Chapter 2

"Elliot, you've been with me since you were 18. Naturally, I'll take care of you. You're free to do whatever you want in life," Alora said.

When she told me she'd take care of me, I wondered if she meant the address of the romantic set-up she'd sent to my inbox, or the black card she'd presented me.

I knew there was enough money on the card to keep me fed and clothed for the rest of my life, just as I knew a person in my shoes had no reason to refuse it. After all, it seemed only justified for a lover like me to take the money and leave in peace.

Alora was smiling at me. She didn't care at all if I took the card or not. She'd given it to me, and my choice made no difference to her.

A self-deprecating laugh escaped me as I met her gaze. "You don't have to pay me to leave. I won't give you any trouble."

I'd already packed up my stuff before Alora left. I had only a few items of clothing to my name, and even using a suitcase felt like overkill.

I'd been with Alora since I was 18, and at 25, I had nothing but seven years of heartache to show for it.

…

Much like Alora, I fell hopelessly in love with the person I met at 18.

She met Logan at 18, and I met her at the same age. We fell in love with someone so captivating and bewitching that it'd take us the rest of our lives to forget them.

At 18, I was caught up in my search for a point in living. I'd grown up in an orphanage and gone through three foster families within a decade.When my last pair of adoptive parents passed away, I was on my own again.

I inherited their house along with their debts. I sold everything I could, save for the house. I put it up for sale on a secondhand property marketplace, but it garnered little to no interest.

So, I ended up working at a construction site during the day, and waiting tables at a barbecue joint at night. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life working dead-end jobs; I wanted to go to school and learn.

Alas, I was forced to admit how small and powerless I was in the face of reality.

I slaved away the entire summer, but the money I made was only enough to cover one-tenth of my adoptive parents' debts. While my classmates were having dilemmas over which laptops to buy before school reopened, I was fretting over the 500 dollars I'd need for schoolbooks.

I was struggling to choose between school and work when my already-malnourished body finally broke down in protest. Late one night, I'd just arrived at my front door when I collapsed.

My forehead struck the doorstep, and my blood pooled on the ground.

I passed out and lay on the ground for a long while until someone on their morning jog discovered me. He panicked and was about to dial 911 when I finally came to.

I summoned all my strength and forced myself to my feet. "Thank you. I'm fine."

An ambulance ride would cost me about 400 dollars, but a bottle of glucose solution from the drugstore would set me back only four dollars.

The morning jogger left looking bewildered. He probably found me odd.

I rinsed the blood that had dried and caked over my forehead, then stumbled back home. I opened the door to find the creditors standing in the living room, though they might have sat down if I hadn't sold the only couch.

They held baseball bats and eyed me with blatant contempt. "Hey, brat. Didn't your parents leave you anything when they died?"

I stood in place, wordless, as I dug the six-dollar change from the drugstore out of my pocket and handed it to them. The man leading them scowled, spat on the floor, and swore under his breath.

The next second, his baseball bat came down hard on me.

I wrapped my arms around my head and dropped to my knees, wishing I would be dead by the next time they came over.

That night, I was on my way to end my life when I met Alora, who'd been smoking on the bridge. She was 20 at the time, but she'd already finished business school abroad.

Alora and I were from two different worlds, but she called out to me as I swung my legs over and sat on the bridge rail.