Page 142 of When She Falls (The Fallen)
My disappointment about not being able to talk to Vale seems insignificant compared to the utter tragedy I’ve made of Ras’s life.
“You can’t possibly be okay with this.”
“As long as I’m with you, I’m okay.” He gives me a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t fool me.
There’s a part of him that hurts.
He chases away the darkness by pulling me in for a kiss. My body molds to his with ease, like I was made for him.
When we’re touching each other, all the problems around us disappear. They don’t belong here between us. Not in this fantasy we’ve created.
But when we break apart, they slowly creep back in.
* * *
I wake up the next morning beside a sleeping Ras with a sense of panic lodged deep inside my gut.
Ras brought me here against Damiano’s orders.
The sheets are wet with my sweat. I push them off and slip out of the bedroom to get some water.
It’s early—dawn. The rising sun makes the sea look like liquid glass. I stand by the window as I drink my water and try to empty my head by focusing on the mesmerizing view.
Everything will be all right.
The mantra has no impact.
I’m not like Papà.
I don’t believe the lies I tell myself.
It might take some time, but given everything I know about Ras, eventually he’ll miss his friend. They have decades of history between them.
And what happens then?
He’ll grow resentful.
It’ll start slow, like the fuzzy white mold that appears on the surface of a peach. It’s so subtle, you’re not sure it’s really there. But with time, the skin will soften and dull. The decay will spread, and the fruit will deteriorate until it’s unrecognizable.
Until it’s rotten to the core.
And then it’ll be too late to fix anything.
It’s day five since we left New York, and I have no idea what happened after I left. I want to talk to Cleo. She’d fill me in on everything, and maybe I’d be able to find a way out of this mess.
If I go home, Damiano might take Ras back. I can tell him that I begged Ras to do what he did, and that it’s not his fault. All the blame could fall on me.
I know where Ras keeps the burners, but I’d have to get Cleo’s number from my phone first because of course I don’t know it off the top of my head. My phone hasn’t been on since Ras turned it off back in New York. It’s probably dead. I’d need to find a way to charge it.
What if the second I turn the phone on, Papà will be able to track me? I don’t know how that stuff works, but maybe if I do it quickly, it’ll be harmless.
I turn the idea over and over inside my head, but something nags at me.
Something horribly, awfully selfish.
I don’t have to call her today, do I? I can forget what Ras told me and go back to that blissful happiness of the first few days.
If I go back home, I’ll never experience this again. People spend their entire lives looking for something like what I’ve found with Ras. For someone who makes them feel content and wanted andloved.
