Metamorphosis (Breaking Free, book 2)

Chapter 20-Owen

I coughed, my lungs rattling, waving away the dust in my face, trying to ease up the tightness in my chest. My eyes watered, and I squinted, trying to make out the silhouette in the distance. They were short, with a slight frame, and they turned. I couldn't be sure, but it seemed like they were looking right at me. Rubbing my eyes, the dust began to clear, and I could make out a mop of dark curls, sticking up in several directions, then a soft, pale face with a light smattering of freckles on his nose, and sea-green eyes.

"Milo!" He turned, and his jaw dropped. I broke out into a run, crossing the short distance between us and scooping him into my arms. I squeezed him to my chest, pulling him off the ground and swinging him in a circle like we were from a cheesy 90's rom-com.

"Owen," He murmured, when I put him down, holding me just as tight. A single tear fell from his eye, and I brushed it away, holding his face in my hands.

After several minutes of hushed words, reassurances, and soft kisses, I relayed the information of my meetup-gone-wrong.

When I told him he might be in danger, he scrunched his nose up like a rabbit. He always did that when he wasn't sure of something. His eyes glazed over, and he fiddled with a loose string on his jeans, the small hole on his knee growing a little bit larger. I couldn't think of a single pair of his jeans that didn't have at least three holes just like that one, and my heart ached.

I never wanted to stress him out or frighten him. But it was unavoidable. The war had stolen any sense of normality from the both of us, and to pretend we were the same teenagers we were only a couple of months ago was a lie. Milo had made me a better person and given me something to fight for, but I only dragged him further into this mess.

I kissed his head, letting my eyes fall shut, and promised myself that when this nightmare was finally over, I would take him wherever we wanted to go. We would live a peaceful, quaint life. No more drama. No more worry or fear. We could be two kids hopelessly in love with each other. And there would be no buts to that statement. We wouldn't need anything but each other, and there wouldn't be anything in our way.

Then the dust blew around us, and his voice sounded fuzzier, cutting in and out, and his face began to fade with the surroundings. I didn't have much time. Crushing him to my chest, I rested my chin on his head and bit my lip till it bled. I wished this moment would last forever. I had so much I wanted to do with him, and no time to do it. I wanted to see him smile again. I wanted to kiss him until his lips were swollen. I wanted to tell him I loved him again and again until he believed he was worthy of being loved. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, and I wanted to breathe the words through a lazy morning kiss.

I choked on a sob, buried my face in his curls, and prayed that this moment would last. His skin faded to grey, and he looked up at me with a smile. Then he was gone, and my arms fell to my side, and I clenched my fists.

In the center of the sand-storm, a pale man in a black cloak waved his rotting, black walking stick at me with a sinister smirk. The sand swelled above him, and I took a step back. He clucked his tongue, shook his head, and pointed a gnarly, shaking finger at me. It looked like a branch from a rotting oak tree, and I shivered.

The edges of my vision darkened. Snapping to attention, I pulled the dagger out of my boot. Taking only a second to aim, I threw it straight at him. I would see Milo's face again. I would have him in my arms, no matter what, this man, God or not, wouldn't keep me from him. Fury bubbled inside me. The dagger hit his chest with a thunk. His finger dropped, his smile faded, and he froze. I smirked. Stone crawled from his curled fingernails to his rotting knuckles, to the sagging skin of his hands and arms. His knees locked and turned to stone, and the tip of his nose crumbled and fell to the floor.