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Old people look scary up close. I want to get down. I fear I might catch whatever it is that makes her old.
“Your darkness is my favorite part of you.”
“I love you,” I whisper into this third silence. “And not in the way I usually mean it.” Manuel’s arms tighten. “I’ve never meant it any other way.”
“To win back the love of my life.”
“Feel free to invite your friends,” they say. “But absolutamente ninguna bebida alcohólica. Okay?” We nod vigorously. Then we drive to 7-Eleven and buy three handles of tequila.
Look—people don’t like to read. They might claim they do, but they’re lying.
Who needs six children? Just stop at 2.5, like everyone else.
“I don’t understand…why my brain won’t just l-leave…leave me alone.”
“But you’re also my best friend. You’re the girl who defended me from bullies twice her size. Who made me sit through terrible dramatic readings in Spanish. Who took me into her family, who forced me to dance, who radiated sunshine so bright it was sometimes hard for me to look at. And losing you”—he choked—“losing you hurt more than anything I’ve felt in my entire life.” Tears started to run down my face again. “You are a daughter beloved by her parents, a sister adored by her siblings, and my best friend in the whole fucking universe.” He paused. “But you are not the thoughts in your head.
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“Those thoughts—the ones that scare you so much? They don’t scare me, Eliot. They don’t scare me one bit. And you don’t…you don’t have to hold them all by yourself.” His hands gripped my cheeks tighter. “You never have. I’m here. I’m here, Eliot. Let me carry them with you.”
“I know your brain scares you. I know it tells you things that aren’t real. But you must know that, to the rest of the world…it’s something wonderful. Something enviable. Something creative, and powerful, and brilliant to a fault.”
“Your brain is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
