Page 110 of Torn

Then they glance sideways at one another. In that look, he gleans what they might have shared, if things had been different. If history had forked in an alternate direction.

He senses Love acknowledging it as well.

Quarreling that eventually yields to bonding.

Bonding that eventually matures to coupling.

Their mouths antagonizing, even as they kiss. A squeeze of his hand, a swat of hers. His face burrowed in her hair, trying to staunch his temper whenever she’s being obstinate. Her face lifting with mischief whenever he’s being ornery. An everlasting tug of war that ends with one, or both, of them crashing to earth.

They would have bickered more than laughed. They would have been fine with that.

Until it got toxic. Until they’d overdosed on everything they couldn’t give each other, didn’t know how to.

But for a while, it would have been the romance of Love and Anger. And so they let the vision pass through them. It’s a little uncomfortable, a little nostalgic.

There and gone. Then and now.

When it’s over, there’s a reconciled truce, a closure. A friendliness that’s overdue and reflected in Love’s face, which Anger returns. Because they would have ended up here, cycling back to the ones who matter the most.

The ones who have stolen their hearts.

The ones who would have done so anyway.

“You did good,” Love quips, nodding toward Merry’s profile.

“So did you,” Anger replies, inching his head toward Andrew.

“Talking about us behind our backs?” Andrew jokes from his spot on the hill. “No fucking fair.”

“Is he always this snarky?” Anger asks, irked.

“Absolutely,” Love says, pleased. “Does that aggravate you?”

Without waiting for an answer, she skips toward Andrew, who flirts, “Get over here.”

Love hops into his arms and kisses him.

It’s ironic that she, of all people, used to be ignorant of anyone desiring her. But hers is the most complicated of emotions for a reason. As the first—a guinea pig in the Court’s mind—she’d been trained to identify affection between others, to dish it out for others.

By contrast, she’d never been taught how to understand it inside of her. She’d been so focused on everyone else that she hadn’t recognized her own heart, much less when she’d won someone’s love, because she’d never previously experienced it for herself.

Not until Andrew.

And finally, sincerely, Anger is gladdened for her.

Love dashes off, beckoning Andrew to chase her around the telescopes, the pair hopping and hobbling like playful creatures. Like they’ve done this many times before.

Then there’s Merry, standing under the hill’s central oak tree, staring at Anger. A bright star, a greater wish than he’d started with. He strides over to her, taking her face in his palms while she encases his hands, their gloves sliding together.

It’s the only worth he seeks. It’s the only strength.

The seven rebels scatter down the hill, hooting and shouting, uniting and defying. Their constellation sprinkles across the carnival, spreading out onto different paths, racing toward the rides. Love and Andrew, hand in hand. Envy and Sorrow and Wonder, baiting each other mirthfully.

The Carnival of Stars welcomes them, siphoned with astral light.

Anger and Merry trade conspiratorial glances. Without a word, they sprint toward the only location that make sense. The place where they began.

Launching onto the carousel, Merry claims the Sagittarius. Anger, the Capricorn.

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