I feel like I should warn you: I'm more of a ticking time bomb than I am a person. And this isn't a love story.
I still don't know if I love him. I know I still don't love myself.
I know that I'm a murderer.
That's who I am now: a boy pulled beneath a strong tide, into a dark place of magik and death. The pulse of another boy, one made of flames, beating against mine as I curl into him in the darkness.
The nothing I made out of what was once a person, what once were two people.
The nothing I made of us.
The thrill of it—menace and shadows spreading beneath my skin like spilled ink, until I was powerless to pull myself back out—that became like an addiction, magik tearing away tiny fractions of my bleak life one by one until I was left to the harsh light. The pain of it, of every tiny loss, I craved it. It was like death.
You have to understand that I wasn't looking to get saved, that I'd done my best to make it look like I didn't need saving at all.
I'd done my best to actually not need it.
Especially not in the electrical surge of magik, or in a boy. The two of us, we were both cold and unfinished, jagged edges and unforgiving steel. Two weapons waiting to be used against each other.
It was only a matter of time before we fucking destroyed ourselves.
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Shadows of Ourselves (2016 Original Edition)
ParanormalSky Davenport can tell when you're lying. He can feel it... Using his strange gift to keep himself and his alcoholic mother afloat, Sky has been counting down the days until he can escape the dreary city of Saint John and start his life for real. Wh...
