Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.
I wondered how long it could last. Maybe someday, years from now.If the pain would decrease to the point where I could bear it. I would be able to look back on those few short months that would always be the best of my life.
He was right – she was beating herself up about hurting his feelings. The girl was a classic martyr. She’d totally been born in the wrong century. She should have lived back when she could have gotten herself fed to some lions for a good cause.
And it was different because I’d already lost her so many times, so many ways, in my head. And different because she was never really mine to lose. And different because this wasn’t my fault.
A hundred yards away, Mike Newton was lowering Bella’s limp body to the sidewalk. She slumped unresponsively against the wet concrete, her skin chalky as a corpse. I almost took the door off the car.
