Autumn Woods

God, give me the patience to cope with the eight women in my life.

God, give me the patience to cope with the eight women in my life.

“It’s scary to be known,” she mumbles. I get that. I feel it too. Ophelia has me in her hands, and that’s terrifying. “Don’t break my heart. It’s fragile.”

I sit back down, light-headed. My stalker and my parents’ killer works—or worked—at Sorrowsong, was sleeping with my mother, loves classical literature. It’s so much information, and yet I just don’t know. I can’t think who it could be.

It’s him. It’s Bancroft.

Ophelia, you fool.

You occupy my mind.

Those stupid crosswords. You’re those for me. You’re the cage for my thoughts.

Does she know I’m fighting for her? Does she believe she’s worth fighting for?

I’m obsessed with her. Desperate for her.

A small smile graces her pinkening lips, and my god, it’s a smile that’s going to ruin my life. It’s a smile I’ll replay in my head each night as I lie in that blissful space between awake and asleep.

He presses my forehead to his chest, letting the outside world bleed into empty nothingness until all that’s left is him and I.