Page 81 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
It’s all the same.
I finally turn to him. “What is it?” Look into his eyes. “What are you feeling?”
Azaire glances down, pulling the beanie over his forehead. “You shouldn’t have to…”
“What?”
“When I saw you I…” He runs his hand over his face once more. “I thought you were dead—and I knew I killed you.” There is something more that he is not saying. It sits beneath his words.
“You didn’t,” I try to say gleefully, but my voice is a traitor.
Azaire shakes his head. “I don’t know why.”
“I’m glad I’m not dead.” I step closer.
“You don’t know how much it means to me that you’re not.”
“Have you…” I trail off, trying to tame my words. “You’ve killed someone before?”
He looks at me, and I don’t need an answer to know his. There’s pain in his eyes, tension in his gaze.
His overwhelming guilt becomes me.
“As have I,” I say quickly, meaning for him to know that he isn’t alone. “Power and adolescence don’t exactly go together.”
Subtly, he nods. “Yeah.”
I’m pulling at the fingers of my glove, trying to bring myself to say it. The reason I came here, the reason I fought so dearly with myself.
I want him to have it.
“Um…” My fingers close tighter around the amulet. “I wanted to give you something.” My voice sounds shaky, unsure.
“Are you sure?”the boy asks.
I ignore him.
“Okay.” Azaire smiles a little, fangs poking against his bottom lip. Dark eyebrows falling over his face, chiseled from marble.
I understand now why that is. As if his appearance has taken on his power.
I’ve heard fleetingly of what those snakes beneath his beanie do—they turn people to stone. There is no reason for me to be standing here, alive, right now.
And yet, I am.
As if the universe knew I had to give this boy the rose.
I release my grip, holding my palm open. The rose amulet made an indentation in my glove, I’d clutched it so tightly.
“It will protect you,” I say before I’ve even told him what it is. I’m terrible at communicating. Azaire has shown me that more than anyone.
Because he’s the only one I’ve tried to talk to.
“Um… Just wear it. Always.” I pick up his hand and place the rose in it. “Okay?”
“Okay.” His smile is small. I think he’s a little amused. Emotions are such a pointless commotion.
I stutter as I speak, “I-I’m gonna go.”
