I Have Lived and I Have Loved - Willow Winters Page 0,47

could barely function with the today—but there it was.

Done.

I was no longer a virgin, and I was supposed to be different. Right?

I was supposed to look different?

No?

Gazing at myself in the mirror after showering, and knowing Ryan was waiting in bed for some post-coital cuddles, I searched those two eyes where a soul is supposed to be.

I saw nothing. For real.

There was the usual iris, eyeball, and such. Eyelashes. The literal round hole, but that wasn’t me.

I winced and averted my eyes.

Fuck. I didn’t even want to look myself in the eyes. Me. I didn’t want to see what everyone else must be seeing.

There was nothing there. Emptiness. Dead. Dull.

I was gone.

There was nothing lively in there. No happiness, elation, a big fat nada.

I’d lost my virginity, and I was half-considering going in there and doing it again just so I could feel something.

Morbid much?

Oh, lovely. Time for my usual haunting.

Hey, Wills.

She leaned against the sink and crossed her arms. You know, Mac, if you’re actually crazy, you wouldn’t be thinking of me only when you can handle it. I’d be popping in all the time and really haunting you. I’d be telling you to kill someone or something. Isn’t that what voices do? Tell you to do bad shit?

I wouldn’t know. I’m not schizo. I’m mourning.

Willow snorted. You’re a head case, that’s for sure. And yeah, maybe you’re mourning, but honestly, aren’t you prolonging the inevitable?

I shut her out.

I felt what she was going to say, and I stopped her, literally imagining her out of my head, out of the bathroom, out of the house, and far, far away. I could almost feel her flying backward.

Then I opened my eyes.

Still here, dumbass.

She hadn’t moved an inch.

Bitch.

She laughed. Finally. Some sass. You’re so fucking depressing. What happened to you? I mean, I know. She indicated herself, her hands moving up and down her body. But you know what I mean. You should’ve had your shit together a long time ago, but you’re sucking at it. Come on, Soccer Superstar.

I wasn’t the soccer superstar.

Yes, you were. You were the superstar in everything. You just didn’t know.

I was lazy, and I ate junk food, and I—

You were normal, but you were the best on your soccer team.

But—

You were normal, Mac. Her voice was so soft. And that was a good thing. You got to be the normal one of us, even if you really weren’t. You were what we needed. You were our anchor, still are.

“You’re the strong one, Kenz.” I heard Robbie’s voice, and I could see him all over again, looking at me from the doorway to Ryan’s room that day. I’d flipped the cover back and let my little brother hide in there with me.

If only we hadn’t ever left that shelter.

I expected a smart comment from Willow, but none came. Then I looked, and I almost gasped. Tears glistened in her eyes, and her hands were balled as if she were trying not to cry.

I’m so sorry, Mac.

What? A searing and burning sensation began to build in my chest. I started for her, my hand reaching out.

If I could take it back . . .

And poof. She was gone.

“No!”

She was right there. She was real. I could see her, speak to her, and she was gone.

Footsteps pounded on the floor behind me. The bathroom door flung open, and Ryan’s eyes were wild.

“Mackenzie? What?” He saw I was staring at nothing and turned in a circle, looking around the bathroom. “Mackenzie? What . . .”

The same words, but such a different meaning.

No. Nope. I wasn’t—I couldn’t say it aloud.

She wasn’t real.

She wasn’t there.

She was gone.

“She was supposed to be here for this.” The words wrung from me.

He turned around and sighed. “Oh, Mac.”

Tears rolled down my face. I felt them falling, but I couldn’t move, and I couldn’t stop them.

“Mackenzie.” He said it quietly, tenderly, and he pulled me into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

He cradled the back of my head and held me.

Chapter Twenty

“I know what you and Ryan did last night.”

I jerked back, my hand hitting the locker and slamming it shut. I turned to face Peach, who seemed pissed. Her eyes were angry, her mouth a firm line. Her arms crossed over her chest.

She didn’t seem it. She was angry.

And she was tapping her foot.

I eyed that foot. Who tapped their foot like that? Seriously?

“Say that again.”

She couldn’t be talking about what I thought she was talking about because then . . . ew. How the