Chapter 19: Rory - Entities to Lovers

Twin flames.

No matter how hard I try to run from the words, it’s not fast enough.

I bound out of Lettie’s house, face the freezing rain pelting down—all to not face Ezra calling my name as he chases after me. All to not face the fact that she’s taken one of my biggest weaknesses and rubbed salt in the wound so hard it’s in my bones.

Twin flames.

In an instant, I’m a little girl again, sitting in my bedroom, trying to speak to a spirit and ask her for advice. In an instant, I’m consumed by a darkness that hooked into my skin, wormed into my brain, and whispered in my ears for weeks.

“Rory!” Ezra shouts. His boots crunch on the gravel and he picks up his speed.

I can’t run from him forever. He’s my ride. If Lettie was so good at reading people and picking up on their energies, wouldn’t she have picked up on the fact that I’m the girl no one wants to give their heart to or fight for? Wouldn’t she have sensed I’m plagued by invisible voices that will always convince me I’m destined for a life of loneliness? Wouldn’t she have seen Mara lurking behind me, like a dark cloud on my sunniest days? Instead, she saw me, and she saw there was someone out there for me. She saw I was capable of being loved.

There is someone out there whose soul is intertwined with mine, someone who will get me when no one else does, who will be there for me in the best of times and worst of times, who could grow old with me…

I haven’t believed I could be anyone’s soulmate in so long.

There’s no way I could be Ezra’s. The look on his face when she said it—shock, embarrassment, shame. It was like he couldn’t make sense of it either.

“Wait! Rory, you’re going to fall and hurt yourself.”

As if on cue, my boot strikes a patch of slippery gravel and whooshes out from under me. Before I catch myself, Ezra is right there. He catches me steadily, groans a quiet “I got you,” and hooks one arm around my waist, the other beneath my arm to hoist me back to my feet. When I’m standing, he turns to me, resting his hands on my shoulders. He holds me firmly in place and his expression is bewildered and concerned. I bet he’s going through all the stages of confusion, too, but right now, his biggest focus is me.

His hair’s a soaked mess and the labels on the jam jars Lettie gave him have started to run. Once he sees I’ve started crying, Ezra softens, shoulders dropping. It’s the same response as earlier, like seeing me cry was the worst thing he’d ever witnessed.

“Rory,” he huffs, catching his breath. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

I shake my head. “I just want to go home.”

“Why did you rush out of there?”

“We were done talking to her,” I say, trying to wipe my eyes. My fingers shake from the cold and anxiety that won’t let me still. “What else was there to discuss?”

“I know, but…”

“Ezra,” I urge. “I want to go.”

“Fine.” He backs off in surrender.

He’s clearly annoyed, too, but not at Lettie—at me.

We reach the car. Ezra climbs into the front seat and runs a hand through his hair. The damp locks fall limp on his forehead, curls licking his temples. The defroster gets to work on the windshield, and we’re both silent. Rain thunders on the roof of the car. Ezra hesitates to put the car in drive and carefully reaches over, placing his hand on my leg. The touch is so warm and gentle, like he just wants to help. I have given him so many reasons to run away, but he keeps moving closer.

“Please, just drive.” I tell him again, “I want to go home.”

He obliges. The car makes a strange noise, but it doesn’t bother Ezra, so I ignore it, too. The tension in the air is thick and stifling, but I don’t know what to say to him. After a few miles, we finally get cell signal again and the Spotify playlist kicks back on, soft chords and yearning vocals about wanting someone so much you want to cover yourself in moss over it. Hozier, this is not the time.

Finally, Ezra clears his throat. “Can I do anything?”

He doesn’t understand what’s wrong. He can’t possibly know what’s going on in my head. I’m feeling rubbed raw and bare. What Lettie said raises so many fears in my head. What if she’s right? What if she’s right and Mara’s waiting in the wings to ruin any happiness I find, like she always is?

Ezra’s voice is quiet and tender, and I don’t have a doubt in my mind he wants to fix this however he can. Now I’m scared that even if I tell him the truth, he’ll think I’m more unhinged than he already does.

“No,” I tell him. “You can’t fix this. She…didn’t need to say that.”

“What? The twin flame thing?” he asks. “It was a little woo-woo for me, but who cares? We don’t have to listen to her.”

“I don’t think we get a choice in the matter.”

“Of course we do,” he replies. My tone must come off harsher than I mean it, because his brows furrow and he grips the steering wheel harder. “And fuck, if the idea of being with me is such a nightmare, by all means—”

“No,” I gasp. “It’s not.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t be the first person to feel that way—”

Anger and hurt seep from his words. Dismissal hurts him, too. He opened up to me in a way I didn’t expect earlier, and I think about how he also feels like he’s not worth the fight. I wonder if it’s as hard for him to imagine having a soulmate as it is for me.

“Ezra, come on. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sorry!” he cries. “How am I supposed to know? You stormed out of some nice lady’s house after she told you we were twin flames because apparently that’s a bridge too far. How else am I supposed to read that?”

