Krista Ritchie

Je suis une fille ordinaire. J’ai été ordinaire toute ma vie. Mais à certains moments je me sens extraordinaire. Invincible. Capable de vaincre n’importe quelle peur et de sortir de ma zone de confort. Ce ne sont plus des illusions, je ne vis plus dans l’imaginaire. Je suis capable de grimper une barre de douze mètres. Je peux voler à vingt-cinq mètre de hauteur. Je peux toucher les étoiles.
Je vis un rêve.
Chaque jour. Avec lui.

- Un jour tu m’as demandé si c’était possible d’aimer deux choses autant l’une que l’autre, me rappelle-t-il. À l’époque... je ne le croyais pas. Je n’ai jamais aimé personne autant que j’ai aimé être sur scène, ce soir, avec toi.
Il lève la tête vers le plafond et ses lumières suspendues tandis que de la fausse neige virevolte délicatement autour de nous.
Le cirque. Sa famille.
- Mais j’ai trouvé la forme d’amour la plus vraie, la plus pure. Ce sont deux amours qui peuvent vivre en harmonie.
Il baisse les yeux vers moi.
Je lève les yeux vers lui. Mon cœur s’envole.
- Le cirque, et toi, murmure-t-il. Amour Amour.
Deux amours. Deux passions. En parfait équilibre.
Je le sens moi aussi, enfin.

-Pendant longtemps, je ne savais pas pourquoi je te voulais auprès de moi. Je savais que tu m'attirais, mais il n'y avait pas que ça. Ton énergie, ton idéalisme, ton optimisme… ces choses me manquaient. Pendant des années, j'ai recherché ces choses qui me rendaient vivant chaque samedi soir.

Pendant son after-show. Le seul moment où il s'autorise à lâcher du lest et se sentir libre.

- J'ai réalisé, continue-t-il à voix basse, que tu étais mon samedi soir. Etre avec toi me donne l'impression d'être à nouveau vivant.

Il me met à nu, couche après couche, comme s’il défaisait un lit. Avec précipitation. Sans faire attention au matelas en dessous. Ça me rend nerveuse, vulnérable.

"Did Connor ask you yo come patch things up for him ? He got you to do his dirty work?"
She glares. "I'm not Connor's bitch," she snaps. "I do what I want to do. You want to know the truth ? He told me to stay out of his relationship with you because he's afraid I'll do more harm than good. He's so scared to lose you, and you can't see it because Connor won't let you."
I process everything she says. "Why is that?"
" He enjoys acting like he's invicible. It's infuriating, but we all have our faults, even him."
I put him on a pedestal above everyone, above my own brother. I thought there was no fucking way Connor Cobalt would hurt me. He was designed to be there for all of us. He made me feel worthy of love even if he never truly loved me.
"Our whole friendship feels like a lie," I tell her.
"It's not," she says. "I've known him since I was fourteen, Loren. I've seen his superficial friendships and the ones he creates to further himself in life. You're not one of those. He's more himself with you than he usually his. You have to believe that."

My mom.
My mom is th emost famous woman in the world. She's the reason her sisters are famous. The reason I'm famous.
The reason we're all famous.
Lily Calloway is the origin to the public scrutinity, the media harassment, the paparazzi invasion in Philadelphia of all cities - but it's not her fault.
It's never her fault.
I wish I could say our fame derived from a pure act of love, of kindness, of rainbows or motherfucking magic - something other than what actually happened.
But it was a scandal. Years before I was born.
Someone leaked information when she was only twenty-years-old.
Lily Calloway, the heiress of Fizzle soda empire, is a confirmed sex addict.
The headline about her addiction rocked the world. A salacious, shocking headline - that's all it took. The news caused every Calloway sister to go from rich obscurity to instant notoriety.
Our fame burns. And burns. None of us need to stoke the flames for it to stay lit.

[...] "I'm having a fight wxith my wife," he says. "My mind was somewhere else". He's still fighting with her ?
"Is she okay ?" Daisy asks, pulling her phone out of her pocket to text Rose.
"She's how she normally is," Connor says vaguely.
"Bitchy," Lo clarifies. "High-strung, obsessive compulsive." He smiles. "God, I'm so glad she didn't come."

Ryke Meadows has invigorated my body and soul.
He is more than just my pillow.
My wolf.
My bodyguard.
He's my everything.

People make mistakes every day, some small and some big, but I just wonder when I'll stop making them. Or is this a lifelong thing ? Do we all just wander through life, fucking up and trying to put ourselves back together only to continue on again ?
Are we the accumulation of our mistakes ?
A part of me regrettably thinks so.
My failures have defined me more than my triumphs.
But I don't want to live in that hopeless reality. Not anymore. I want to be the accumulation of my failures, my successes, of all the people I've ever met, of the man I love, and the life I want. I want to be defined by so many factores that it's too complicated for any mathematician to piece apart.
That would be the perfect life.
Not good or bad.
Just complex.

"Be careful with her, Ryke. She might be experienced, but she's still my sister. If you hurt her, I'll personnaly snip off your balls and hang them on the Christmas tree this year."
I internally cringe. "I would't fucking hurt her, I promise you, Rose."