69

DAHLIA I should’ve kissed him one final time. Hell, I should’ve fucked him. I should’ve taken something of him with me. Maybe if I had, it wouldn’t hurt this bad. Maybe it wouldn’t feel as if I’d ripped my heart out and left it in the palm of Kane’s hand. But I couldn’t possibly think of anything during this entire trip. I wanted more time with him, even if it was a couple of hours. Minutes. Seconds. That’s why I came up with this stupid idea of visiting my old hometown. I only wished to delay the inevitable, but I ended up with the best down-memory-lane trip of my life. Having Kane beside me, his hand wrapped possessively around my waist, has made it more enjoyable and less of a tearjerker. Until now, that is. I sit in an old, empty cathedral, hidden in the corner, staring numbly at the large crucifix on the altar and hoping my heart doesn’t break to pieces and leave me hollow. Wait. It’s too late for that. My fingers shake and my vision blurs. “Hey.” I talk to the crucifix, tears flo