Prologue

   For weeks I screamed every night from the pain that was ripping me apart from the inside. Then I stopped.

On the outside, I looked numb. But on the inside, pain was clawing at me and there was no medicine that could help me; each heartbeat was a throbbing ache inside my chest. I got used to it; now it was an integral part of me.

It’s been six weeks since I held them. Six weeks since I smelled them. Six weeks since I heard their laugh. I felt shattered, a part of me died with them that night. Sometimes I heard their voices in my head and I’d frantically look around hoping for one more glimpse, one more laugh.

All around the apartment boxes sat unpacked, although you couldn’t tell whether I was moving in or moving out. Boxes of meaningless items my sister packed in hopes to encourage me to start a new life. I haven’t looked through most of them, they were either things she bought me or gave me. I didn’t want any reminders of the past, everything I loved and possessed burned in the flames on the night of the explosion.

I sat on the windowsill in a new country, a new city, and a new apartment, the pain my only companion. Nothing eased the suffering inside me. I felt agonizing grief within me day and night. It hurt to breathe; I wanted to weep and scream, yet nothing came out.

It'd been so long since I felt anything other than despair. I wasn't even sure if there was hope for anything else but the pain anymore. I wrapped a blanket around me. The fabric brushed across the pink, puckered line along my wrist. A night of desperation and agony had led to the decision. I stared at the opposite wrist and the matching pink line of freshly healed skin that matched the other.

I pulled the blanket closer to me and curled up on the windowsill, turning my back to the window and the world.

Chapter One

Six months later

   “Eve,” my sister’s voice was nagging me from somewhere. “Wake up.”

I refused to open my eyes. Oblivion during sleep was better; it was the only time I got some reprieve. Sometimes I dreamt they were still with me. It was the only time I didn’t feel complete desperation.

“Eve, that’s enough!” she begged. “I can’t bear this anymore. You have to snap out of it! Open your eyes or I’m calling the ambulance.”

I didn’t want to deal with anyone or anything. I opened my eyes and met my sister’s worried gaze.

“Here,” I muttered. “Now go away, Elise.”

“No,” she objected. “I’m not going anywhere till you get back up on your feet. You can’t keep going like this.”

I closed my eyes again, wishing she’d just disappear, go away. Anything just so I wouldn’t have to hear anyone’s voice.

“You are not ignoring me this time,” she ranted softly. “I know you are hurting, but it’s time to get back up.”

She lifted my upper body. “Jesus Christ, Eve. You are practically skin and bones.” I guess it wasn’t that hard to lift me up then. “You are withering away. I left you alone for almost six months. Since you haven’t snapped out of it, I will make you.”

“Why can’t you just go away?” I whispered in desperation.

“I’m not going anywhere because I love you,” her voice was firm. I knew my sister well enough to know she wouldn’t go away. “You’re going to take a shower, and I’m taking you for tea and a light lunch.”

“What are you doing here anyhow?” I mumbled, not moving at all. “And how did you get into my place?”

“I took a vacation,” she replied while pushing me, forcing me practically to get out of bed. “I’m staying here till you get out of this coma.”

“Ok,” I told her. “I’m out of it… all good. Would you leave now?”

“No,” she retorted. “Go get in the shower. Then we are going for lunch.” She practically pushed me into the bathroom and into the shower.

An hour later we sat in a small bistro cafe, in downtown Edinburgh. There was a sandwich in front of me but it held no appeal. Elise kept chattering while I sipped on my tea; although, I hadn’t heard a damn word she’d said.

“Have you written anything?” she asked me out of the blue.

I stared at her unsure if I should tell her the truth or not. I had been writing since I was a teenager, and it was only due to royalties income that I was able to afford my apartment in a new country.

To hell with it, she probably already knew I screwed that up too.

“No,” I told her. “I quit and broke off the contract with the publishing company. I couldn’t do it anymore.”