Well Written

10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Marcus

T he lighthouse feels drastically more haunted than she did the last time I stepped inside. Nothing looks inherently different, but something feels off. Vacant.

It's stupid, I know, because this lighthouse was empty long before Kane and I ever stepped inside. But she feels even more abandoned now, and I wonder if we are the first visitors she's had since the last time we entered.

"Do you remember her being this… creepy?" Kane asks, his brows knitted together.

I can't help but let out a soft chuckle as I look at him. His thick, brown hair is pushed to one side from the wind, and his warm eyes are round and worried.

Kane used to tease me about my belief that Roberta, the lighthouse, was haunted by her old keeper. But from the furrow of his brow, and the slight downturn of his lips, I think, after twenty years, he is finally beginning to believe me.

"Roberta has come for revenge," I taunt, and the whites of Kane's eyes grow even wider.

"Don't say that!" He waves his hands in the air like it will rid us of the ghosts inhabiting the space. "That's not funny, Marc."

I point at a rusted blue barrel against the wall, and approach it, tossing in the remnants of my snow cone. Kane follows, casting his garbage on top of mine. I peek through the window at the sea, watching as giant waves crash into the shore.

"We might be stuck here for awhile," I say hesitantly. Kane's dissatisfaction only intensifies, and he quickly squeezes his body beside mine, peering through the window to confirm my assessment.

A loud sigh comes from the depths of his chest, which I can only assume means that he reluctantly agrees. Something needs to fill the silence that follows. Not because it's awkward with Kane, but because it isn't. Because it feels so instinctive, so right to just stand here saying nothing, even after all this time. And I'm afraid of what I might do if things continue to feel so natural.

"So…" I pause, trying to find something, anything, to fill this comfortable void. "Why didn't you leave? After dinner, I mean."

Jesus. If Kane wasn't watching me with a deer-in-the-headlights type of stare, I would be palming my sweating forehead out of embarrassment. Asking him why he decided to stay with me, while he has no option to leave, is a truly terrible question. But, at the very least, it adds some much-needed discomfort to the situation.

Kane's wide eyes blink slowly at me, and he clears his throat.

"I uh—" He swallows, the knot on his jugular bouncing. "Well, I wanted to ask you about your writing."

"Oh, right," I nod, clicking my tongue to the roof of my mouth. I don't know why that sentence made my stomach sink. Maybe because I'm so used to people only wanting to be around me for the art that I create, or maybe because I was secretly hoping, that maybe, just maybe, Kane asked me to walk with him, because he missed me too.

It's ridiculous, I know, but I can't stop wondering anyway. I never have been able to get it off my mind, what things would have been like if I hadn't left.

Would we have moved in together? Gotten married? Would Kane have ever decided to try living?

It's all pointless to think about, because in the end, I never would have accepted myself the way I needed to for him to be happy. For that to happen, I had to escape. But I think about it anyway, and sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if he had simply come with me.

"What do you want to ask me?"

Kane's gaze drops to the floor, and he chews nervously on the inside of his cheek. "It's dumb, actually. I don't know why—"

"It's not dumb."

He looks up at me, those russet brown eyes soft, and warm, and nervous. A shaky breath slips from his mouth.

"Well, I- I wanted to know. Harrison's Affair ?"

My gut tightens as the words leave his mouth, and I know there is no real way out of this conversation. This confession.

"Yeah?"

"I just wondered if— well, if—" Kane seems to be having trouble getting his words out, and the intelligent thing to do would be to let him stutter and fluster until he decides to give up on the question. But Kane deserves the truth, and I will never give him less than he deserves again.

"It's about you," I confirm quietly. " Us ."

Kane's expression shifts into something unrecognizable, and when he speaks, his voice sounds hoarse and choked.

"Why?"

I know I need to answer him. I know he needs to understand. But it's hard, to admit out loud, that I never really stopped loving Kane.

"I wanted to see a reality where I never left." After I say it, I realize that the lighthouse was never silent until now. I can't hear anything. Not the wind, not the ocean, not Kane's breath. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

He shakes his head, clearing his throat.

"No, I asked."

Quiet looms in every square foot of this place. Even the whistle of the air outside has been completely drown out by the heavy pulse filling my ear drums. The last time we were here, was the last time I saw Kane before I left, and I think that fact is weighing heavy on the both of us.

"So, Heartless Heights . What inspired that one?" he asks suddenly. I break into a soft, sad chuckle. He was never good at being subtle. I loved that about him. Love. I love that about him.

"Did you like it?" I ask, allowing him to divert the conversation. It's a courtesy to the both of us, even if I could, in theory, talk about Harrison's Affair all day. And judging by the annotations and erosion of his copy, Kane could too.

He pauses, looking to the top of the stairs. "I have to admit," he finally answers. "It wasn't my favorite of yours."

It feels like I've swallowed the sun. Hot, beaming energy filling my stomach when Kane speaks. Part of it is his voice, sure. It's raspy, and soothing and timid. But it's the words that come from his mouth that mean the most to me, because I have never been understood in the way Kane understands me.

"I'm glad you said that," I reply, running my hand along my jaw. "Because I fucking hate that one."

Immediately, Kane frowns, pressing his brows together. " What? Why?"

"You tell me." I smile. Kane looks defensive, and nervous, like he's scared to hurt my feelings. That's another thing I've always loved about him. As honest as he may be, Kane is always kind.

"I didn't say I hate it. I said it wasn't my favorite of yours," he clarifies.

I roll my eyes. "C'mon, Kane. Be mean for once in your life. Tell me what you really think."

"I don't want to."

The way he looks at me, how the sunset reflects off the lighter shades of brown in his eyes, makes me want to back down, and give him what he wants. Anything he wants, always. It's hard to understand how long you can be apart from someone, and still, some things never change.

"Alright," he says defeatedly. Then, he straightens his posture, holding his head high. "I can be mean."

"Sure." I smile. "Go ahead."