Page 111 of The Same Backward as Forward
But what does any of that matter now? Before Hannah, I was an addict chasing oblivion, raging at secrets I felt I had no choice but to keep. I was a coward whoran—and ran and ran all the way to Hawthorne Island, where my friends from obscenely expensive rehab and I soaked a mansion in kerosene, howling all the while.
“It wasn’t my idea,” I tell Hannah, lying beside her on the floor of the shack, “but I agreed.” I’m not sure I could have borne telling her any of this in the lighthouse. “Because I’mpoison. No matter who gave birth to me or what blood runs in my veins, I’m a Hawthorne, everything my father raised me to be.”
Rules are for other people—not Hawthornes. I think for what feels like the thousandth time of the stone room and the maze from my dreams. I think about solving it and stepping out into a garden. My subconscious took some liberties, but the gist of the dreams was true. There really was a room. There really was a maze. And it was only after I fought my way out that they sent me away—to the kind ofrehabthat only the ultra-wealthy can afford.
That was where I met the Wolves. All of us came from the kind of families that could buy our way out of trouble, and I ampoisonousbecause a very big part of me right now wants to let my billionaire father do exactly that. I cannot block out the voice in my mind that keeps whispering that if only I let the great Tobias Hawthorne make all of this go away, I can still have a normal life. I can still be with Hannah.
My father can bury this—all of it—as effectively as he buried William Blake. The best and most precious things in lifecanlast, if you have enough power and money to make it so.
No.I can’t let myself think that way, even for a moment. Kaylie deserves more than that—so much more. The others, too.They’re dead, but I’m here, and Hannah may have forgiven me for her sister’s death, but I never will.
I cannot make hercomplicit. “I won’t poison you, too, Hannah. You deserve—”
“You.”She doesn’t let me finish. “I deserveyou.”
She deserves the world and the whole damn sky. She deserves so much better than a man with blood on his hands can ever give her.
“I deserve to be happy.” Hannah’s voice shakes. “And you make me happy, you impossible, arrogant, self-destructive, infuriating, brilliant,wonderfulson of a bitch.”
I give in to the urge to touch her, lifting my hand to the side of her face.
I listen as she tells me that her sister would want her to be happy. She tells me about a dream she had, where Kaylie came to her, a dream in which Kaylie made her promise to live with no regrets.
No regrets.Suddenly, one final memory falls into place in my mind—the first time I saw Hannah. Her sister was dancing on a pool table, leather-clad and on top of the world, and then she smiled and called out,Dance with me, you beautiful bitch.
I remember Hannah dryly replying that she would have to take a rain check. I rememberneedingto look at the owner of that dry, understated voice. I remember the scrubs she was wearing, and the way they hid the lines of her body. I remember that her expression was guarded.
But there was something about her eyes.
I want to tell Hannah how damn sorry I am that her vibrant, fearless, fun-loving sister is gone, but Hannah doesn’t want me to be sorry.
She wants the fairy tale.
She wants to believe that curses can be broken, and that broken,shatteredboys can be redeemed. She wants me to be the hero of this story, and I cannot bear to tell her that I am, as I was from the beginning, the villain.
Chapter 37
Hannah is sleeping, and my body wants to do nothing more than remain curved protectively around hers, but I know that if I linger much longer, I will not be able to leave—not now, not ever.
And I have to go. I have to go the way that dead skin has to go when you debride a burn. But even justlookingat her, I remember:Every part of you. Every part of me.
Even thinking about leaving her is agony, but Ihave to. She deserves so much more than a life with the person who killed her sister. I am darkness. Hannah is light. I have known that from the beginning, and as much as I want to pretend it away—
As much as I want the fairy tale—
I have to go, because I am rot. I have to go, because if I stay, I’ll let her save me. I will let her be my anchor and my distraction and the center of my darkened universe all at once—
And I can’t do that. I have to live with what I’ve done. I don’t deserve to pretend any of it away. I force myself to stand.
Every part of you, I think—but there is nothing left of me.
I write her a letter, but it doesn’t say half the things I want to say to her. It would be cruel to tell her that for the rest of my life, I will love her with every breath, with every thought, with everyounce of sorrow in my heart. I leave her with no palindromes, no poetry, no grand gestures, but I do tell her that I will keep my vow.
I will do myself no harm. I do notgetto die.
I fold the letter and leave it for her.Good-bye, Hannah the Same Backward as Forward. H-A-N-N-A-H. General Hannah. Hannah, O Hannah. My Hannah, through and through.
A dry and silent sob racks my body, but only one. I allow myself no more. She could wake up at any moment. I slip out of the shack and step down onto the rocks. I can do this. I have to. One step more. Then another.
