been through.
The red night included.
I have to stay strong, though all I want to do is curl into Sebastian’s embrace and break down and cry in his arms. But I can’t do that if he dies.
I can’t do anything if he dies.
The decision is crystal clear in my head even as I fight the tears trying to escape. “I agree. But first, get Sebastian the help he needs. If anything happens to him, I’ll kill myself and deprive my father of the daughter he wants so much.”
10
Akira
Dear Yuki-Onna,
It’s me again. Your one and only.
Your true friend who doesn’t hesitate to call you out on your bullshit because no one else in your life does.
The only person who can actually see through your tough act and miserable life and enables you to smile even when everything crashes and burns around you.
Oh, and your pen pal. You know, someone you actually write letters to?
I didn’t receive a reply to my last two letters, in case you haven’t noticed, and I’m waiting in case you forgot—and no, you don’t get to ignore me.
You should’ve done that the first time I wrote to you. Now it’s a done deal and there’s no damn turning back.
I told you I would keep writing to you even if you don’t. I told you that my letters will show up at your door even if you hate them.
Is this punishment? Are you rebelling against me because of what I said in the last two letters? It’s useless, though. It’s not like I can magically get over the toxicity and live my life happily ever after in the city of unicorns and rainbows.
Besides, since when are you such a fragile snowflake who takes everything to heart? Did you develop other nasty habits I’m not aware of? Or maybe you’re just being a bitch at this point and living up to the image you painted in my head.
Either way, fuck you very much, Naomi. This isn’t how you’re supposed to end a toxic relationship. We should talk about it, as toxically as possible, and without sugarcoating.
I thought we were special. As fucked up as that sounds, special relationships don’t end just like that.
Special relationships don’t end, period.
So how about you pick up your pen and write me back?
It can be as simple as threatening to kill me in the form of Yuki-Onna. Or maybe you can tell me how much you hate me in the best way possible.
Whatever it is, write. You know you want to, even if you somehow followed a spiritual journey and had a million therapists tell you to end your ties with me.
They’re lying. It’s impossible. This will never end.
Print out those words and hang them in your room, then look at them when you think of me and write me a letter.
I’m waiting.
I’ll try to be nice in my reply, although I make no promises.
It’ll depend on my mood, I guess.
DON’T FUCKING GHOST ME.
Akira
11
Sebastian
I think I died.
Maybe dying is the best thing that could happen to me.
If I’m dead, I won’t be thinking about Naomi with another man. If I’m dead, it’ll all be over. I’ll join the demons and all their friends and forget about the life I left behind.
But wouldn’t that be the easy way out?
Wouldn’t that mean I gave up too easily on what I found precious? On the life I finally found?
I don’t want to die. Not if it means leaving Naomi unprotected and in danger.
I need to get back and be there for her.
My head throbs and my lids are glued together, refusing to open.
I suck in a sharp breath and cough when the smell of bleach assaults me.
Am I still in the same room?
“Sebastian?”
The voice that calls my name is familiar—too familiar.
Slowly, I force my eyes open, then squint when light bursts through. Fuck.
Who knew that something as harmless as light would hurt as if someone were holding a torch in front of my face?
It takes me a few seconds to adjust, and even then, I don’t widen my vision to its fullest.
The first thing I notice is white. Walls. Ceiling. It’s different from the gray of the cell where I last saw Naomi.
I’m lying on a soft mattress instead of the cold, merciless floor.
I’m in the hospital.
Maybe that’s why my shoulder doesn’t hurt like a bitch and I don’t feel like I’ll starve to death.
I should be relieved that I’m getting help, that I’m not, in fact, dying, but I’m not.
The last time I woke up in a