The Way I Am Now (The Way I Used to Be, #2)

by Amber Smith

“Teddy bears are still bears,”

“I think you love the person you knew back then, the person you believe I can become again one day. But that’s not the same as loving me the way I am now.”

“Hey, you.”

“I know how hard that was for you to say.” I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t.”

We’re doing this for us. Somehow that makes this all so much more real, more frightening.

“No, not a pumpkin, but like a jack-o’-lantern. You know?” “Okay,” he says, nodding. “Like someone drew a face on me and carved it into my skin. Scooped out my insides. Just hollowed out, everything scraped clean. And then lit a fire in me and left me out in the cold.

Champagne on an empty stomach, cigarettes on a broken heart, weed on a shattered mind.

“This is a good place,” I tell him. “For what?” “To be ready,” I answer. And then I take his hand in mine. I squeeze once. He looks down at me and squeezes back, two light pulses. I repeat myself, clearly this time, no questions, no doubts. “I’m ready.”