Page 147 of Read Me (Forget the Past 2)

Bet it was Westside Public, with their gorgeous view and spacious seating area.

Bastards.

Okay, they’re not really bastards. I like Westside Public. It’s just…I don’t want him using any library but mine.

He’d come back here if you forgave him,a sneaky goblin voice whispers from the back of my brain.

I want to smother it with my rage as tears prick at my eyes.

It would be so easy. To show up at Cole’s house, tell him I forgive him for lying, and then fall into his arms. The actions would come so naturally, I doubt I’d have to think much to do them.

The issue is the emotions lurking underneath the surface.

It wouldn’t take much effort to say I forgive him. The words constantly push at my lips. But speaking something doesn’t make it true.

So, in the end, I wouldn’t. I can see myself emerging from the delicious haze of our reunion, the happiness of our being together again wearing away as I spent days, weeks, months with him, waiting for the next lie. He wasn’t even remorseful when it came to the deception. Which assures me that he’d do it again just to get his way.

Cole can be kind and caring, but he’s closed off. Unwilling to reveal the darker parts of himself to me.

And maybe that’s partly my fault. I was judgmental. But that doesn’t mean what he did was okay.

Debating with myself once again, I spend a good five minutes shoving a new box of pencils into my electric sharpener. The loud grinding and resulting sharp points is soothing in a way. But when the box runs out, so do my excuses. I twirl one of the pencils in my fingers as I stare at the screen. Only when I tuck the writing implement behind my ear do I reach for my mouse.

I circle the link a couple of times, trying to talk myself out of this. But the temptation is too great. The chapter is public now, and it will taunt me until I read it.

With a soft click, I open the next installment ofThe Seven Siblings.

The different layout catches my eye. Normally there’s the chapter title, then we go straight into the prose. But this week, there’s a message at the top of the page. And before I even read it, I lock onto a specific word.

Summer.

Blood thunders in my ears, my fingers grab a book off the corner of my desk, clutching it to my chest. Then, like I have something shameful to hide, I stare behind myself with wild eyes. It’s as if seeing my name on this site has revealed to Cole that I’m reading his work.

He doesn’t know,I reassure myself. My continued obsession hasn’t been outed.

After a few calming breaths, I loosen my death grip on the random book, letting it slide from my fingers into my lap. Then I scoot back up to my desk, leaning toward my computer, and brace myself to read all the words that surround my name.

Most people think that spring is a good time for forgiveness. Everything in the world is new and growing, and the pain of winter can be forgotten. Can be forgiven.

But spring has always felt too fragile to me for taking such an important step. In spring, heavy rains can come and wash away hopeful growth. One day is warm, the next is cold, the fluctuation confusing and disheartening. The nights, still long, can leave frost come morning.

I’ve never truly trusted spring.

Forgiveness requires steadiness. Reliability. It needs to burn through you until there’s no doubt the past sin, the chill of winter, is gone for good.

That’s why I ask for forgiveness in the Summer.

Shaking fingers press to my lips.

Probably every other reader of this story will think the author just decided to share a small piece of poetry. But I know what this is.

It’s for me.

Whatever is in this chapter, it’s for me.

For the past few months, Cole’s characters inThe Seven Siblingshave been living out a fascinating interpretation of theBeauty and the Beastfairytale. Last week, we were left on a cliffhanger, as the handsome peasant discovered the truth of his beastly lover’s curse.

A discovery of a dark secret. Of a lie. The parallel does not escape me.

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