Then Tom tilts her face up with one finger—he’s so fucking cool, I hate him—and he kisses her. I haven’t seen them kiss before. It’s strange, the feeling it gives me. Nothing at first. Just . . . nothing . . . and then it was like someone lobbed my fucking arm off with a machete. Nothing, and then everything. Everything bleeding out everywhere, dying right here on a bed of peonies with the love of my life on the other side of the room with a man who isn’t me, who’s actually fucking probably finally worthy of her and the bleeding out starts to feel too real. That thing in your brain that sounds
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