I gasp as Iâm startled awake by the force of my pain. I groan and bury my face in my hands, my breathing ragged. My chest feels hollow, and the wounds suddenly feel fresh.
Years of therapy, and one single dream still makes me second-guess everything. I stare up at the ceiling, my thoughts racing.
Iâve gone over the records countless times, and Iâve spoken to every person involved in the investigation. There was nothing wrong with my parentsâ plane, and thereâs no explanation for their crash. Logically, I know I wasnât entirely to blame. Or at least, thatâs what my therapist would like me to believe.
According to her, I was simply a child eager for my parents to come home, and thatâs all it was. Sheâs been trying to convince me that asking them to return early didnât crash their plane, but some days, itâs harder to believe that than most. Especially with Faye re-entering my life, the guilt increasingly evolves into a vicious monster, hitting me when I least expect it. Her mother was on that plane, after all, right alongside mine. The truth is, if I hadnât made that request, they wouldnât have been on the flight at all.
I sit up with a sigh, giving up on sleep entirely. I donât have these kinds of dreams as often anymore, but every time I do, Iâm brought back to the past. For years, I obsessively studied the case files, and Iâve only just about learned to let it go. Tonight feels like a step back when I can least afford it. Between the relocation of the company and Faye, thereâs no time to obsess over things I canât fix. I canât afford to lose myself in the past and the guilt that accompanies it, not again.
I can pretty much guess what brought this on. Each time I see Faye, Iâm hit with another dream. This one was long overdue. Itâs almost as though Iâm not allowed to forget that I donât deserve her, that I played a role in her loss â however small it may have been.
I havenât been able to stop thinking about the way she felt against me when I kneeled in front of her in my hotel room, her thighs wrapped around my waist. I keep imagining what sheâll look like as I push deep inside her in that exact same position, how sheâll sound with my name on her lips.
For years, she unknowingly kept chipping away at my defenses each time I saw her, until she finally obliterated them entirely that day in my suite a few weeks ago. Thereâs no point in denying it any longer â I want Faye, and not just physically. Seeing two of my brothers happily married made me want things I know I donât deserve. Not with Faye, at least.
I run a hand through my hair and pull on it for a moment, trying to shake myself out of my destructive thoughts. Wanting her feels so fucking shameful. Who the fuck do I think I am, desiring her? I know Iâm not worthy of her, and I still forced her to end things with Eric. Between the two of us, sheâs the one who deserves happiness. I know that, and I still stole her smile away. How much more will I take from her in the next few years?
I take a deep breath, wishing I could stop my thoughts from spiraling. I donât have these episodes as often anymore, but fuck, this is hard. I knew being around Faye would be triggering for me, but I never thought it would wreck me the way it has.
I grab my laptop, unable to resist. Just one more time. If I read through the files one more time, I might find something I missed. There has to be a rational reason behind a thoroughly tested and highly advanced private jet crashing on a route it had flown countless times. I canât shake the feeling thereâs an obvious detail thatâs staring me in the face â a tiny thread thatâll unravel the whole case. I know thatâs just my paranoia talking, but I canât dismiss the sentiment.
I sigh and fall back onto my pillow when the details remain unchanged, the clues hidden and elusive. Iâm not even sure why I keep looking for an answer. Is it because I donât think I can forgive myself without it? Perhaps a small part of me truly is looking for proof that I wasnât to blame.
My hands tremble as I grab my phone. Iâd meant to pull up a photo of my parents, but instead, I find myself staring at the article I left open in my browser. It was an interview Faye did with a music magazine, and they added a photo of her seated behind her grand piano. I only hesitate for a split-second before saving it to my phone, a hint of guilt rushing down my spine.
What would she say if she found out that Iâve followed the rise of her career, and by some extent, , for years? Iâve read every article sheâs featured in and watched every interview.
I scroll through my gallery until I find a video I took of Faye at her concert. My fingers hover over my screen for a moment before pressing play, and the haunting melody of fills my bedroom. Did she know this used to be one of my personal favorites?
Sitting through that performance was torture, yet here I am, once again unable to take my eyes off Faye. She doesnât know it yet, but sheâll be my downfall. I just hope I donât take her down with me.