The car jerks, and then…it steams. Oh no. That cannot be good.

“Ezra…”

“I see it.”

“Is it supposed to do that?”

Realistically, I know it’s not, but I don’t know how badly to rate the situation, where one is “it’s just the weather” and ten is “the car is going to blow up with you inside it.” This can’t be happening. We can’t have our car break down here. Not now.

“No,” he says, flat, annoyed, and full of despair. “The car is absolutely not supposed to smoke like that.”

The plumes continue and as Ezra keeps driving, to see if it dissipates, a horrible and rubbery smell leaks through the vents. It’s better than Temperance Talbot’s evil potion, but not by much. I pull my turtleneck over my nose and mouth. The gear shift between us starts vibrating.

“Hello?” Ezra questions the car. “Can you not do this? Please?”

The “please” is desperate and very, very sad.

“Ezra!” I shout.

“I am a teacher, not a mechanic! I…” He pulls off to the side of the road. We’re far enough away from Dawn Ridge that we can’t exactly walk back in this weather.

“Ahem…okay.” He draws his hands away from the steering wheel like it’s on fire. “I’ll go…check it out.”

I am not inspired by our chances of a quick pit stop. Ezra climbs out into the rain and pops the hood of the car. I brave the downpour and join him. He pushes the hood open and looks to me, sucking in a breath, like he hadn’t expected me to help. Rain pelts down on his jacket and his hair’s completely drenched now. The smoke clears, but that doesn’t mean the problem’s gone.

“Just as I thought we were on the right track. Fuck,” he mutters.

He swipes his palm over his face and shakes his head. His shirt is soaked and clinging to his body; droplets trace lines down the slant of his neck and hang from his eyelashes.

“What do we do?” I ask.

“I have no idea,” he sighs. “What I do know is Lettie was right. We started arguing and things went wrong again. If we want to get out of this curse, we’re going to have to stop pushing each other away. We’re going to have to be honest with each other.”

When I don’t respond, a small puff of steam rises from the engine of the car, like a volcano giving a warning it’s about to burst. It’s a sign. We’re on the wrong path. Arguing. Not talking. Pulling away. If I want to get us back on track, I need to play Temperance’s cruel games.

“I didn’t leave Lettie’s house because of you,” I confess. “But it does have everything to do with me, because there’s no one out there for me. There’s no twin flame or soulmate waiting for me. Telling me anything else is twisting the knife.”

“What do you mean?” Ezra says quietly. I bet he has some anecdote about how if some weirdo from history could find someone, there’s hope for all of us. I almost smile at the thought. His hands shake, and I’m not sure it’s entirely the cold. “How the hell can you know that for a fact?”

The uncomfortable thing about Ezra is that I have no filter around him. He brings out the most combative, bold parts of me. I’m rarely insecure around Ezra because there’s nothing to impress upon him. Until the curse, which is an extenuating circumstance, I’ve never struggled to tell him what’s on my mind. Why should now be any different?

“When I was thirteen, I was trying to contact a spirit for help. With…a crush.”

Ezra’s mouth quirks into the faintest of smiles.

“It wasn’t a spirit, though,” I continue. “It was an attachment. I couldn’t get rid of her for weeks, and she…she made sure to tell me every chance she could that there was something so fundamentally underwhelming and unlovable about me. She convinced me my friends secretly hated me. Totally scared me out of making any moves on my crush. She made it clear: I’d never be enough for anyone.”

Oh, little lonely girl.

Ezra ponders what I’ve said. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally spitting out: “Have you ever considered that this spirit was an asshole?”

What shocks me is not the lack of judgment in his voice but the anger. A lick of how dare she I wouldn’t expect from someone like him. Ezra slams the car hood shut.

“Of course I did!”

“Then why the hell are you listening to it like it’s the word of god? That dead lady doesn’t get to decide your fate if you don’t want her to. What does she know? She’s dead.”

Ugh, spoken like a true academic. “The dead actually know a lot. They have a sense of omniscience that—”

The burning rubber scent from before puffs up from the engine. Shit, that can’t be good. Ezra looks between the steaming car and me and waves me off. “Okay, but why is she the one that’s right but Lettie can’t be? Why would you believe this ghost so wholeheartedly?”

“It’s because everyone so far has proved her right.”

My eyes water and this time, I don’t try to hide it from him.

“That can’t be…” He trails off.

“What other proof do I have, Ezra? Every time I try to settle into being happy, or try to prove her words wrong, something goes wrong or she finds me again and reminds me exactly how lacking I am. It’s why I’m alone, why my only friends are my mom and the ghost haunting my apartment. I don’t take chances or risks because I know I can’t do it. I’ll always hear those words in my head whenever I try to be brave. Loving me—hell, even liking me—seems like such an uphill battle for everyone. You hear something so many times you have no choice but to believe it.”

The steaming car stops.

“Rory,” he says, lowering his voice. “I…”

“Look, you don’t have to say anything—”

Ezra rubs his temples and lets out a sigh. We’re freezing, dripping wet, and maybe even a little broken and defeated. When he looks up, his eyes are storm heavy, more sad than anything. Like I shouldn’t have to hurt like this…

Maybe I don’t.

