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Rivers Young was the popular guy untouchable by reality. He was like a star—bright, consuming, otherworldly. The thing about stars, though, is that they eventually fall, and Rivers Young was no different.
He fell far and he fell hard.
Delilah Bana was the outcast enshrouded in all of life's ironies. Alone, in the d...ark, like dusk as it falls on the world. When Rivers fell from the sky, she was the night that caught him. In the darkness, they found one another. Together they melded into something beautiful that shone like the sun.
Only, the greater the star is, the shorter its lifespan.
EXCERPT:
“Thanks for the sandwich.”
He nods, flexing the fingers of his left hand.
I exhale, ignoring the overactive beating of my heart. “What are
you doing?”
“Staring at my super hot legs.”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “Don't you already have enough admirers
without being one yourself?”
“Funny.”
“What are you thinking?” That's the real question I want
answered. What does Rivers think about the kiss we exchanged last
night? I am not sure I want to know, but I decided I couldn't
hide out in the upstairs of his house indefinitely, so here I am.
“It shouldn't have happened.” His eyes are downcast as he fiddles
with the hem of his yellow shirt.
A crack forms somewhere inside me. I pretend it isn't there, forcing
a lightness to my tone I do not feel. “What shouldn't have?”
He glances up, a scowl on his face. “You know what I'm talking
about. The kiss.”
I sit down in the grass beside him, partially turned away from him.
“Are you sorry I kissed you?”
“Aren't you?”
“I instigated it, didn't I?”
“Yeah. About that. I don't get it. Why did you?” Our eyes
meet, his dark and searching. I don't have time to answer before he
says, “When you look at me, you have to be repulsed.”
“By what?” I ask.
He gestures to the scars that line his face and then to his legs.
“I don't even see them,” I say with all honesty.
His eyebrows lower and his eyes follow. I caught the blatant yearning
in his gaze just before he hid it. He wants to believe me, but can't
allow himself to.
My fingers curl into the palms of my hands to keep from reaching out
to him. I blow out a noisy breath and look at a caterpillar ever so
slowly creeping along the grass. I put my finger out and it carefully
feels my skin before crawling over it, tickling my flesh as it goes.
I smile. “He's so slow, but you know what? He never gives up. He
knows, one day, he'll be free,” I say in a low voice. “He's ugly
to most, but to those that matter, he's beautiful. They know his
potential. They know where he started and where he'll end, and how
long it will take for him to get there. It's something to be admired,
not tossed aside.”
“You're saying one day I'll be a butterfly,” he says skeptically.
I look up. “I'm saying you've always been one.”
Rivers stares at me for a long time, his eyes tracing the angles and
curves of my face. “You say a lot of strange stuff, you know that?”
Nodding, I hide a smile. “I guess so.”
His tone is thoughtful when he tells me, “I like it. I like being
around you.”
My pulse picks up. “Why?”
With a shrug, he states, “I don't feel so sorry for myself when
you're around. I don't feel so ugly or worthless. I feel normal.”
“You are neither of those things.”
“Yeah.” His voice says he doesn't believe me.
I run a finger along the soft grass as I say, "I kind of like
being around you too."
"Why?" he shoots back.
I tilt my head, my hair falling to the side as I ponder this. "Well,
aside from the fact that you make me look good—oddly enough, I
think I like your personality."
"Hmm. You think? I'm usually wanted for my body and not
my mind."
"Given the circumstances, we all have to make exceptions."
His mouth twitches. "What circumstances?"
"Your hideous disfigurement," I tell him airily.
"Thanks," he says dryly, a faint smile on his mouth.
“Sure. I'm all about looking on the bright side. Want to go for a
walk? We'll go slow,” I add when he hesitates.
His face darkens. “I hate that—that you even have to say that. I
don't want you to have to go slow for me.”
I get to my feet. “So I won't.” I walk to the fence gate, opening
it and going through. A tendril of elation webs through me and
spreads when he follows.
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