Chapter 43: Spearcrest Saints: Part 3 – Chapter 43

from Mr Ambrose’s office.

I wait for her outside her other classes, but she doesn’t attend any of them. That evening, I go to the library, to our spot on the top floor, in the golden lights where our love waxed and waned like the moon. She’s not there.

The next day, I catch all her friends and question them all. Rose, Camille, Kayana, Giselle. None of them have seen her. I hunt down Inessa, Theodora’s cousin and her one true friend in Spearcrest, but Inessa frowns at me and tells me the same thing as the others, that she hasn’t seen Theodora. The concern on her face mirrors my own, making my stomach squirm with dread.

My mind cycles through possibilities. A medical appointment. A family emergency. An accident.

The end of the week comes, and I walk into the Apostles meeting holding the tiniest spark of hope in my chest. The spark is extinguished when Mr Ambrose drearily announces that the programme is now down to two candidates. I glance at Sai Mahal, who sits next to me, and we exchange a shocked look.

After the meeting, I wait for Sai Mahal to leave and turn to Mr Ambrose. I don’t need to ask him anything. He sighs and laces his fingers together.

“I’m sorry, Zachary. I’m truly, deeply sorry.”

“Why did she drop out, sir? Where is she?”

“Her father came to collect her on Monday. He has decided to remove her from Spearcrest.”

“What?”

Mr Ambrose tilts his head. I’ve never seen such a pitying expression on his face. “He told me she won’t be going to university because she is moving to Russia to live with him.”

“No—no, but she’s going to university, she’s going to Oxford—we are.”

“I don’t think so, Zachary. I’m so very sorry.”

My chest becomes suddenly tight, my heart hammering against the sudden constriction of my ribcage. I pull on my collar, stammering.

“She can’t go to Russia, she can’t—maybe, maybe he didn’t tell her, and—”

“She knew, Zachary.” Mr Ambrose sinks back into his chair, rubbing his hands across his face. He looks, for the first time in all the years I’ve known him, completely exhausted. “I suspect she didn’t tell you for the very same reason she didn’t tell me, the same reason she applied. Because she didn’t want us to know the truth she wished to deny.”

What was it Theodora had said to me?

“She can’t go.” My chest is too tight, my throat is too tight. My words come out in a gasp.

“She’s gone, Zachary.”

My heart lurches, and my throat closes up. I clutch my chest, widening my eyes at Mr Ambrose. Realisation floods his face; he’s up in an instant. He’s at my side when I drop to my knees. My face contorts as I try to breathe, my heartbeat too fast, my mind a howling scream.

“Zachary, my dear boy, you have to breathe. You have to breathe, alright? You’re not dying, I promise you, even if it feels like you are. You just need to breathe.”

He squeezes my shoulder while I gasp and hiss. I I’m having a panic attack, I I’m not actually dying, so why does it feel like I am?

I fall back, writhing on the floor of Mr Ambrose’s office. Each breath is an overwhelming struggle, like trying to filter an ocean through a hole the size of a pinprick. I should be used to it, but I’m not.

I don’t want to die. I want Theodora. I her.

When I regain my breathing, after what feels like an eternity on the brink of suffocation, I rear up. Mr Ambrose sits back, watching me.

“Zachary, maybe you should go to the infirmary.”

“No, sir,” I gasp. I climb unsteadily to my feet, almost fall, catch myself against the edge of his desk. “I—I refuse. I refuse to accept it. I refuse to let her go. She can’t go. I won’t let her leave.”

I stand. A tear rolls down my cheek, surprising me. I wipe it away with the back of my hand.

“Zachary—” Mr Ambrose says, standing up, but I’ve already turned, wrenched open the door and lurched out of his office.

to my room, I text Theodora with trembling hands.

Are you alright?

Where are you?

Please tell me you’re alright, that you’re safe. Please tell me you’re not gone.

Wherever you are, whatever’s happening, I’m here for you. I’ll come get you, I’ll help you however I can. I’ll do anything. Come back. Please.

Please. Theodora. I’m begging you. Please come back.

I just want to know you’re alright.

I love you.

I love you. I don’t know how to exist without you.

night with my phone clutched in my hand. The next morning, I wake up to find all my texts unread. I try to call her, but the polite robot voice informs me that the number has been disconnected.

She’s gone.

She’s actually gone.

My Theodora.

Angel, rival, beloved.

Beautiful, broken Theodora, whose existence is more precious to me than my own.