Andi Tivej

Cassie is self-sabotaging, a dry sense of humour, a sultry melody, a sarcastic remark. She's a dead gaze, smudged eyeliner, a garden of withering red tulips, and... an addict. 

Etienne is indecisive, anxious, classically handsome, a teller of great stories. He's a smile that doesn't reach the eyes, a lit cigarette, an alternative rock song, and a bad friend.  

It all started when they were only six years old. And it hasn't stopped. It keeps happening. They weave in and out of each other's lives, with their strange connection to blame. Their bond is both strengthened and weakened by their shared traumas. Their relationship is a ballad about codependency and the electricity of first love. 

Their lives are an unmanageable mess that sees them dwell in the world of drugs, depression, and the multitude of young women being found dead in the Merseyside Area. They each must confront their faith in second chances, fate, and circumstance. 

                                                         ― ― ― ― ― 

 And he's somewhere in the middle. But you can also find him at the beginning, and he'll be waiting for you by the end. He's everywhere. He is good with ropes, great at sketching, addicted to pornographic content. He hates his wife, hates his son, knows how to avoid leaving fingerprints on his victims.

ON MOUNT EVEREST WITH YOU.

He cannot describe this feeling. It is a variation of something he has felt before. It is exhilaration, a rush, a feeling of shame, of victory, of resolution. It is peace at the end of a hazardous journey. A climax after twenty minutes of rough, very rough, extremely rough sex. It is a taste of heaven when you know you’re in hell. 


He has found his next victim, of that he is sure. He can feel it in his chest, perhaps in his heart, perhaps in his ribcage, that knowing. That feeling that fate is speaking to him, communicating in hushed whispers. Shameful whispers. Firm whispers. 


She had come before him, and at the same time she had come before God, and he was starting to wonder if there was any difference at all. Her face was round. Her body was tender still. Her hair was blond and fried. There were holes in her clothes. Bruises in her arms. 


Chapter Forty.