Dear Fin,

    I found your mix tapes today. You used to give me mix tapes all the time, back when we’re in high school. Do you remember them? I have dozens upon dozens, all with their own separate themes: autumn, children’s laughter, timelessness, etc. These themes revolved around our lives, around the little things we found beautiful.

    There was one, though, one mix tape where . . . just wow. It was the first one you made where you featured one of your own songs; I remember crying when I first heard it. You so rarely let me hear you sing, and when you did I was so awed by your musicality. I still do, in fact. There’s nothing quite as beautiful as your voice.

    The tape was called Darkness upon Darkness. It was a rather sad mixture, composed of tragic songs questioning life and sorrow and death. The songs stirred my soul and I just remember, I remember, the way I realized how broken you were.  And I vowed I would put you back together, just as you had been trying so hard to with me.

    Encounter Number Thirty-Five:

    You came into my room wearing an enigmatic smile, much like Etta’s, and holding a box adorned with doves. You stood sheepishly in my doorway, watching me with those vivacious green eyes. I couldn’t help but smile.

    I had been stuck in my room for days after the incident at the Christmas Party. A doctor had come in and sewed my wrists shut, followed by Dr. Howard who had questioned my sanity. And all in between, you came and held my hand and promised everything was going to be alright; I almost believed you.

    My father had demanded that I rest, so I listened because he so rarely made requests from me. Bea and Claude (once sobered) gave me company and part of me wondered why Bea hadn’t left yet. Hadn’t she said she just wanted a ride from Claude to visit her own family for Christmas? Regardless, they seemed to enjoy each other’s company.

    It was the times that you came to visit me where I was at my happiest, though. Because you made me feel strong, rather than pitiful.

    “Hey,” I murmured.

    “Hey,” you murmured.

    We’re silent.

    “How are you feeling?” You asked.

    “I’m fine,” I insisted.

    “That’s wasn’t my question; I wanted to know exactly how you’re feeling,” you responded, stepping into the room.

    “Then, to your question, I insist that I’m fine,” I replied.

    You grinned. “You’re too cute.”

    I blushed. “You’re too sweet.”

    “I wish I was as sweet as you,” you said.

    I continued to blush and fell silent.

    “I brought you something,” you told me.

    I smiled.

    “I know it’s somewhat arrogant of me to keep these to you, but . . .” you said, biting your lip, as if unsure of your words. I found it cute that you could still be nervous around me.

    “Come here,” I commanded.

    You obeyed.

    I grabbed your shoulders and pulled you closer to me. For me, someone who barely had any confidence, the action felt so bold. But the expression on your face, so dreamlike, pushed me forward. We weren’t quite kissing, but I could feel the bare whisper of your lips against mine; it was like we’re exchanging breath. And somehow, that felt more intimate than kissing.

    “I love when you share your music with me,” I breathed.

    You smiled, pulling my lips with yours, so they’re mirroring each other. Then you leaned forward, kissing my teeth. I couldn’t help but laugh. You took the opportunity to kiss my laughing mouth and we just kissed and kissed and kissed.

    “Your mouth is addictive,” you murmured, between kisses.

    “You’re making me suffer from basorexia,” I replied, reaching forward and stealing kiss after kiss from your beautiful lips.

    “Basorexia?” You asked.

    “The overwhelming desire to be kissed,” I explained.

     “I like it when you get all spelling bee on me,” you said.

    I laughed.

    Eventually, my basorexia subsided enough for me to open the dove laden box. Inside was indeed another mix tape. Just the sight of it was enough to make me grin. On scotch tape, Darkness Upon Darkness was written in your ever-familiar handwriting.

    “Can you put this in the cassette player?” I asked.

    You completed my orders, before returning to my bed. You lied next to me and I curled up against your chest. You heartbeat was like my own special melody, a song only I could understand; it echoed beautifully to the music from your mix tape. You stroked my hair and I thought about your hands, musician’s hands, were so skilled in my hair . . .

    And then your song came on:

“I am suffocating

In this small town of mine

I want to run away

I feel so blind.”

    My eyes meet yours as I recognize the tune, the one you played for me time and time again in your room. Your voice, on the tape, was . . . beautiful, the timbre was angelic but contained a certain roughness that only a devil could manage.

    “Fin . . .” I trailed off.

    Before you can reply, the next verse comes:

“Because even in the darkness

Your shadow leaves

And you're so alone

All you can do is grieve.”

    I don’t know how it happens, but suddenly I’m straddling you. My legs slithered around your hips and you hold me down, you hands coiled around my thighs. You watched me like I’m the most beautiful thing in the world.

    We exchanged breath for a moment; before you let your lips explore my face. You lips wandered across my nose and my cheeks and temple.

“But then I met you

And I saw those startled eyes

I realized something true

We’re not all obsidian

You’re my muse

You gave me flight

You lit my fuse

And we’re not all obsidian.”

   “You’re my muse,” you whispered, as the verse fades. You fingers tangle in my hair, the other hand angling my face to stare at you. But I would never look away, if I had the choice. “You’re my dove, my songbird, my love. I need you like I’ve never needed anyone else, I . . . you make me realize that everything isn’t so obsidian.”

“I used to be scared of shadows

They stood so tall

Lingering in the darkness

They made me want to fall.”

    “Look at me, dove,” you begged.

    But I was looking at you . . . when had I ever stopped? Because it was when I was looking at you that I really saw myself, that I felt anything. You made me human. You made me feel. You made me realize not everything was so obsidian.

“But then I met you

And I saw those startled eyes

I realized something true

We’re not all obsidian

You’re my muse

You gave me flight

You lit my fuse

And we’re not all obsidian.”

    So I look at you, my gaze sharp. “I love you, Finland Erickson.”

“I can breathe again

I can see once more

You are my eyes and my breath,

It’s you that I adore.”

    And you grin. “I love you, too, Annalise Martin.”

“But then I met you

And I saw those startled eyes

I realized something true

We’re not all obsidian

You’re my muse

You gave me flight

You lit my fuse

And we’re not all obsidian.”

    End of Encounter Number Thirty-Five.

    And I listened to that song, our song, and I thought about how much I did love you. How much I do. Because it was moments like that where I truly believed that, somehow, we had managed to find our purpose in life: each other.

   Now, I sit here and . . . it’s hard to feel.

    Pain makes you numb.

    I wish I could feel.

    But you even took that away from me.

    -Annalise.

*

    Hey Reader!

    Notice: I really like this chapter. I wrote the song, even though I really suck at writing lyrics, I liked how this turned out. Not that I think anyone will (and if it isn't arrogant to ask for), but if anyone is interested in making Obsidian into an actual song, I would be honored. Like seriously.

    Chapter's song: "My Blood" by Ellie Goulding. This song talks about a relationship that was so challenging and exhausting that when it ended, it felt like all you're left with is your blood. That's Fin and Annalise's relationship, or rather their break up. I think this song also applies to their pasts.

    Thanks for reading!

    Love Your Favorite Liar <3