Page 63 of Stutter

I stare up at the spirals, the massive arches and windows of the grey stone university built in 1827. Every time I see its structure in its entirety I remember how tiny and insignificant we all truly are. The vigil is being held today in one of the gardens because, unlike his very outgoing twin, only a few will truly mourn Riordan.

Unlike his loud, obnoxious twin, Riordan was the lesser of two evils, like a snowstorm- quiet but mighty.

He and I were the same in that regard.

So that’s what I’m doing now.

Pondering existence in itself.

I read once there are tribes that burn their chiefs in a funeral pyre, dig out the bones that remain, and make a type of broth and the natives drink the broth so in a way they live on in their tribes.

Never forgotten.

The few that show up for Riordan today are the ones that were most impacted by him.

That’s why I’m so conflicted.

I didn’t want to hurt Riordan. I understood his hatred toward me. I took away the only person that ever probably gave a damn about him in his world. His protector. His best friend. The other piece of his soul.

But what aboutmysoul? My mind? My heart?

I live in pain daily. My leg, my headaches, night terrors, hallucinations. I lived in a goddamn mental institution for awhole three and a half years before I was deemed “fit” to visit family. They did this to me, and they werefree. They went about with their lives. It was only fair.

Right?

Villainous thoughts form in my mind, and I hate the way they make me feel inside.

Maverick had a point. Riordan would have hurt me if given the proper chance.

And so I stare at the spot where he landed, the crimson scrubbed clean, new snow fallen over where he was splayed out like a puppet. If he didn’t die by hanging, the fall certainly killed him.

“Amourette,” Damon says my name sternly. Authoritative like when we were at Lorne Wood and I cringe inwardly and outwardly. “Do you need to talk about this?” He lifts a hand, and I know he wants to touch me, but he can’t. Not here. Not in public. Another reason Iloathethis place.

I give him one solemn nod.

I haven’t been very forthcoming about my thoughts because the last time I told him how and what I felt, he told me I was manifesting my guilt into a shadow and then my house wasburnedto the ground. I hold a modicum of resentment towards him for that, and he knows.

Except I haven’t the time for guilt.

Only plotting.

I look up to search his eyes and he looks almost relieved that I agreed to a therapy session. I haven’t been back to see Ada since before the storm. I’ve been reading my poems out loud, (thankfully no more Dr. Seuss) to anyone who’s home for thirty minutes a night now.

It’s finals week, the last of them Wednesday. The Athletic Holiday Banquet is Thursday and then we’re off for three weeks. Three glorious weeks of me being home with my three, insatiable men.

I can’t wait.

I spot Jonas coming around the corner from one of the athletic buildings, bundled up, handsome and mine. I love thathe’s wearing the black, fur-lined ski cap with the removeable mouth and nose covering I got for him that matches my purple one. I can tell when he sees me because his forest eyes immediately crinkle at the sides and I know there’s a huge grin behind the mask just for me. He comes to my side and pulls down his mask, full smile on show.

“There’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”

I will never cease to blush at his compliments. I pull down my matching purple covering and kiss him, and he shoves his arms around me. “I missed you, too, baby girl. Need coffee?”

“She most certainly doesnotneed any more coffee.”

I pout.

Jonas pouts. “She can do with one more cup, it’s finals week. We’ve been studying nonstop. My brain is frazzled. Her brain is frazzled. A caramel macchiato made with oat milk is a nice little treat for studying so much.”

---