The Truths we Burn (The Hollow Boys Book 2)

Sage

Every day out of the year is a bad day for someone.

June twenty-fourth could be your birthday, the best day of your life, and somewhere across the world, someone is being murdered.

October tenth could be the day you got married or engaged. A day you couldn’t dream up any better. Yet, three houses down, there is a little girl who lost her parents to a car crash.

Your best day will always equal someone’s worst.

I’d never really thought of that before. I don’t think a lot of people do until they experience it for themselves.

April twenty-ninth went from a normal day, usually sunny, mostly spent in school, a day that I would fly past and move forward from without a second thought, to being one I’ll never forget.

Today, the split in my soul aches a little harder. The nerves that had been severed throb for connection. My brain reminds me a little more persistently that the person I came into this world with is gone.

I went to her grave this morning and saw someone had already left peonies, her favorite flower, but I decided to leave the ones I’d bought as well. She deserves all the flowers. I wanted to sit, to stay and talk. To update her on my life, but everything felt so negative, and I didn’t wanna burden her with that.

How silly. I didn’t want to burden a tombstone with my problems.

I wanted to stay there, close my eyes, and feel as if we were under the covers in her bed. Chatting about our lives, laughing, dreaming of our futures. I wanted to feel that connection I had when she was alive.

But I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t feel her there.

It was just a headstone with her name on it. There was no Rose.

I thought, maybe I’m broken? You’re supposed to feel something at the graveyard, right? So if I couldn’t feel her there, where was I going to? Was I ever going to feel that bond again?

That’s what today felt like. Constantly searching for her and knowing that I was never going to find her.

I push the door to my dorm open, thankful that my roommate is in class. It means I’ll be able to curl up in my bed and cry with no one asking any questions. Flipping my shoes off carelessly, I walk to my bed and crawl under my blankets.

I turn my body towards the wall and let out a shaky breath I didn’t notice I’d been holding in. The tears fall slowly, dripping onto the white sheets. I’m a bundle of different emotions, all of them swirling around inside of me like a child finger painting.

Guilt. Sadness. Anger.

But the one that hit the heaviest was unworthy.

I’d been the shitty twin. I was the one with the baggage, the one that was jaded and mean. I didn’t deserve life, and Rose did. She would have done so much more with her future than I was going to. Her dreams were brighter, more achievable than mine.

The world stopped when she died. And if it had been me, it would’ve continued to spin.

It should’ve been me.

That’s what I’d screamed to my father after I watched that video. When I saw him pick Rosemary so easily over me.

It should’ve been me.

And because he chose wrong, I decided he didn’t get to keep his meal ticket. He took her from me, so I was going to take his money from him.

I’d originally planned on killing him after I saw it, but I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to know this pain, to live out his days broke, hungry, and empty.

So I confronted him in our living room and did the thing that got me sent away. It was convenient for him, the perfect excuse to lock me up and keep me quiet. But I hadn’t expected to live. I’d read that if you did it a certain way, there would be no way to survive it.

The vertical scars down both of my wrists pulsed.

Apparently, I hadn’t done enough because the doctors were able to stitch me up just before sending me off strapped to a stretcher. I wanted to die because Rose wasn’t here, because it felt unfair for us to not be here together, because my father had no right to choose something like that.

Now, I’m left with these scars as a reminder that I couldn’t even die correctly. I spent a lot of time in the psych ward planning on getting out and paying my father back for what he had done, conjuring up ways to destroy him, because I realized he would do anything for money.

Even if I had succeeded in killing myself, he would have still continued to do gruesome things to stay at the top of the Ponderosa Springs’ food chain.

The only way to stop him was to kill him, and I couldn’t wait for that day.

A sob erupts from my chest, pouring from me like venom. It burns and rips my throat as it builds up. I place my hand over my mouth, shaking as I cry, and the tears leak a little faster.

This harsh reality I never wanted to accept hit like a train today.

It’s this realization that you’re older than your twin. This monumental stab in the gut because it’s been 365 days without her. That’s a birthday, a Christmas, all of these memories she never got to create. Another reminder that when she died, I did too. I just happened to keep existing.

