Devils and Angels

xxxviii. drowning in goodbyes

a p r i c i t y

the warmth of the sun in winter

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SUNLIGHT SCINTILLATED OFF THE VIRESCENT water of the lake—a coruscating pool of majestic gemstones that stretched out for as far as the eye could see, in all directions.

The sun-bleached walls of the house sloped straight up from the shore: bright white bricks and glossy windows, flower-boxes bursting with primroses and hyacinths, and a balcony that overlooked the splendour of the lake itself.

Beside me, Jess stripped off her shirt, leaving her in a black bikini that contrasted brilliantly with her tan skin and bouncing chocolate curls.

"Are you coming swimming?" She asked, sweeping up every strand into a ponytail at the top of her head. She gestured to the water, where Derek was already beckoning her from its shallow depths. The eyes that beckoned mine were soft, I soon realised. Almost tender with concern.

"No, I'm going to wait for Caspian," I said, and I could have sworn the smile dropped from her lips, but when I blinked the sun out of my eyes, it was back and more dazzling than ever.

"Okay!" She dimpled, before tearing into the water.

I watched after her, diamond droplets forming transient rainbows in her wake, before turning my attention back to the still waters—flat, and untouched by time—far out of reach. A sudden gust of wind swept across the picturesque view, disturbing the silence, and caressing my exposed skin; a soft touch that brought tendrils of hair to my eyes.

A warm hand enclosed my shoulder, and I turned, to find Henry's shadowed face peering into mine.

"Woah!" I exclaimed, leaping away from him with a racing heart. "You scared me. Jesus Christ."

He grinned at this, but it was half-hearted. "You okay?" He asked, squeezing my shoulder.

"Of course, just waiting for Caspian." I beamed, but the smile slowly evaporated off of my lips as Hen's face fell. "What? Hen, what's the matter?"

"He didn't tell you," He murmured, more to himself than to me. Then, his head snapping to mine, he repeated, "He didn't tell you. That piece of shit. That cowardly piece of—,"

"Henry." I snapped, reaching up on tiptoe to take his face in my hands. "Can you stop bad-mouthing my boyfriend and tell me what the fuck is going on?"

"Well." His eyes flashed blue; a soft, bittersweet smile touched his lips, and his hands reached for mine. "We should sit."

No, I wanted to seethe. I wanted to rip my hands from his; force him to tell me what was wrong—but at the sight of his soft, windswept features, and his eyes that effervesced with apology, I could only swallow, and stand down.

"What is it?" I had to whisper, carefully wetting my lips.

"It's Caspian." His lips pressed together, and his fingers laced with mine. "He's not coming."

I swallowed my disappointment, fighting not to show the dejection that flooded my veins. "Why are you making such a big deal out of it, though? So what, he can't come? There'll be other times,"

"No." Hen swallowed, and it ruptured all my hope. "There won't."

"What do you mean?"

"Read this," He brandished a lilac envelope from his pocket, and as he did so, a post-it note descended to the ground—one that had previously been attached to the card. I bent down to pick it up, but he stopped me, his hand over my heart. "You need to read this, first."