Until You (Until #1)

by Briar Prescott

I’m starting to think my love language does not come in the form of beautiful words and candlelit dinners but well-placed sarcastic remarks and exasperation.

Me

“Thank you,” I say. “For?” “For putting up with me.” He snorts. “It’s not exactly a hardship.” “No?” I ask. “And here I was trying to think of a way to make it up to you.” I slide my palm suggestively over the front of his sweats. “Then again, if you say it’s okay…” “It’s been so hard,” he says immediately. “So, so hard.”

Somewhere between ‘deeper’ and ‘harder,’ I also threw in a ‘marry me.’ I mean, I guess he got it right, so I wanted to show my appreciation?”

“It’s a nice dick. Not sure if it’s worth a lifetime commitment, but to each their own. I’d also consider his personality before jumping into wedding vows, but that’s just me.”

“I don’t need grand declarations and over-the-top romantic gestures,” I say. “I’m pretty sure I’d just be really uncomfortable with those.”

And I want to make him happy. More than anything, I want to make Blake happy.

I have a feeling everything is about to go to shit

I bet it’ll be more romantic if I serve something edible anyway.

The woman sitting across from Blake turns her head and looks at me. Time freezes. I freeze.

UH OH

“How long have you known her?” I say through gritted teeth. My voice is strangled like somebody’s cut off all my air. “Ever since I tried to steal her car a decade ago,”

HOLY FUCKING SHIT

“Yes,” Blake says. “I knew who you were.”

Ouch. I saw this coming from the first chapter but it still hurts

“Please,” Blake repeats. “She asked me to find you⁠—” “Oh? Oh! Was fucking me also part of the deal? Did she pay you to fuck me?”

Then coming home one day, way down the line, and finding out the second life you’ve built on the ashes of the first one also turns out to be a lie?

My life’s infinitely more manageable if I’m not actively present in it.

Real

“And you’re loyal,” I say, remembering what he told me all those months ago on that rooftop. “That’s your best quality and your worst quality.”

OOOF. PAIN.

See if you were an asshole.” “A stupid fucking asshole,” I say, and yes, I mean me. That assessment was spot-on. I am a stupid fucking asshole. He almost smiles at that. “That was an accident.

“So when you closed the door?” I ask. “I knew we’d be locked out.”

That almost hurts more

“After we got back down? On the staircase, when I walked into you⁠—” “Ooh, ooh, ooh!” I say with an even bigger helping of sarcasm. I’m sensing a theme here. “Can I guess? It wasn’t an accident?” “It was to distract you so I could steal your watch,” he says.

Ugh I knew it

“I fell for you,” he says quietly. My heart gives a traitorous thump. I’d rip it out and throw it at him if I could. “Fuck you,” I reply softly. “Fuck. You.” More forcefully.

He swallows hard. There are tears in his eyes now, falling down. Maybe he’ll cry me a river, and we’ll both drown.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. And look at that. Now he’s made me into a liar, too.

The subject seems to have fooled himself into believing there is a happy ending. In an interesting example of how fleeting the human memory is, the subject seemingly forgot all his hard-learned lessons and jumped headfirst into trusting another human being again. The subject is clearly dumb as a rock.

He gave me hope. He made me love him. He turned himself into my home. Now he’s gone. And I’m homeless.

“Seriously, what do you want?” I ask once I’ve gathered myself a bit. He tilts his head to the side and lets his eyes wander over me—up, down, and back up until he meets my gaze again. “You,” he says simply. “Just you. All of you. Forever.”

I go inside and slam the door behind me. “Good talk,” Blake calls through the door. Since I can’t seem to think of anything more productive to do, I flip off the door.

I turn on the TV to stop this damn self-sabotage. I watch ten episodes of How It’s Made and, gun to my head, I can’t recall a single thing that was made on that show.

I get up and go to the hallway. Press my ear against the door and listen. Nothing. Take a look through the peephole. Nothing. Slowly open the door. Nothing. So this is how it ends. Not with a bang, but with silence. * * * This is not how it ends. Blake’s back in the afternoon. And the next day. And the next.

But he’s there. Just outside my door. Just out of reach. Every. God. Damn. Fucking. Day.

