Genevieve’s voices on the other side of the door, her comforting him, telling him that she would be fine. He must have heard the doubt in her voice because right then I heard him say, “Apart or together, I am always going to be right here, Love.”
As I listened to those words through the closed door, I felt a burning flame in my chest.
I opened the door, fearing I would never see his image again. I saw him with his hand on my image’s chest. “I’ve got you, Love. I’m never going to let you go,” he whispered as he pulled her lips to his.
I held my breath and closed my eyes, grieving for this moment. When I opened them again, I saw him holding my image in a passionate embrace, the pearl bracelet on her wrist as she wove her fingers through his dark auburn hair.
The grief was too much. I knew—I just knew I could not stay here and watch the next scene, the one where he would walk away from me.
All at once, the memory before me vanished and I heard a deep howl of wind coming from the direction of the dome room. Everything started to vibrate, then purple flames encased the walls.
This was too real.
I ran from that wing. I ran as fast as I could, wanting to forget everything I had heard and seen that day. The second I was off that wing, silence reigned. With my chest heaving, I turned to look over my shoulder, not seeing anything beyond a wing that no longer had life within it, past or future.
A heavy weight consumed me. I felt dreadfully alone for no reason at all. It was worse than the way I felt when I lost my family, and that says a lot. It also says that I only felt this bad because I was holding on to the past instead of living the life I was in. I needed to change that. I really did. I had to learn to dare to feel the way those memories told me I was capable of feeling. I had to figure out how to help others get past my icy shield.
I found myself racing toward Gran’s room. That was the name I’d always called my grandmother, simply because when I was little the formal word was too hard. It stuck, and now all seventy-seven of us call her that.
Since her stroke, she had been bedridden. Speech and feeding herself were acts she could no longer accomplish on her own. Of course, no expense was spared when it came to healthcare and doctors. I knew she was miserable—locked in a prison that she desperately wanted to escape. Lately, she had been slipping away, sleeping longer than usual, not eating nearly enough. Rasure had me blocked from the room for the last three days. My brother Ben came over yesterday and forced her legally to let me see Gran. By the time he told me the good news, it was late at night and I knew she was asleep.
I knew just seeing her would calm me down. A little voice in my mind told me to tell her what I’d always seen in the North Wing, how I was sure it was over. I knew she would not be able to respond, but I just needed someone to listen to me right now.
I thought it was odd that the medical desk full of all her needs was missing from outside her room. Even odder that the around-the-clock nurses were nowhere to be seen.
I knocked gently on the door before opening it. I gasped. Her bed was made, and she wasn’t in it.
Rage coursed through me. My hand that was on the door instantly froze it, then the ice spread across the walls. What the hell had she done with her? Just as I was about to storm out of the room, I heard, “Genevieve, sweetheart, come in.”
I pushed the door open wider and reached for the light to turn it on. Gran was in the center of her massive room, dressed, standing, looking years, if not decades younger.
“What—wh—you’re better,” I said with a broken gasp as the room froze even more. I was terrified she would slip on the ice and hurt herself.
I wasn’t used to being this out of control, having my curse this visible. What was even more terrifying was that Gran didn’t seem the least bit surprised by how out of control I’d become.
She smiled
As I listened to those words through the closed door, I felt a burning flame in my chest.
I opened the door, fearing I would never see his image again. I saw him with his hand on my image’s chest. “I’ve got you, Love. I’m never going to let you go,” he whispered as he pulled her lips to his.
I held my breath and closed my eyes, grieving for this moment. When I opened them again, I saw him holding my image in a passionate embrace, the pearl bracelet on her wrist as she wove her fingers through his dark auburn hair.
The grief was too much. I knew—I just knew I could not stay here and watch the next scene, the one where he would walk away from me.
All at once, the memory before me vanished and I heard a deep howl of wind coming from the direction of the dome room. Everything started to vibrate, then purple flames encased the walls.
This was too real.
I ran from that wing. I ran as fast as I could, wanting to forget everything I had heard and seen that day. The second I was off that wing, silence reigned. With my chest heaving, I turned to look over my shoulder, not seeing anything beyond a wing that no longer had life within it, past or future.
A heavy weight consumed me. I felt dreadfully alone for no reason at all. It was worse than the way I felt when I lost my family, and that says a lot. It also says that I only felt this bad because I was holding on to the past instead of living the life I was in. I needed to change that. I really did. I had to learn to dare to feel the way those memories told me I was capable of feeling. I had to figure out how to help others get past my icy shield.
I found myself racing toward Gran’s room. That was the name I’d always called my grandmother, simply because when I was little the formal word was too hard. It stuck, and now all seventy-seven of us call her that.
Since her stroke, she had been bedridden. Speech and feeding herself were acts she could no longer accomplish on her own. Of course, no expense was spared when it came to healthcare and doctors. I knew she was miserable—locked in a prison that she desperately wanted to escape. Lately, she had been slipping away, sleeping longer than usual, not eating nearly enough. Rasure had me blocked from the room for the last three days. My brother Ben came over yesterday and forced her legally to let me see Gran. By the time he told me the good news, it was late at night and I knew she was asleep.
I knew just seeing her would calm me down. A little voice in my mind told me to tell her what I’d always seen in the North Wing, how I was sure it was over. I knew she would not be able to respond, but I just needed someone to listen to me right now.
I thought it was odd that the medical desk full of all her needs was missing from outside her room. Even odder that the around-the-clock nurses were nowhere to be seen.
I knocked gently on the door before opening it. I gasped. Her bed was made, and she wasn’t in it.
Rage coursed through me. My hand that was on the door instantly froze it, then the ice spread across the walls. What the hell had she done with her? Just as I was about to storm out of the room, I heard, “Genevieve, sweetheart, come in.”
I pushed the door open wider and reached for the light to turn it on. Gran was in the center of her massive room, dressed, standing, looking years, if not decades younger.
“What—wh—you’re better,” I said with a broken gasp as the room froze even more. I was terrified she would slip on the ice and hurt herself.
I wasn’t used to being this out of control, having my curse this visible. What was even more terrifying was that Gran didn’t seem the least bit surprised by how out of control I’d become.
She smiled
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