls of my mind, revealing its presence with each burst of light. Heat waves roll in, and like yesterday and all the days before, air washes my skin with a humidity that leaves me clammy, hot.

Footsteps approach, a medley of rocks and sticks, much heavier than my own. The sound crescendos at a steady pace. They’re heading toward me, and that’s how I know this day is different from the rest. This time, someone is coming for me.

“It’s time,” the deep voice booms. His words echo and fade through the space, each soundwave reverberating against me. What is this cruel, dark hell I’ve somehow entered? Am I being punished for my sins?

Is this how my story begins? Or ends?

Somehow, over an indiscernible amount of time, the darkness has become my home. I remember nothing else. Not how long I’ve been here or how my body would feel free from the shackles that pin me in place. Not what put me here in the first place. But instinct ignites my remaining senses, telling me something is very wrong.

To have truth, one must find courage to seek light in the darkness. The words cycle through my mind as if someone is trying to tell me something. But who? And what? And why? Who dimmed the lights? And what good is truth if my journey has found its end?

Always carry your own light, Aurora. Never forget. More calming words as the footsteps fall silent. My skin prickles as the man stands before me. He smells of musk and impatience. Of power and fear. My eyes search for him in the darkness until I find the white of his eyes, wide and firmly set on me.

Waiting. Expecting…

 

The sight of another man touching Aurora was a kick to my groin. Having that man be Scott was a blow to my gut. And it wasn’t just the way he touched her. It was that he looked at her the way I look at her—eyes brimming with intensity and love. I knew before either of them said a word that there was something more than friendship between them. Something deeper.

Just when I’ve started to feel like she's mine again, I’m forced to remember how many years we spent apart. How much I still don’t know about her life in all that time. And it drives me mad.

In that café, I felt the thin shell of our newly formed cocoon strip away, piece by piece, as it all came to light. As I realized who she was standing with and what they were to each other.

Scott. The best friend from Durham. The boy who would call and text her throughout the summers, sometimes for no reason at all. I knew then that he loved her, but she wouldn’t listen. She called me jealous, and I couldn’t disagree. I was jealous. Jealous and possessive and scared that at any moment our time together would be up.

But competing with the best friend from back home wasn’t my only obstacle.

The odds had always been stacked against us, whether it was age or distance or our parents. But we got through it. We pushed and fought and found our way back to each other. And we were so close to forever. Close to her finishing high school. Close to leaving Balsam Grove together. Close to her getting her degree and us finding a place to live. Close to us traveling the world.

Our dreams were sandcastles in the sky. Detailed, inspired, and larger than life. They were also fragile, and one gust of wind or one wave was all it would take to destroy everything we’d built up in our minds.

I think of that day in the courtroom six years ago. Scott burst through the doors, and it felt like he came along and stomped all over our creation.

And then Aurora followed his lead when she walked out that door behind him.

So yeah, I’m pissed to fucking hell that he showed up in my café to talk to her, to look at her, to touch her. Aurora is no man’s possession, but I know without a doubt in my mind and heart that she’s mine to love for the rest of my life. And I’m hers. We just need to find our way back to each other again.

Regrets, one by one, stack the deck in my mind, each one bringing the pile closer to spilling. I should have never left her tonight. The one thing Aurora and I were awful at when we were younger was hashing out our arguments together. One of us always walked away, and we both suffered for it.

Tonight, I should have looked past my blind rage to see those desperate eyes and listen to that heartfelt plea. She was trying to tell me everything I needed to hear, but I was too stubborn to listen. I was too stuck in the past.

I’m still lost in my thoughts as I turn out the lights for the night. The clock on the living room wall reads almost one in the morning. My head is foggy with exhaustion, my eyes are blurred and heavy, and my body moans its need for sleep. Yawning, I search the spot in the coolest, darkest corner of the room where Lacey always sleeps. She’s not there.

Shit. Confusion breaks through the fog of exhaustion, and I walk to the hall to look for her. The door to the canvas room is still open from when I showed Aurora her old paintings the other day, so I search for Lacey there. Nothing. Just a room filled with colorful memories, mostly good, and that only adds another card to the pile.

Lightning crashes outside, and an internal groan rocks my chest. Of course there would be a storm tonight of all nights. Which means…

Lacey ran off.

Shit.

I turn away from the window, ready to make a mad dash for Aurora’s house, when a flash of white outside catches my eye. At first I’m sure I’ll find Lacey in mid-trot as she races off toward her old home, but then I realize the shape is taller, the figure softer. And my heart begins to crash against my chest.

