Page 87 of No Control

Maybe I’m a coward for doing this.

But after disappearing the way I did, my death will give Lydia the closure she needs if she can’t sleep at night, scared I might come back to haunt her. I make my way through the set of French doors, stepping out onto the balcony.

I breathe in the cool night air.

And the moment feels right. She broke me. And nothing else brings me the high that she did. I let her go physically, but internally, I can’t. It's impossible.

I meant it when I said I can’t live without her.

I lean over the metal rail, staring down at the cement, dotted with solar lights. It’s gonna hurt like hell. I let out a long exhale.

I’ll find Lydia in the next life. I’ll make it right. I’ll ask her on a date, or maybe I’ll be where she is, and ask her to dance. I’ll wrap her in my arms. I won’t have to hurt her. I’ll love her. I’ll always love her.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I almost don’t look at the screen.

But it’s from Cher.

It’s a link. I sigh at the bad timing but click on it. My browser downloads an eBook file. I raise a brow. She knows better than to send me this shit.

But then I see the author.

She would.

I read the title, Don’t Let Go. And as much as I want to read into it, I know how these fucking pieces of literature work. You write what you’ve experienced in a way that romanticizes the depravity of the real thing. But I continue on, reaching the dedication page.

To the one who revealed to me love isn't always black and white.

“Poetic,” I grunt, casting my eyes back toward the railing.

My phone buzzes with a second text from Cher.

Just read the last chapter.

Does it end with me throwing myself off a balcony?

thirty-seven

Lydia

I’ve done nothing but pace the floors of my living room since I released the book over a week ago. Ten freaking days.

And that should be enough time.

Deep down, I know he’s already seen it. I know for sure Cher has, right? She follows my work. But maybe she stopped. How long do I wait before I write it all off? I mean, the first night, I left my freaking door unlocked. I just knew he would come back.

But he didn’t.

And here I am.

“Going crazy,” I tell Duke as I run my fingers through my freshly dyed hair. I lightened the blonde, hoping it would make me feel better.

It didn’t.

It only serves to emphasize the circles beneath my eyes. I tug at my sweater and blow out a sigh, glancing up at the clock. It’s nearly midnight. It’s time to call it for the evening. I may not sleep, but I have to try.

It's time to start moving forward, and while that's not happening right now, it will eventually, right? Time heals everything.

And sleep serves to numb it.