Bound for Nirvana: (The Bound Trilogy Book 3) (31 page)

Thoughts of Ethan splintered through my mind, my heart shattering into tiny pieces as I pictured him pacing the rooms of our home, frantic with worry. I wondered if he knew what I knew, and if he did, would he hate me, be disgusted by what we’ve done? I pushed the thoughts away, hating the way they felt and the fresh wave of fear they incited. What terrified me the most was that I would never be able to think of him or love him in the same way again.

Without further thought, I opened another bottle of vodka and began to drink, gulping the pungent liquid until my vision blurred and my eyes closed. I needed to sleep. Needed to seek a place where I could forget—oblivion. A place where all this would go away, back to… before. But as my mind began to shut down and I was finally on the brink, I suddenly began to panic again, petrified that sleeping would erase all the memories I had of before. That when I awoke, all I would remember was this—sheer, miserable, heart wrenching hell. I opened my mouth to speak before sleep finally took me, the barely coherent words a softly whispered prayer.

“I’d rather be dead.”

In my cataleptic state, I had a distant awareness that the light outside had come and gone several times, days fusing with nights. It didn’t matter. I knew that in my devastated, isolated, fucked-up world it would always be dark, no matter the time of day.

Over the days, I sank deeper into the murky recesses of my mind, engulfed in the all-consuming agony of grief. Other than the occasional gulp of water, nothing but vodka had passed my lips, leaving me unable to form coherent thoughts, and my body barely able to function. If life came with a self-destruct button, I’d pressed it. I existed, but only just, as if I were suspended between life and death in this otherworldly place, teetering on the edge of insanity. Coveting it—yearning for it.

Dreams had been subdued by the vodka, just fragmented threads of garbled thoughts, really—not much more than unsubstantial floating vapor.

Until finally, the vodka was gone. And the nightmares began.

I awoke to the sound of my own voice piercing the air with a spine-chilling scream, my arms and legs thrashing wildly in the air, using more energy than my body could afford. Tears coursed down my face, melding with the sweat which drenched me from head to toe. The stench of vomit clung to my hair and face from throwing up in my sleep.

Why wasn’t I dead?

My body was depleted, my bones and heart heavy and aching from decaying desolation. Somehow, I dragged myself to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Then, stripping out of my clothes, I stepped under the steaming hot spray. The water cascaded over my fevered skin which seemed to cling to my gaunt and wasting frame. Evil and ugliness had saturated my soul and broken through to the surface of my skin. I could no longer hide my shame under the fake exterior of a beautiful body. I took the soap and began to wash, but no amount of scented sanitizer could cleanse away the foul stink of my own self-loathing.

Exhausted from trying, I slid down the shower wall and sank to the floor, the powerful rush of the water drowning out the raw, strangled sound of my abandoned keening.

When I finally gained the strength to move, I emerged and after drying off found some old sweats of Alisha’s in a drawer, pulling them over my weary bones. As I brushed my teeth with the spare I always carried in my backpack, I gazed at the unfamiliar woman in the mirror. Her face was alabaster pale, her cheeks sunken and dark, haunted circles surrounded red-rimmed eyes.

I found myself wondering what Ethan would say if he saw my neglected state. And with the sound of his voice in my head came the desperate longing to see his beautiful face. I yearned for the feel of his skin against mine, the warmth of his breath on my face. And deep down in my soul, I knew that without him, my heart would no longer beat.

Until I met Ethan, I’d always imagined that Hell would be my final destination. But when he came into my life and I finally began to face my demons, I began to believe that maybe I was living life in a purgatorial state and that one day I would be granted absolution and my sins would be forgiven. That’s when I took my first breath. I began to imagine a celestial peace for my soul and that when my demons were finally silenced, I would reach my nirvana.

Now that would never be possible, because my sins were more evil than I could have ever imagined. When I look back now, it seems so obvious. The connection we had, the way we were drawn to each other. He was part of me. Part of my soul, part of my flesh—part of my
blood
. My sin was the simple act of falling in love. But it was a love that was immoral—forbidden. And it was a sin I would never—could never—atone for. So it seemed I was right all along, my destiny had been decided. I would always be bound for hell.

And right now—I welcomed it.

Pulling a blanket around my shoulders, I grabbed my backpack and slowly made my way outside. The sun was only just rising in the sky, the only evidence that I was witnessing the birth of a new day. An icy wind whipped across the gardens from the ocean, the salty sea air beckoning me with a claw-like finger.

It was all very different now to how I’d remembered it on Claudia’s wedding day: the warm sun on my face, the place buzzing with the sound of clinking glasses and laughter; my heart missing a thousand beats when I laid eyes on Ethan, watching from a distance as he strutted around wearing his seductive charm like a second skin. Now it felt cold and abandoned—desolate.

Mustering all my energy, I made my way across the lawn and through the iron gate. Cautiously, I descended the wooden steps to the beach, the image of Ethan with his arms snaked around my waist at the end of the jetty flashing through my mind. The feel of his warm, velvet kiss on my lips and the safety of his strong arms was as real as if he were there, and the memory almost brought me to my knees with grief. I closed my eyes to the pain and swiftly blinked it away.

The rain must have fallen heavily in the night because the expanse of sand wasn’t soft and rippled like it had been that day, but instead was a smooth, even layer with a firm, crunchy texture. As I walked across the beach, my bare feet rupturing the surface, I noticed my footsteps were the only ones to violate this otherwise intact carpet of sand. Other than the raucous cry of the seagulls and the crashing of the waves, my labored breathing was the only sound to infringe on the peace. I was a trespasser in this world—an interloper.

My inadequate energy supply had depleted rapidly, I could walk no further. Turning to face the ocean, I pulled the blanket tightly around me and sank down into the sand.

The ocean seemed perplexed by my presence, the waves rushing forward suspiciously and crashing against the shore in a portentous demand to know what I wanted. I shivered as loneliness folded around me like a heavy cloak, enveloping my heart in its icy clutch. But I embraced it readily, the familiarity of it almost comforting, because I knew it so well.

Glancing over my shoulder, I looked back at the beach and the path I’d taken, the single set of footprints almost an ironic representation of my life—like they were mocking the fact that, like most of my life’s journeys, I’d taken this journey alone.

For a few moments, I allowed my thoughts to wonder about how it might have been if I’d grown up with Ethan—mindful of the true nature of our relationship. I’d have felt protected, cherished, loved. It would have been a different love, but wonderful, and special, and everything it should have been.

But I didn’t just love him. I was
in
love with him. With every breath and every fiber and every cell in my body, I was in love with him. And I would never—not ever—apologize for that.

But I couldn’t live with it.

Fumbling with haste, I pulled a notepad and pen from my backpack and scribbled down the words in my head, each flick of the pen eating away at my heart and my last remaining drizzles of energy. When I was done, I tore the page from the book and shoved it into the pocket of the sweatpants.

The freezing cold air stole the breath from my lungs as I undressed, and leaving the pile of borrowed clothes in a heap on the sand, I made my way to the inquisitive ocean. The wind lashed at me as my feet entered into the icy water, each gust like the stinging, brutal snap of a thrashing whip. This beating would be life’s final punishment—my last penance before I was plunged into bottomless perdition.

I was ready to satisfy the ocean’s curiosity.

And I was ready to take my place in Hell.

Terror consumed my soul as the freezing water rose to cover my body, squeezing the last breath from my lungs, the last beat from my heart.

Breathe! Breathe!

I breathed in, inhaling the freezing salty water into my lungs, the ocean opening up and swallowing me. The silence engulfed me as my mind and body began shutting down, and I surrendered to my fate.

Searching for my peace.