Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
The fickle ocean reminds me of him. Beautiful, wild, constant, but unpredictable. Heath has changed. I can see it in his eyes, in the way he moves through the world. He’s hardened, and whatever experience he’s had in the last five years has unmoored him, taught him to rely only on himself. His trust is gone, and maybe I’m to blame for killing the gentle side of him. But just as time has molded him to be harder, it’s done the same for me. I am not the same girl he fell in love with.
“Kat.” I hear him call to me in my head. “Kat, don’t.”
He used to hate it when I’d go deep into the waves, always worried that if something happened, he couldn’t save me. Heath wasn’t a swimmer, and the ocean held a certain morbid fascination for him. As it should for me, considering my mother walked into these waves and never came out.
I used to ask him what he’d do if I drowned in the sea, caught by a strong current or riptide, and he’d always respond the same way.
I’d follow you, Kat. Because there would be no point in living without you.
I doubt he feels the same way now.
I ignore his distant calls in my head and keep walking forward as if the sea beckons me into its permanent embrace. From what I can tell, it looks like life went on for him. But my life stopped in all the ways that mattered when I pushed him away. He recovered, found success, and I ran from the arms of one abuser to crash into those of another.
Time stopped for me when Heath left Wainscott Hollow. Without Heath, I couldn’t breathe, and I became another shadowy spirit that wandered these shores in mourning. The cherished paths of our love became my plank of penitence, the worn trails of a dead woman walking. I’m glad he moved on with his life, but I’m also jealous of time because for ten years it had him, but the clock stopped for me the minute he looked back at me through my window at Wainscott Hollow, and his footsteps took him away.
I finger the silver locket on my neck that I never take off. His mother’s, the one that holds his black and white baby photo, the same locket I told Eddie belonged to my mother so I could have him close to my heart, secretly, forever.
I don’t notice the drop-off since I’m treading water until I try to touch down with my feet, and the sandy bottom has disappeared. The choppy water pulls me under and tugs my form like a ragdoll. The once airy and light cotton dress becomes a heavy entangled web that yanks me under the waves. But the strangest part is that I don’t panic, I don’t feel fear. I don’t care enough to try to fight it. A peculiar calm washes over my tired body and tattered soul, and I resign myself to my fate.
“Kat, Jesus, fuck. Kat. For Christ’s sake.”
Even in the end, it’s his voice that comes to me.
A swift tug lifts my arms and pulls my head momentarily above water. But I fight the renewed buoyancy and make myself a deadweight in the rough water.
“You crazy fuckin’ bitch.” Heath’s voice comes again, angry, vengeful, mean. “You don’t get to do this, Katelyn. Fuck you! You don’t get to leave me again. You never get to leave me unless I fucking slit your throat myself.”
My head is above water, and his strong arm is across my chest, holding me afloat. He drags me to the shallow surf, a rock of resilience against the powerful tide and the downward pull of my relinquished body.
Not just a swimmer, but a strong swimmer to battle these currents.
We hit the sand, and I cough up salt water while Heath’s chest heaves with exertion. Then he cradles me in his arms, much like a mother would her young child.
My eyes open to his beautiful face, his brow knit in concern, his jaw tense with incredible anger. I decide I must be dead if I’m back with my love. My Heath.
The soft sand clings to my skin as he lays me down gently and peers at me before raking his hands through his wet hair. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
My throat burns, and I spit water as I gaze up at an angel. “You can swim?”
“Fucking hell, Kat. After a stunt like that, I should drown you myself.”
“Heath,” I whisper, my voice raspy with abrasion. I raise my hand to his cheek and run my fingers along the dark stubble that shadows his strong jaw.
“What the hell were you thinking, Kat?” he demands.
“I thought maybe I could go back in time that way. See my mom. Find you again.”