Love's Secret Torment by Stacy L. Darnell

Author:Stacy L. Darnell [Darnell, Stacy L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B00UPA1F8G
Barnesnoble: B00UPA1F8G
Goodreads: 22887142
Publisher: Infinity Books, LLC
Published: 2015-03-14T04:00:00+00:00

A part of me died the night we lost him. I was acutely aware of Sam’s presence as soon as my feet stepped off the elevator in the hospital. I ran up behind her as she was screaming and wrapped my arms around her. In that instant, I knew only that I wanted to console her, whatever it was that had her so beside herself. But when I turned and saw the body—his body—lying covered by a sheet, that’s when a part of me died.

Our lives were irrevocably changed from that moment on.

The hospital had given us Alec’s belongings the day after he died, but Sam wasn’t able to even look at the bag. She just started crying about how he wasn’t there anymore. She didn’t want to look at his empty clothes and empty shoes. She was distraught . . . we both were. But I knew I had to hold on to that bag. I knew we’d both want and need to see it later. It was the last, vibrant piece of Alec we had left.

About a month after Alec died, I opened it and took out his shoes, socks, jeans, shirt, and jacket, either the hospital had thrown out his boxers, or he went commando. Either option was fine by me. It was when I picked up his jacket, that I found it, a little black velvet box. My heart sank down into my stomach. I didn’t even make it to the bathroom before I threw my guts up.

God, it was a good thing Sam hadn’t wanted to see that bag. She would have lost it. I sat on my couch and stared at that little black box. Probably for hours. I wanted to open it and see what he’d chosen for her. I wanted a glimpse of the hope he held in his heart for getting Sam back. I deserved the pain of seeing that token of hope, since I’d basically spat on it when we last talked. But I just couldn’t bring myself to open it. I kept staring at it and thinking. Thinking and staring. Staring and remembering . . .

I thought about the last time I talked to him. What we both said to each other, the harsh words and callousness between us. The last words he’d spoken to me ran on an endless loop through my mind.

‘Over my dead body, will I let you have her.’

I stood up, walked in the bathroom, and looked at my reflection. I knew the answer to my question when I looked in the mirror that night after he stormed off.

And now that it was all said and done, and I stood looking back into the mirror, I couldn’t live with what I fucking saw. The black mark on my soul grew as the tears ran down my face. His sad, regretful expression after I spoke the wretched words “Fine, little brother, if that’s how you want it” haunted my mind.

I turned around and punched Aunt Robin’s bathroom wall.

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