“I know it’s not easy to talk yourself out of things you’ve believed about yourself your whole life, but that spirit? It didn’t know you. It saw a scared kid and took advantage of you, but that doesn’t make them the truth,” Ezra starts. He licks his lips and rubs the back of his neck, like he’s forcing himself to be honest and uncomfortable—just like I am. Finally, he gives up the act and even smiles, full of fondness and passion, like when I get him going on a fun history topic. “It didn’t know that you’re smart, and intuitive, and caring—even if you try to pretend you’re not. She didn’t know how great you are with your customers, or all the other spirits you help out despite having such a bad experience with one. And seriously, fuck her for making you think someone couldn’t like you? I know she’s wrong.”

“Oh, do you?” I taunt.

I finally realize how close Ezra’s gotten to me. Just one reach and he could grab my jacket, pull me into his arms, cast me under his spell. An autumn breeze sweeps through the trees, rustling the leaves and shaking them loose. At late afternoon, the sun’s dimming and the streetlights flicker on, painting him in dark oranges, browns, and shadows. The music from the radio bleeds out into the rain with us. A soundtrack to the crossroads we’ve found ourselves at.

“I know she’s wrong because I like you!”

The rain slows, and so does time. I stare at him, wide-eyed. He looks like he didn’t mean to say it, but not like he regrets it. There’s always been something alive and powerful brewing here, and now it’s bubbling over. Could all that stewing anger I felt for months have been a front for something else? Something I refused to see or feel?

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean exactly what you think I do,” he says. “I’ve always thought you’re fantastic, Rory, even when I didn’t want to admit it. I have always felt this draw to you I can’t turn off or run away from. When you’re around, that’s where I want to be—even against my better judgment sometimes. And you know what my first thought was when Lettie said we were twin flames? I thought maybe she was on to something…”

Twin flames.

For so long, all I’ve heard in my head was the voice of a sinister spirit telling me I was unlovable, that there was no one on this earth for me.

Now Mara’s nowhere to be found and all I keep hearing is this echo of someone saying there’s someone meant for me. And it’s this guy who I swore I hated, but maybe don’t hate at all?

What if I listened to that voice instead?

“I just…I don’t understand,” I stammer.

Ezra beams and drops his head into a laugh, like he’s frustrated and has abandoned all inhibition already.

“My god, Rory,” he sighs. “For a psychic, you are alarmingly dense.”

He’s right, because I never see this kiss coming. Not the way his hands rest on either side of my jaw, a thumb caressing the slant of bone there, his lips crushing into mine.

What I could see coming is how soft his lips would be and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had premonitions about the sounds he makes when he kisses. It’s a pleased sigh against my mouth, like falling into bed or letting out a deep breath. A finally, like he’d been waiting for the cards to fall into place all along.

His touch is commanding but gentle, like he’s got a lesson to teach me. We may be damp and cold and shivering, but when he touches me, I’m burning hot. It’s something feral and uncontrollable. It reminds me of what kids in middle school said about the people they liked. It wasn’t something you could put into words, just a clawing, desperate feeling you needed to act on. I only notice it now because I realize it’s what I’ve always been missing. A call to action. A channel opening that’s fresh and authentic and strong.

Ezra feels right. All of this feels right.

“God, Rory…” he groans. “God damn.”

He sucks in a breath, but it takes too long for my liking. It’s time to show him I want this, too.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, rise to my toes, and kiss him back. I nudge his mouth open with my tongue and knot my hands in his dark, wet hair. Ezra winces and whispers a curse between kisses. Apparently, he hadn’t been lying when he said he liked having his hair pulled…

The ring on his middle finger brushes my cheekbone, sending a shiver over my skin. He has all of me on high alert. I’m starving for his next touch, the next dirty declaration he dares to utter onto my lips, and the press of his body against mine. He weaves his arms around my back, gripping my jacket with fury and desperation. Kissing Ezra has a rhythm, a cadence, and is full of pure instinct. Kissing him makes me feel like the most desirable version of myself, like I’m something that drives him out of his mind.

He kisses me again, drowning and drowning and drowning, and I’m going to explode. Maybe Lettie was on to something. There’s plenty of hurt and pain to dissect behind it, but I can’t feel anything except the way Ezra’s hands slide into my back pockets and he rolls his hips into mine with another exploratory kiss.

Beside us, the car smokes again, like it’s trying to remind us it’s still injured while we’re making out. Or maybe it’s telling us we can’t keep making out if we die of hypothermia. Ezra peers at it from the corner of his eye and slowly withdraws from me, with a frustrated moan. He cups my face and caresses his thumb along the curve of my cheekbone, still tasting me on his tongue. He leans in again for one final kiss, and the car sputters.

Ezra ignores the car and kisses me one more time, like he wants it to last.

“Now I’m good,” he confirms.

One thing’s for certain: I’m not good. That kiss is going to haunt me for as long as I live.