Blue Ribbon

Chapter 47 - Four moons

"Isn't it scary...to be ready to die at such a young age?"

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Nathan's POV

Five months align, a temporal refrain,
A cryptic clock ticking, a transient bane.

My fingers tightened around the pen as I scribbled down the last verses wandering through my mind. Words, an endless stream, always seemed to overflow within me—too many, too much.

Not a farewell, but a plea unknown,
In the verses whispered, a plea to atone.

Writing, for me, became the vessel to release this torrent of thoughts, a means to navigate through the chaos that has inhabited my mind since I was so little. Scripts and poems were my refuge, allowing me to externalize the messiness within.

Follow the whispers of the harvests past,
Fields of shadows, where memories cast.

In the realm of ink and parchment, I found a sanctuary, a canvas where the craziness in my mind could find expression. The process of transforming the tangled mess of emotions into verses, though cryptic at times, felt liberating. Each word, each line, became a conduit for the release of the pent-up complexities I carried.

Yet, in the riddles, a desperate plea,
A silent call, echoing, save me.

I sucked into a deep breath but it got hitched midway and my eyelids dropped down as I tried to find a stable ground to settle on. Everything within me, outside, and around me was shaking.

I tried to breathe, exhale, and inhale, but it was getting harder and harder to formulate one normal breath as the days ticked by.

So fucking hard.

It leaves me aching, depleted, agonized in such a way...almost like I could taste the blood gathering over the scarred tissues etched to my lung.

My eyelids glided open. I rested the pen and the notebook aside before I pulled the neck of my sweatshirt down, enough to see and feel the big scar running over my chest, the surgery's scar, the one I looked at in the mirror, day after day, time after time, as I convinced myself to hate him, loath him and everyone around him.

Alastor told me that Nikolas was the one to shoot me that day.

A lie.

He told me he was the one to kidnap me afterward and hurt me.

Another lie.

He told me that he was the one to kill my dad.

My dad.

My—

I scoffed. At least that one wasn't a lie.

I suppressed every other thought when I heard footsteps inching closer, my gaze flickering and meeting Noah's as he paused to a stop there. A strained breath pushed off my failing lungs and I got up to my feet, fixing my sweatshirt as my eyes fell on the notebook. Instead of taking it along, I left it there. Maybe he will read it. Maybe he will understand. Maybe he will come and stop me, save me before I cross another line. Maybe—

And even if he doesn't, what's the worst thing to happen?

Five months, Nathan. Only five months.

Judging by the way I am feeling lately, it could be less even.

I abandoned my notebook and turned around, striding forward just as Noah unlocked the door and allowed me to get out. His eyes fell on my face, his gaze harboring so much rage, so much anger, but also confusion because I looked...slightly normal. Like me, he expected Nikolas to unleash his wrath.