Page 147 of Go Luck Yourself
I’d started to get some of that back. With him.Because ofhim, and it aches like a wound now, but I can’t lie around here and go backwards anymore.
What about the journey I’m onright now? What aboutthismoment, the one I’m in? What can I do in this moment to help me feel content, whole, safe, fulfilled?
It wasn’t just because of him. Itcan’thave been just because of him.
I need to do this forme.I need that selfishness still. For a bit longer.
Once my laptop kicks to life, I drop down at my desk, pull up a blank document, and start writing.
It’s mostly nonsense—at first. The same meandering thoughts I spilled out in Loch’s library. Some of it coalesces into stuff aboutBridge to Terabithia,decadent bullshit that rewrites what would have happened if that book hadnotended so sadly. I dig out my old copy and reread it, and that sets me off on a frenzy of tearing through books I used to love but haven’t indulged in for years.
When I’m not buried under stacks of books, I’m bent over my laptop, hands flying across the keyboard, chasing thoughts and seeing what congeals and letting myselfexpand.
I remember what Iris said a while ago, about what picture I’d send next in my text-photo-dump series. So I send her a shot of my laptop open to a document, and I look at it next to the one of the broken bottle on Loch’s kitchen floor, and then the first one, of Loch himself.
The progression—Loch, broken bottle, writing—has me shutting off my phone before Iris can draw her own artistic conclusions.
Coal doesn’t try to drag me to any more meetings, seeming to sense that I need time to do… whatever I’m doing. I imagine myself both a bird and an egg, building this nest of creativity around my unformed and delicate soul, nurturing it with stories I still love. I barely leave my room, but even in that solitude, I’m taking up more space than I’ve ever allowed myself.
I move and the air bruises.
Later—I’m losing track of days, but astoryis forming, one I’m falling into with giddy abandon and I don’t think I’d eat if Coal didn’t bring trays of food, don’t think I’d sleep if he didn’t physically peel me away from my desk—the door groans open and I hear it enough to react.
“Let me finish getting this thought out,” I mumble.
“That should be your next tattoo,” Coal says. “Right across your middle finger, so you can flip me off and tell me to shut up efficiently.”
I do flip him off, but I glance up.
My brother is in a suit. Dark wine red and cut to his lean frame, every inch of him styled.
Iris is with him, which shocks me enough that I spin around in my desk chair, but she’s in a simple dress, not nearly as fancy as he is.
His style makes my mind race to the date, to events, to—
“The treaty signing? Give me ten minutes to—”
I’m halfway out of my chair when Coal shakes his head.
“It isn’t the treaty signing. That’s tomorrow. This is the opening reception welcome bullshit. And you’re not going. I wanted to—”
“I’m… not going?” I push back the hood of my sweatshirt, a headache throbbing in my temples at the transition from writing to playing catch-up. “Why? I should. I can—”
“Kris.” Coal cocks his head. “Don’t worry about it. Today’s event is a formality anyway. Iris came to hang with you.”
Hang with me? Why would she need to—
Oh.
It’s Loch’s coronation today too.
I sink down into my chair. The cursor on my laptop flashes at me, and sensation creeps in now that I’ve broken out of my delirium.
My body aches from being bowed over for so long. My eyes are scratchy and dry. A million different emotions try to take center stage; all this writing has lifted a curtain and, for once, my self-loathing isn’t the first to dive in.
“I’m glad you’re here, actually, Iris,” I say to my computer. “I’m working on that book. The one I sent you a photo of. The one I want you to draw pictures for.”
She pads towards me and I feel her over my shoulder. “Can I read some of it yet?” Her tone is bright, encouraging. “You didn’t even tell me what it’s about.”
