At seven, Esme wished for nothing more but to be seventeen. Seventeen-year-old Ezra could do anything. He stayed up past midnight and snuck her out to the beach, then sat with his legs pressed against hers as she gazed at the fiery reds and pale purples crawling across the endless stretch of sky. He stood waist-deep in the sea where the water reached her shoulders and hoisted her up, gesturing to the glittering stars above. At seven, Ezra was her God. Somewhere along the line, he fell from the stars. She remembered him coming home with a gaping, dark hole on the left side of his chest. “What happened?” she asked, pointing to the fragmented slivers of soul inside. “They wanted a piece,” he replied. “Who? Why?” He was quiet for a moment, then answered carefully. “Everything I do requires giving up a little bit of my soul.” When it was clear he would not elaborate further, she spoke again. “Does it hurt?” “It’s tiring,” he evaded. She frowned. “Then why don’t you do something different?” He leaned down – but not too much, for her shoulders were already at his chest – and pulled her close. “Mom and Dad put me in a cage, you know, back when I was younger.” “You’re not in a cage right now.” He chuckled softly. “Not a cage made out of bars, Ezzie.” “So why can’t you leave? Can’t you ask for the keys?” He swallowed. “I have the keys. I just don’t know anything other than the cage.” She looked up, a thin film of tears in her eyes. “That’s sad.” Ezra nodded, eyes cast on a point far off in the deep blue horizon. “Everything will be okay,” she added, with a child’s conviction. He looked down at her, with a small smile and empty eyes. “Just don’t be like me, Ezzie. Learn to live outside your cage.”
—
At seventeen, she stayed up past midnight. She stood waist-deep in the sea that used to reach her shoulders. She walked herself to the beach, then sat with her arms wrapped around her legs as she observed the blood reds and muddy purples tumble across the vast expanse of sky. She trudged through the dark, churning waters that merged with the shadows, cursing at the stars glittering overhead. She missed her cage. She missed knowing what came next. She missed the freedom of the salt air that was only refreshing when it was just out of her reach. She missed the endless expanse of ocean, once a warm embrace, now unrelenting and hostile. A strong wave crashed into the limestone cliff overhead, soaking her in a spray so cold it felt like fire. Somewhere in her mind, she registered the word dangerous, but it didn’t overpower the buzzing in her head, or the drooping of her eyelids, or the memory of what used to be Ezra, now permanently half-drunk on something that wasn’t alcohol and reduced to grayness. As it turned out, nothing was okay. At seventeen, all that was left was the urge to sink down into the soft sand, to let herself be swallowed whole. At seventeen, her God was dead.