by Stephie Walls
I couldn’t be anything other than a romantic at heart — it’s my nature, it’s who I am. But this isn’t a typical story of traditional love. It isn’t a fairy tale. No happily ever after neatly tied up with a shiny bow. It’s a memoir of the reality left behind in the wake of grief — the desolation, the resurrection, and final culmination life offers to the fallen.
This is a journey through love…the love of self, love of a friend, and sometimes love is ugly, messy —destructive.
My name is Bastian Thames…and this is my story.
I’m at the decay phase. I’ve put as many filters on my life as possible to hide it or cover it up, but the fact is, daily I think of my own demise, how I would take my own life to escape the pain. The agony has been all-encompassing. The only reason I haven’t done it is fear—plain and simple. Fear of the unknown. If there is something beyond this, why the fuck would I want to leave here to go there? To endure more of this? At least this pain is familiar. If I knew there was nothing but darkness, a definitive end on the other side, I would pull the trigger today, end it all. I know, I’m a selfish bastard and a coward at that, but it’s the truth. Nate, my only real friend, knows it. That’s why he checks on me daily. That’s why he’s trying so hard to find an outlet for me.
“Yeah, it does.”
“These are the colors of your soul, Bastian. What people don’t understand is that those colors are continuously changing in life. Through the ups and downs, they go from pinks and purples to deep shades of amber and crimson, to grays and almost unrecognizable blacks, and hopefully, back to greens and hues of orange, anything signifying life. They become your aura—like a kaleidoscope, ever changing. You’ve turned your wheel for the first time in years. Find the colors of your life again.” He grips my bicep with his hand, giving it a slight squeeze of encouragement and bit of a smile.
I give him a nod, acknowledging I heard him, but I’m unable to express any thoughts on the subject. I’m in unrecognizable blacks, but there’s color in the peripherals of my world for the first time in half a decade.
He walks out of the room, leaving me staring at my soul on the wall.
Stephie is a thirty-seven year old mother of one to the most adorable eight-year-old girl to ever walk. They live on the outskirts of Greenville, South Carolina where they house two cats (Annie and Gus) and a dog, Piper.
She has a serious addiction to anything Coach and would live on Starbucks if she could get away with it. She’s slightly enamored with Charlie Hunnam and Sons of Anarchy and is a self-proclaimed foodie. An avid reader who averages around three hundred novels a year and wishes she had time to read more.
She currently works full-time in the Greenville area and fill her "extra" time (haha) with reading anything she can get her hands on and writing contemporary romance novels with a hint of erotica.