“Sage?”

I roll over in my bed, looking at the door.

Lyra and Briar are standing in the archway, holding a bag of candies and movies in their hands.

“You said you liked Sixteen Candles, right? We couldn’t remember if you said sour Skittles or regular, so we just got both,” Lyra says, wiggling the bag in the air.

“How did you get in here?”

Briar lifts a bobby pin from her pocket. “These locks are a breeze and…”

Reaching inside her the front of her plaid button-up, she pulls out a blunt. “I nabbed this from Rook the other day.”

Even though I really don’t want to, I smile a little.

“Little thief is starting to make sense now,” I tell her.

She shrugs. “My thievery has started to become pretty handy around here.”

I run my hand beneath my nose, wiping the snot and tears that had fallen there. They both look so hopeful, coming in here intent on cheering me up, or at the very least giving me a break from the sorrow.

They know what today is.

“Thank you, guys, but I’m not really in the mood. I figured you all would be with the guys.”

“They’re spending the weekend at Silas’s parents’ cabin in Portland. They needed some time, needed a space to be somewhere with Silas. And we thought…” Briar looks at Lyra for help.

“We thought we could do the same for you,” she finishes for her.

“I just—” I hum, trying not to cry anymore, hating this feeling of being too vulnerable. “I just think I need to be alone today. There isn’t much that I think will make this better, not today.”

I think that’s why I enjoy acting. Being on the stage, I can release my emotions freely through a character, and no one questions it because they think it’s just a part of the script. I can be vulnerable, soft, gentle.

Not this constantly snarky, bitter person.

“We know we can’t make it better. That’s not the point.” Lyra steps farther into my room. “It’s about not letting you be sad, alone. About making it more bearable. I don’t know what it feels like to lose a twin, but I did lose my mom.”

I look over at her, at the understanding in her eyes. Not pity or sympathy, but a mutual knowledge of similar pain.

“No one can bring them back. No matter how badly we want it. But you don’t have to feel that alone. We don’t have to talk about her, or we can. We will do whatever you want today, even if you just want us to sit here with you in silence. I went through the death of my mother all alone, with no one to be there for me, and I refuse to let you do that to yourself. Not when you have us here.”

Friendship.

It had always been a foreign concept to someone like me.

A girl who was taught that the relationships you keep close to you are only to push you further in life. It’s never about the actual connection. I was always just a pawn in people’s lives, used for what I could bring them.

No one was ever with me because I was Sage.

No one was ever friends with me because I was Sage.

They were involved with me for my status, for my name, my money.

And here I am, with none of those things, and these two girls are choosing to be my friends anyway. Despite what being close to me will cause people to say about them.

Someone is choosing me for me.

They see me the same way Rosemary always did—as the girl who was more than her reputation.

“You said you brought Sixteen Candles?” I ask gently.

Briar smiles. “And Can’t Buy Me Love!”

We decide that moving down the hall to their room would be better, considering my roommate could walk in at any time and try to kick us out. But I do something I don’t ever do—I let them in.

I let them be there for me in their own way.

Together, we move Briar and Lyra’s beds together, shift the TV to the middle of the room, and crack a window. All of us pile up on the mattresses, turn the first movie on, and light Rook’s stolen blunt.

I haven’t smoked since the last time I hung out with Rook, which was more than a year ago. The effects of the weed hit me strongly. I eat more food than I have in months, and God, I laugh.

Real laughter that I haven’t experienced since I was very little.

We laugh because Lyra is that philosophical person when she is stoned. She talks about bugs, of course, about how their lives affect our day-to-day existence, which turns into the creation of human life and religion.

I find out so much about both of them in these moments.

The way they see the world, how they feel about certain issues, their passions.

It feels odd having a day like this. How amongst all this darkness and chaos, we’re able to create something good and light.

There are times when the guilt would attack me, trying to rear its ugly head.

How could you enjoy this day? When you know everything it represents?

But I try to think of Rosemary, how she wouldn’t want me to be depressed in my room alone. I think about what she wanted for me in life, that she would want me to be happy even if it’s without her.

