Novel & Cerita My Youth Began With Him

He was the second son of the Beaumonts, who was currently pursuing me. He looked at me with clear admiration. “All done, Miss Cross? The celebration banquet is about to begin.” I smiled faintly and got into the car. “Let’s go.” The car started and drove off. Through the rearview mirror, I saw Lucian lying on the muddy road, staring helplessly at my taillights, like a stray dog abandoned by the world. I withdrew my gaze and did not look back again. Because ahead of me, the future shone brilliantly.

I murmured. “Old,” he said, the word curving around a huffed laugh. “I suppose the beginning is my beginning. That’s where this all starts.” He paused, as if mustering his courage. “I was born in eighteen fifty-two,” he said quietly, before loosing a long breath. The world tilted on its axis, and, like the uprooted grass, I tumbled over the edge of the cliff. “Eighteen fifty-two?” I repeated numbly. He nodded. “Then I died, in eighteen seventy-six. I guess that’s where the story starts, actually. Not at my birth, but at my death.”

He was indeed happy, and at that moment, it was the most beautiful day of his life. He remembered the first time he had told himself that he would embark on this journey. He was a teenager. He was nineteen and bristling with the sense of ambition familiar to young, wild, free boys. He was in his sophomore year in college. He was drinking beer with the fraternity members of the frat, and slices of pizza were being passed around in the dimly lit frat common room when one of them told the story of the ancient Amazonian tribe. The storyteller was a senior who loved being at the center of attention.

“Just that.” He leaned back in his chair, looking up at me, and for a moment he just looked like a person. Not the thing the city feared. Not the composed untouchable version he wore in every room I had seen him in. Just a person sitting with something old and private that someone had just called by name. “I was thirteen,” he said. “It had been a bad day. Worse than usual.” He said it plainly, no drama in it. “And this tiny girl appeared out of nowhere and started crying because she thought I didn’t want her lollipop.”

“So I can be a toy for your amusement again?” He went deathly still at my words. “What did you say?” “You know what I said,” I hissed. “I heard you all those years ago. Do you think I ever forgot?” “Eva,” he began slowly, reaching out to me with his free hand but I brushed him off. It all started one summer when I was sixteen. I’d been living with grandmother for a while, and he’d just returned from school. He was already making a name for himself as an Alpha. His presence was the only reprieve I got from her abuse.

He sat there motionless, like a frozen statue. His mind was in complete chaos, thoughts fragmenting and colliding. How had things become like this? When had everything gone so wrong? In the beginning, things had been so good between us. Perfect, even. He was the one who'd picked up that fifteen-year-old girl with a shattered family. Found her hiding in corners crying, her world falling apart around her. Piece by piece, he'd helped put her back together. Who'd patiently wiped away my tears with his own hands.

The boy who looked at me like he saw more than I was ready to show. I didn’t know what this was yet. But I knew it had begun.

“You have… a record?” A dry chuckle escaped him, humorless. “Juvenile started keeping tabs on me when I was thirteen. First charge was assault. Some older kid jumped one of our prospects’ little brothers. I broke his nose. Then it was trespassing. Vandalism. Street brawls. By fifteen, the cops had my name memorized.” Her stomach flipped. Thirteen. He’d been just a boy.

"I first saw you when you were twelve." Twelve? What the hell? He continued, his voice low, almost a murmur. "My father had a meeting and I was with him. I got bored, wandered into the gardens…" He paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "That was when I first set my eyes on you. You were…" He searched for the right word. "…radiant. Breathtaking. Like a damn angel playing in the dirt."

Beneath the heavy armour of ruthlessness he was wearing was a boy who just wanted to be loved. With every moment that passed, every second that counted, I kept falling deeper and deeper for him, and I didn't even bother to hold back. I loved his smile. I loved his hair. I loved the way his hands moved mindlessly when he explained his story. “With the kind of childhood you had, I'm sure you had your friends come up here everyday”, I sighed. “Well, you're wrong on both things”, he pointed out. “I didn't have a single friend growing up. And you're the first person other than me to be up here.”