The Spider & the Storm

by Kelsey Kingsley

“I was just going to tell you I loved you,” I muttered pitifully, raking my hair back. Amanda snorted with amusement like it meant nothing at all. Like it was funny. “Well, that would’ve been awkward.” I said nothing. I could only listen to the sound of my heart beating louder and louder with every passing second, knowing that this would be the last time I ever heard her voice. The last time I’d heard Mom’s and Dad’s voices was over the phone too.

“Nothing wrong with pretending to be something you're not every now and then, Charlie. Makes the rest of it feel almost bearable.”

Nobody could ever love me. I always knew it. Why did I think she was special?

She had just left. Everyone fucking leaves. Except Melanie. Melanie never fucking leaves. Fuck. Melanie.

No, she won’t leave. Melanie never leaves. She’s never too mad at Luke to not forgive him. She’s never mad enough to fall out of love.

It was my fault for being too blinded again by love to see that I’d neglected the most important people in my life.

Then, I replied, “Deep down, we’re all sad about something.” “I guess, yeah, but most of us can compartmentalize our emotions. You know, like, there’s a time to be happy, a time to be angry, sad, whatever. But you …” She shook her head and, to my horror, removed her hands from beneath my shirt. “I’m pretty sure you’re just sad.”

“Because they didn’t understand them, Charlie, and people … sometimes, they’re afraid of the things they don’t—or can’t—understand. They think it’s easier to fear than to accept.” “But they just wanted to be left alone,” I muttered, knowing, even then, exactly what that was like.

“I seem to remember you threatening to annoy me, yet it’s been five days, and”—I shrugged and dipped my hands into the pockets of my jeans—“I haven’t been annoyed once.”

The passing of time felt warped, like we'd managed to cram six months into the span of a few weeks, and I wondered if it was always like that when you met the person who somehow made your entire world make sense after a lifetime of fuckups and just … getting by.

“I love you, okay?” Of all the things he could've said to me in that moment, that was what he'd chosen to say. That he loved me.

“Listen to me. I have zero regrets. None. I would do every single fucking thing again, Charlie—” “If you're trying to comfort me, it's not working,” I murmured, my eyes still watering and my hands still gripping his white T-shirt. “I'd do it all again, Charlie, if it meant you finally, finally finding the strength to get out on your own,” he said, ignoring me. “That's all I ever tried to do. To protect you and to make you strong, and I guess, in my own fucked-up way, that's what I did.”

I breathed her in, filling my senses with the memories of my youth and the one thing—the one person—who had always made things good at a time when nothing was good at all.

She shrugged as her eyes flooded. “Luke. All he ever wanted was for you to find someone. That's all. He never cared about himself. He figured he’d get out in a couple of decades or so, and he knew we'd be okay one day … or, you know, as okay as we could be. But you …” She bit her lip to stop it from trembling as she wiped at a tear before it could slide down her cheek. “He was so afraid of you being left alone, Charlie. He didn't want you to be alone. He'd talk about it all the time, about how he hoped you had finally found someone up there and that you weren't just … holing up wherever you were.”

“The baby … he’s just a little over twelve weeks old.” Her bottom lip protruded for a moment before she pulled it back in and forced a deep, controlled breath. “His name is Charlie too.”

I deflated with a forlorn sigh, clutched the letter in my shaking hand, and dragged my feet toward the door. Knowing that life would continue as it always had, knowing it would never feel the same again, and knowing my only choice was to accept it or die. And I had to choose to live. It was what Luke would've done.

God, Charlie, you didn't deserve it either. You more than anyone. You were always this innocent bystander to all of this shit, caught in a crossfire of my stupid fucking mistakes, and you have no idea how much I regret that.

Third, if that dream was a premonition and you happen to find a woman as creepy as you with a shitload of piercings and tattoos, don't let her go and don't run away. Happiness looks good on you, man. I always knew it would. I'll be smoking a cigarette and watching from between the trees. Love you, bro. —Luke