Broken Hearts (Light in the Dark 5)

All the walls are white, with thick beams on the ceiling, and creaky wood floors that look original and boast lots of wear and tear.

The kitchen is small, barely enough room for one person, but it works.

To the left of the kitchen is the living area with a love seat, a coffee table with scattered magazines all in French, and a TV the size of a cracker box.

There is no dining table, all we have for eating is what’s on the balcony. But it’s so beautiful there we haven’t minded and the weather has been perfect.

Across from the living room and kitchen is the bed with two small nightstands and lights embedded in the wall above each. Beneath the bed is a large oriental rug with deep reds, purples, and blues. It’s some of the only color in the space. So much is white, white, white, but it works. It’s bright and makes the space seem larger.

The bathroom, which I just came from, has tiled black and white floors, a claw foot tub, a shower small enough to be one on an airplane, and a small pedestal sink with a cracked mirror above it.

It’s definitely not the nicest place but it’s homey, and I’m glad we chose it over a hotel.

Jace sits on the end of the bed, tying his heavy boots. He then slips a beanie on and deems himself ready.

We exit the flat and step out onto the narrow sidewalk. There’s barely room for us to walk side by side. It’s riddled with cracks and holes, grass peeking through intermittently.

My boot catches in one of the holes and Jace’s hand shoots out, catching my elbow. I stumble back into his body and laugh.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll always catch you.”

When I’m steady, he lets me go and we continue on our way.

We catch a taxi and I tell the man we want to go to the catacombs. He peels out into traffic, driving like a crazy person. European traffic is not for the faint of heart. I thought American drivers could be crazy, but they’re nothing compared to this. Yesterday, I saw a person in a crosswalk nearly get hit by a motorcycle. People want to get to their destination and they don’t care if you’re in their way—they’ll run right over you.

The driver drops us off, and after we pay him he drives away, tires screeching.

I shake my head and look at Jace. “These drivers are going to give me a heart attack.”

He chuckles and rubs his fingers over his mouth. It’s a nervous habit he developed after he quit smoking. It’s like his body still longs for them and he can’t resist the twitch in his fingers.

I’d prefer to tour the catacombs on our own, but since we’d probably be lost for all eternity we end up buying and join the tour.

We’re led deep underground with a group of people, mostly tourists, all speaking different languages.

Lights speckle our way, so we’re not in total darkness, but there’s something still entirely eerie about it.

Knowing we’re this far underground, it almost feels like we’ve been buried alive, which begins to build a panic in my chest.

I dam it down, refusing to be a pansy.

The skulls line the wall in a seemingly endless stack. Everywhere I look are more and more skulls, all watching us, almost like they’re pleading for someone to help them.

I take photos when I can, astounded by the creepiness, but also by the fact that there’s something sort of beautiful about it. All those people. All those different stories. All those lives. They’re real people who lived once upon a time. They had good days and bad. They aren’t much different from us—except for being dead, of course.

The tour guide is speaking, and Jace bends down to my ear.

“Confession: This place is creepy as fuck.”

A laugh bubbles out of my throat and I slap a hand over my mouth to hide it, but I’m too late. The tour guide and group all turn to look at us.

Embarrassed at being caught, my cheeks flame. “Sorry.” I wave. “It won’t happen again.”

The tour guide gives me a stern look and then resumes her speech.

We’re led further through the catacombs, past more and more skeletons.