WICKED | WILLIAM FRANKLYN-MILLER

⟶ 17 | CURO MEANS CARE

[WILLIAM]

⑅

A STRING OF UNCENSORED SWEAR WORDS WERE SPILLING OUT OF MY MOUTH as I chased the car down with all the strength I could muster.

She had just been there, right there, and now she was gone. I could see it vividly. Hell, it haunted me. Her cold, shivering figure standing in the pouring rain, letting herself be taken away.

Why couldn't I tell her the truth? I let myself be scared, and now that's all I am.

I am a man who is incapable of love—even the very feeling of it had been burned out of me so long ago. I should have told her the full sentence: I can't love you. But I want to. If I put myself through the torture of feeling emotion again, the only reason would be for her. She'd be the only reason. My reason. The reason.

I could only love a little, and she could have all of it.

It was a truth I hadn't realised until right now—chasing after a speeding car—well out of my reach.

"Lovey!" I yelled, but my legs gave out from under me.

Slipping on the wet cobblestone road, I crashed onto my chest, bones shuddering in pain. It felt like the first time I'd ever fallen. I'd never, never done something so egregious in the line of duty. I could feel the scrape marks against my arms, blistered into my skin as blood trickled into the drops of rain.

"Lovey!" I yelled again.

But the car was out of sight.

"No," I whimpered, stumbling onto my feet. "No, God, no."

Everything was falling apart. Everything. I wanted to cry, but I'd forgotten how. I wanted to tear the city down, brick, by brick, by brick, until she was found. I wanted to stop time itself. I wanted so much, and everything more, but I was nothing but a man in the pouring rain. A man with nothing.

Think, William, think. They had to have taken her somewhere recluse. Somewhere hidden. Unfortunately, Paris was crawling with hidden places. I'd be well-beyond my years before I found her, and she'd be well in harm's way. Think about where she could have gone.

The truth was, I didn't know where she could have gone.

But I knew where they would be.

Mori said there was an auction. They said they'd be at the auction. Where the auction was, I didn't know. The auction. Okay, the auction. Why can't I think straight? I couldn't tell if I was angry, sad, or nothing at all. I don't remember how to feel. If I had more time with her, maybe I could have learned.

Find Mori, I told myself. Find them. They'll know.

The night had already started to darken, and I knew I wouldn't have much time. I remembered them telling me they'd see Percy Kent there—that self-righteous coward of a man—which meant the Ashes must be there too. If I could find them, I'd find her.

Gathering what little strength I had, I began to run.

I ran blindly, as if the world was now blurry. To me, it was. I didn't need to feel to know what she meant to me—she was my mirror. My clarity. She told me when I was out of line. She told me when I was cruel. She told me the truth, and I took it all for granted.

So, I ran.

⚘

MORI LEFT their apartment an hour after I'd arrived. While I waited, I sat in a cafe across the street, tapping my feet anxiously against the ground. I kept thinking about that day on the train. Not the first time I saw her, but the first time she saw me. Somehow, it felt like she was the only one who had.