I think about how I would feel if the roles were reversed.

I wouldn’t want her to suffer. I would want her to experience joy, laughter, love, even on the day I died.

“So listen,” Briar announces, rolling onto her stomach and popping a piece of chocolate into her mouth. “You don’t have to tell me, but I really gotta know. What’s up with you and Van Doren?”

I’m high, and the last person in the world I want to think of right now is him.

I swallow the mouthful of Skittles I have, glancing over at her nonchalantly. “What do you mean?”

She raises both eyebrows at me. “I was born at night, but not last night, Sage.”

“That little pep talk he gave you in the backseat after the Gauntlet seemed pretty heated from what I could tell,” Lyra adds, twirling the stem of her cherry around in the air.

“He was just—” I pause. “He was just getting me away from Silas. I said some fucked-up things to him. If it hadn’t been Rook to do it, it would’ve been Alistair or Thatcher.”

I don’t want to lie to them about him, but what would I tell them? I have no words to describe what Rook and I were. I’ve never spoken about us out loud to anyone, and I wouldn’t even know how to start.

They look at each other for a moment before Briar speaks up.

“He looks at you like he’s in physical pain. I don’t think he notices that he does it, but it hurts him to look at you.”

I’m sure to her, it looks like pain. Like twisted-up hurt.

At one point, he looked at me with longing and need, with desire and passion, but now it’s just hatred.

“It’s not pain,” I say. “It’s disgust. Rook hates me, and that’s about the only emotion he feels towards me now.”

“Now? So there was a before?”

I blow out a breath, running both hands through my hair and letting them cradle my neck as I look down at the bed. I could tell them, right? They won’t say anything. I mean, the only person I’m protecting at this point is Rook.

Defending the devil.

Even after all the shit he’s said, I’m still protecting him, keeping our secret so that his friends don’t feel betrayed that he withheld the truth from them. He’s given me so much fucking shit about lying, and now, there’s only one of us that’s lying.

And it’s not me. Not anymore.

“Last year, before Rosie died, Rook and I, we—” We what? Fucked? Fell in some type of weed-infused toxic love? “We messed around for a few months. It was just supposed to be a little secret fling. It wasn’t even supposed to be that. He was only going to be a one night of freedom that no one knew about. I didn’t expect it to turn into what it was. I didn’t expect to—”

“Fall in love?” Lyra interjects, her pupils dark and wide.

Was it love?

I think it was the closest I’d ever gotten to it. I know when things get dark inside my head, I relive the time we spent together. I think of all the things we never got to do and what my life would be like had I stayed with him.

I shrug. “I’m not even sure that’s what it was. I just knew by the end of it, I wanted to be with him. I wanted more, and I wasn’t allowed to have it. I was dating Easton at the time or, I should say, engaged to Easton.”

“I’m sorry. You said yes to a life with Easton Sinclair?” Briar looks at me, visibly cringing, making me laugh a little.

“Not willingly. His father set it up, and my family agreed so that Stephen Sinclair would keep paying our bills and funding my dad. I was going to leave after graduation. I wasn’t going to go through with it. I’d planned on telling Rook everything and leaving with him. But…”

His face flashes in my head, his voice, the way she smelled.

It was all so real.

“But Easton found out, and he threatened to take Rose instead. He told me I had to end it with Rook, or he’d ruin Rosie. I had a choice to make, and I couldn’t let anything happen to my sister. Not when her future was so much brighter than mine. She wouldn’t have made it out alive if she had to live a life like that. I forced Rook away to save Rose, and in the end, I lost them both.”

They both sit there with different versions of shock.

This weight lifted off my chest with the words, with saying them out loud.

Briar is the first to say something. “And he still doesn’t know the truth?”

I shake my head.

“You have to say something, Sage. You’re just letting him go around hating you!”

Is it worth it at this point? After everything I’d said, everything that happened, would it be worth it?

I doubt he would even believe me. I could tell him the sky is blue, and he’d still think I was lying to him. A relationship without trust is a disaster waiting to happen. All we had built in those months was destroyed, and I don’t think we can get that back.

