Teacher (Voyeur #6) - Fiona Cole Page 0,55

“I’m mad she killed herself. I’m mad at myself because I didn’t see it coming. I’m mad I couldn’t stop her.”

Shifting, I curled my hand around his and held on tight, letting our confessions linger and hoped they faded away now that they were free.

“I have an idea,” Daniel said. He stood and pulled me up with him. He tugged me to the very edge, with layers of rock and steep cliffs stretching below.

I watched him, unsure of his plan. He stood tall, looked out over the vast stretch of the Smokey Mountains, sucked in air, and yelled. I jerked but didn’t let go of his hand. His yell vibrated off the cliffs, riling the birds, their wings flapping in the trees. When he was done with that yell, he did it again. Guttural and flooded with the rage he must have felt inside him. The power of it hit me like a thunderstorm, and I ached for all he had been holding inside.

When he’d finally stopped, his chest rose and fell over panting breaths, and he turned to me, looking lighter than when we first stood. “Your turn.”

“What? M-my turn?”

“Come on, Hanna. Let it out. I know it’s in you like it sat in me. Let it out.”

Swallowing, I faced the vast view. Licking my lips, I opened my mouth and yelled—kind of.

“Nice squeak, I think you scared a caterpillar.”

I glared and squared my shoulders.

I didn’t have to yell. I didn’t have to do anything.

I didn’t have to open my box for him.

It didn’t matter anyway.

Shouting at a bunch of trees wouldn’t stop the guilt—the anger. Nothing could absolve me of being pissed at my sister for dying—for leaving me alone when we were supposed to do this forever. Together.

She left me.

She fucking left me, and I hated her for it.

And I hated myself for feeling that.

My chest shuddered, and I realized I was crying—sobbing.

It was too much. Too big. I’d opened the box, and it was swallowing me.

“Let it out,” he whispered.

I sucked in as hard as I could, and I screamed. It tore from my lungs, scraped through my throat, ripped from my soul. My body shook, my eyes stung with the force of my rage.

I hunched over, expressing every last inch of it, squeezing it free.

And when I finished, I did it again.

And again.

Until Daniel joined me, and we screamed together.

For the first time, in front of something so big—so vast, my anger looked small—small enough to handle, small enough to set free.

I let nature take it.

We both did.

When I had nothing left to give, I panted, trying to calm the tears that had slipped free with everything else.

A few more moments of silence passed, and I took my first glance at Daniel, his blue eyes sparkling with their own tears.

“Thank you,” I whispered, reaching to grab his other hand.

He let go to cradle my face, rubbing my tears away with his thumbs.

“I think I needed it, too. So, thank you. Thank you for pushing me on this trip.”

We stood there, washed clean, studying the version of each other left behind.

I wasn’t sure who moved first. I wasn’t sure it mattered. I pressed up as he dipped down, and our mouths connected softly, afraid to break the fragile moment we’d created.

He drank from my lips, stroked them with his tongue, and I happily opened, needing to taste him. Sliding my arms around his waist, I held on tight, letting the intensity of us kissing wash over me.

We kissed and kissed. Not because we were at Voyeur and this was another lesson to help me accept touch. No, this was because I was Hanna, and he was Daniel, and we wanted to.

What that meant, I didn’t know, but I definitely didn’t care right then. Rules be damned.

Our kiss slowed to simple pecks and lingering tastes until we stopped, resting our foreheads together. I waited for him to tell me we shouldn’t have done that. That kissing was a mistake. That we should forget it happened.

Instead, he whispered. “We should head back before it gets dark.”

Unable to help it, I groaned, and he laughed. “Can you carry me?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

I glared but smiled too, hoisting my backpack, ready to leave this cliff behind and everything I set free with it.

That night we didn’t touch or talk about the kiss or act like anything had changed—and maybe it hadn’t. Maybe what happened on the cliff in a moment of extreme emotions, stayed on the cliff. Which didn’t