It’s Aurora, dressed in nothing but a white tank top and shorts, the thin cotton fabric plastered to her skin like papier-mâché. She’s holding something flat and square, and I know instantly it’s the canvas I gifted her. Panic kicks in my chest as I fear the worst. Maybe she’s here to return it in a gesture that means far more than “no thanks.” Maybe it’s goodbye.

She walks at her normal pace, but something is wrong with her movements. I can’t exactly place it right away, not until my eyes adjust.

And then I see it. Her face is expressionless, her arms hang limply by her sides, and her eyes look dark, empty. Like she’s sleepwalking up the hill. She slows as she reaches the top of the cliff and stops completely to look up right where I’m standing. But I don’t think she can see me. It’s like she’s in some kind of trance.

My past flashes before me. The night our lives went up in smoke. Our very last fight before the darkness stole our future.

Aurora came to me that night with the storm on her back and thunder rumbling around her. She had just learned I’d turned down the offer I’d received to travel the world. She stormed onto my parents’ property like she was the storm herself, and I spotted her through the window of my old bedroom. Then I met her at the front door, and we fought with a vengeance.

Accusations were thrown, tears were shed, throats were hoarse, and hearts were battered and bruised. The funny thing was, every word we shouted was a desperate acknowledgment of our love for each other. She was fighting for my future, and I was fighting for hers. I didn’t want to leave her in Balsam Grove, alone with her father. She feared that she was holding me back, and I tried to assure her I could never feel that way. I could paint anywhere. I could travel the world another time, with her right beside me where she belonged. Me turning down that offer wasn’t going to make or break my career. I knew that, but I also knew why she fought so desperately for my future. Our future.

Whenever I look back on that day, I remember something feeling off. Not just because of the argument but because of the effort she put into pushing me away. Like there was something else going on, something just below the surface that I could only see hints of—the fear in her eyes, the hesitation before each new breath—something she didn’t want me to know.

And then she left. She turned on her heels, her face red and tears spilling down her cheeks. And I let her walk away. Back into the storm. Back toward her cottage where she lived with her father. I was mad, upset that she would start a fight when all I was trying to do was protect our future. It was a misunderstanding that we could have worked through, and I had no doubt that we would. We just needed space and time to breathe.

That’s where I got it wrong. Where I failed us both—especially Aurora.

Because that was the night she went missing.

It all hits me like I’m pushing replay, and I can’t see straight. The next thing I know I’m slamming open the front door and leaping from the porch to the ground without bothering to use the stairs there. My heart pounds as I close the distance between us, because this is all too familiar, and I can’t explain it, but I’m afraid our time is running out yet again.

She looks so tiny standing there on the cliff, her chin and eyes pointed up at my old bedroom— the room filled with memories of her. But her features are still a dark void, a total eclipse. Her hair is matted around her face. Now that I’m getting closer, I see that her night clothes are not only sopping wet but also torn like she snagged her tank top on a branch. I don’t know what is going on with her; I just know I need to get her inside.

When I finally reach her side, I wrap my arms around her gently, just as her eyes seem to come to life. They land on me, and there’s a flicker of recognition somewhere deep within them. “Jax.” It’s just a whisper, but it’s enough to crash like symbols against my heart. I pull her feet off the ground and her body close to my chest, cradling her. I make sure I get a good grip on the canvas, too, which she’s still clenching tightly in her small hands.

“I’ve got you, babe.”

Just as quickly as the words leave my mouth, her eyes fall closed and Lacey trots up behind me, confirming my suspicion that she had run off towards Aurora’s cabin. I kick the door shut behind me and head straight down the hall to my bedroom.

I lay her on the bed and begin to remove her wet clothes, starting with her sandals, then her shorts and underwear. When I move her arms to peel off her shirt, she squirms a bit. Her eyes pinch closed as she whispers something too soft for me to hear. I stop for a second and focus on her breathing, on the crease between her brows, on the shallow breaths that come out much too fast.

“It’s so dark.” Her words are quiet, but I can make them out now, enough to detect fear riding her breath. “Who are you?” Her breathing quickens, and she stirs. A moan tears through her throat as her mouth twists like she’s in agony, and I can’t take it anymore. I lean over her body, her wet shirt pressed into my damp one, and I place my lips to her ear. “It’s just me, Waterfall Eyes. You’re safe. You can go to sleep now, baby girl.”

A sharp inhale comes next, followed by a peaceful sigh, and I know her nightmare is finally dissolving. At least, I hope it was just a nightmare. My chest rattles with an unsettled thought, one that I know will keep me up deep into the night as I watch over Aurora to make sure she stays in a restful sleep.

I can’t get over the fear that her dream wasn’t just a dream at all. Maybe it was a memory.