We’re two people who never should’ve touched one another. We’re both too hardheaded, too stubborn, two flames constantly trying to burn higher than the other. We weren’t made for longevity.

I’d wanted him too quick. Too much. It wouldn’t have been healthy; it never would have worked. No matter how many times my heart tries to tell me differently.

Maybe all we were meant to be was that.

Two star-crossed lovers that made it out before Shakespeare had enough time to kill us.

I touch the scar on my collarbone, a reminder, a gift.

“I think it’s for the best that he doesn’t know. There’s too much damage done to rebuild anything. It would be a waste.”

“I just find it hard to believe he only feels hostility towards you. Rook is…” Lyra swings her arms in the air, trying to find the words. “He doesn’t pay attention to things he doesn’t care about. Yet, every time you’re around each other, the only thing he can focus on is you.”

I suck in a breath, pulling my knees up towards my chest and recalling the conversation I had with Rose just before I fell into Rook’s fire.

Rook Van Doren does not give attention to things he deems boring. If he notices you, if you interest him, you’ll know it.” Her eyes glanced over at me. “And I’d say he noticed you.”

I wondered if she’d always had an inclination about the two of us but didn’t say anything in fear I would deny it or get angry for her assuming something like that.

“He’s only watching me because he doesn’t trust me. He thinks at any moment I’m going to do something that will put you guys in danger. I’m a liability to him, that’s all.”

I feel my phone vibrate next to me, the screen lighting up showing me that I have a new message.

Picking it up, I open it to find the last thing I want to see.

Pip, meet me at St. Gabriel’s, tomorrow at noon. And this time, you better have information.

“So that’s it, then? You won’t even consider talking to him?”

I shut my phone off, chewing the inside of my cheek, my stomach swimming with anxiety. A cold breeze nips at me from the open window, crawling down my skin and chilling my bones.

“No. We died that day, and he intends to keep it that way.” I push myself off the side of the bed. “Can I borrow a sweatshirt from one of you?”

I hope that would be enough to pull away from this topic. Today has taken enough emotional energy from me, and continuing to talk about Rook is only a bitter reminder of everything I’ve lost and will never get back.

“Yeah, grab one of mine. Briar’s consist of Alistair’s clothing, and no one wants to smell like his musky cologne,” Lyra says. “Well, I mean, besides you,” she offers towards Briar with a grin.

I laugh, opening the small door to Lyra’s very disorganized closet. It’s already being held ajar by the number of clothes that are piled at the bottom, and I realize that I think I’d rather wear Alistair’s hoodie than go exploring through Lyra’s closet.

Whether it’s because I’m stoned or I just find it funny, I keep imagining this is where she keeps her live specimen she doesn’t want us to find out about. I start giggling a bit, thinking about it.

Reaching up on my tippy-toes to grab the dark purple sweatshirt at the top of the shelf, I yank at the sleeve, and it comes falling down along with a few other heavy items that crash onto the floor.

“Shit, Lyra, I’m sorry,” I apologize as I bend down, trying to make sure I didn’t break anything. I quickly attempt to rearrange the clothes and box that had tumbled down so I can put it back where I found it.

The medium-sized shoebox sits sideways in front of me. At first I think they’re keepsakes of her mother or even her positive experiences thus far at college. But then I see the expensive, knitted, off-white pullover that looks way too big for Lyra.

There’s also a bottle of men’s Armani bodywash that is half-empty, several handwritten notes that don’t match my friend’s chicken scratch penmanship, candid photographs, and the most damning piece of the puzzle is a cufflink—a lapel pin tie bar that’s designed to keep the edges of a suit together at the wrist, and it had been designed into the shape of the letters T. P.

“It’s not—” She stands up, her face turning ghostly. “It’s not what it looks like.”

I scoop up a stark white handkerchief with a blotchy red stain in the middle.

“This isn’t Thatcher’s belongings in a box inside of your closet?”

Lyra had always depicted herself as the shy, bug geek who enjoyed her life of invisibility. But I was starting to gather that was only what she wanted people to think.

“Just,” she breathes, “let me explain.”