CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

|•| ANDRÉ BAUDELAIRE |•|

The recession of the moon into its dark shell in the clouds, mirrored the incessant chip at my soul for the past few days. It seemed as if something inside me was getting chopped off as each day went by and I recoiled from the one girl who made me feel so alive.

I shoved my left hand into my pocket, twirling my tumbler absentmindedly in my right hand while I stared into the cold, dark, lonely night as though miraculously, all my problems would fade away the same way the moon was retracting into the dark clouds. But jokes on me because the more I stared at the waning celestial body, the more I became brusquely aware of the void that was perched at the core of my soul.

I chugged my whiskey down my throat all at once, allowing myself to embrace the harsh burn that lodged in my throat. It felt like a punishment for the kind of wedge I had willingly driven between us since that afternoon at the Park. I was so in control. I had control over everything and I had alre