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because raging is so much safer than the alternative: the untethered spiral of anxiety that spools out whenever she loses control.
“Did she ever make you cry?” So, so many times.
A mad scientist, but his science was syntax and diction.
“So, you heard her call me an apathetic asshole who doesn’t care about anyone or anything?” she asks, fiddling with the buckle on her overalls. Joe fixes those insightful eyes on her. “I think we both know you care far too much about everything.”
“I didn’t hit her with my car on purpose!” Logan flails. “I am not the Iago!”
She couldn’t think about being left.
When she’s finally alone, and there’s nothing left to distract her from the thoughts inside her head.
“I, for one, am happy to let my past trauma resurface at unexpected times. It’s like a never-ending game of emotional Whac-a-Mole.”
“I hate Logan because she treats people like Barbie dolls and tosses them aside as soon as she gets bored with them.” “Maybe she’s just afraid of being tossed aside first.”
“You’re not a punch line, Hale. You’re a puzzle.”
“Joking is my flawed coping mechanism,” she said. “I’m not trying to make things worse.”
Hale can’t just let herself be a flawed human. She never could.
And she resents the idea that wearing this dress somehow makes her less gay.
But if it were a dream, why could she still feel the phantom imprint of Logan’s lips on hers? Why did she still feel hot prickles of shame down her spine?
It was the entire universe, that feeling in her chest. It was galaxies and infinity. The kiss gathered inside her, made her feel brave, the way Logan always made her feel brave.
“Stay, stay, stay,” she chants like a prayer. Or a Taylor Swift song. And it works for a bit.
YESSSS
The way a simple touch that had always meant nothing suddenly meant everything.
Those cruel words decimate every ounce of feigned apathy Logan has, making her feel small and silly, the way her other teachers always had. The way her mom had, before she left.
But writing… writing is chaos. It’s creative and it’s messy and it’s uncertain.
There’s nowhere for Logan to hide her feelings in the nonexistent space between their bodies. It’s a kiss like arguing. Like passion and stubbornness. A kiss like mutual surrender.
She thought Rosemary would kiss like they’re in a Jane Austen novel, but she kisses her like they’re in a Jane Austen movie adaptation.
Rosemary smooths down the hem of her soaking dress. “Well, I think I proved my point.” “What point was that?” “That you do feel something for me, whether you’re willing to admit it or not.” Logan laughs in the rain. “Oh, I definitely feel something for you.”
Yesterday, kissing Logan in the rain felt like writing when the words were good. It felt like everything inside her was clicking together, instinct and art melding in her fingertips, like that was the thing she was put on this earth to do. Write stories and kiss Logan Maletis.
“I like lyrical dissonance. Some people are really good at acting like everything is fine even when they’re falling apart inside.”
“Kisses always mean something to me. Yesterday’s kiss meant something to me, and our kiss eighteen years ago meant something to me.”
Words are both her profession and hobby, but they’ve completely escaped her at this moment.
What would it be like, to be so unafraid of your own feelings?
Every emotion is always at eleven, which is why it’s easiest not to feel anything at all.
“Are you awake?” Logan grumbles against the back of her neck. “No.” “You are; I can hear you thinking.” “You cannot.” “You think very loudly.”
“My prickly pear, you’re safe with me. You can stop working so hard to protect yourself.”
Leaving first, before she can be left.
“Your big feelings are one of the most beautiful things about you.”
“Good. It should destroy you. If nothing can destroy you, Logan, then what’s the point?”
Falling apart was inevitable, wasn’t it?
This is love. Love is seeing perfection in every flaw. Seeing every flaw as a miracle because it belongs to the person you care about most. Love is saying, yes, still. Even after all these years.
“I’ve never been in love before, but I’m pretty sure it feels like this. Kisses that feel like waking up. Touches that feel like dreaming. Love is finding someone who helps you rewrite the story of yourself.”
“Don’t love me, okay? I’m not worth it.”
Hurt first, so she’ll never be hurt at all. Leave first, so no one ever leaves her. Careful, not careless.
Rosemary said she loves her, but how could anyone ever love someone as damaged as Logan?
“and for some deranged reason, she loves me, but I don’t know how to let her love me.
“because I need you to know that I spent ten years seeing you on every street corner, wondering when you would come home to me.
And in those moments—in most moments with Rosemary—Logan forgets to guard her heart, too.