How do I stop missing somebody who’s parked right outside my door every day? How do I stop loving him? I don’t have an answer.

“Because when you let me inside, it’s going to be because you choose to do it. Not because of rain or because you feel sorry for me. I want you to want me here. And I want you to be sure.”

In the interests of being completely honest with myself, I’m way more pissed with myself right now than with him. I’d walked in the front door and everything had been extremely quiet. So the whole way upstairs I’d had an uncomfortable squeezing feeling in my chest. Until I saw him sitting there, and then it got worse because I was relieved.

My door really isn’t equipped for all the slamming it’s had to endure lately.

I want the life I had before he barged into it and made it pointless.

Turns out my life—the life I was so completely fine with—is also sad, and lonely, and pathetic. And I wouldn’t fucking know that if it weren’t for him!

“I’d get out of hearing range if I were you.” And then I close the door in his face and slump against it. When I look up, I find Steph’s eyes on me. For the first time ever, when he looks at me, all I can see is disappointment. He shakes his head. “You fucking asshole,” he says.

“Best-case scenario… You’ll give me another chance. You’ll let me be in your life. You’ll let me cook for you because you’re not that great at it, and we need to eat. And you’ll move into my place, and we’ll make a home. We’ll make each other laugh, and we’ll build blanket forts together and watch shitty movies in them. You’ll let me love you, and you’ll love me back.”

“Worst case,” he says slowly. “I’ll sit out here until I’m old and gray and one day keel over of a heart attack because I’ve been eating junk food for decades, and my dead body traumatizes all your neighbors, so they’ll hate you forever.”

“I’ll be moving out soon. This is Blair’s friend’s apartment. He’ll be coming back from his tour and will want his place back.” “Then I’ll die in some other hallway, somewhere else in the city,” Blake says with a shrug. “And some other neighbors will hate you.”

“What if I don’t tell you where I’m going?” “I’m not sure it helps my case, but finding your location is the least of my worries,” he says.

“What will make you stop?” I ask. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Don’t do this.” “What will make you stop?” I repeat. I have to wait an eternity for the answer. “If you ask me to stop,” he eventually says. Another eternity passes. “Then I’m asking you to stop.”

“I don’t come to New York that often,” Sarah says. I go full-on asshole with my, “Oh? How come?” I’m not sure if she winces or if I’m imagining it. “Not a lot of good memories,” she says. “I made my worst mistakes here.” What am I supposed to say to that? I’m sorry? Yes, you did?

“He actually told you all of that?” I roll my eyes. “No, I made it up just now.” Her lips twitch, but then she turns serious again. “I don’t know if he’s ever told anybody about any of it.”

“Do you regret it?” He doesn’t look stumped. More like he’s been waiting for that question for years now. “I assume by ‘it’ you mean you? Do I regret you?” I nod. “No,” he says. Simple as that. No hesitation.

“A nice boy?” I ask. “The one who’s always waiting behind your door for you. You should really give him a key. Such a nice young man. So polite.”

I have never been caught off guard. Until you. I have never been selfless. Until you. I have never met an unforgettable person. Until you. I have never seen a smile stop the world. Until you. I have never wanted to belong with anybody. Until you. I have never wanted a home. Until you. I have never wanted forever. Until you. I have never had my heart so shamelessly stolen. Until you. I have never understood what people mean when they say it’s better to have loved and lost. Until you.

Cool. I'm sobbing

Because it’s been worth it. Because I get to love you. And maybe it won’t be blanket forts and home and growing old together for us. Maybe that’s not the road ahead for you and me. But the highs have been well fucking worth the lowest of lows. At least for me.

“You’re supposed to start with small gifts so you have something to work up to.” One foot. “Now, if you happen to fuck up, what’re you gonna do? Get me a fucking helicopter?”

Blake hides his face in my neck and clutches me so tightly I can barely breathe, but I don’t mind. How can I? I’m finally home.

“You know how it’s always considered super romantic when people are all, ‘I can’t live without you!’” Blake’s lips twitch, and he nods. “I have a feeling you have thoughts.” “Naturally. Really, which part of that is supposed to be romantic? Saying ‘I can’t live without you’ is pretty much equivalent to saying ‘I’m with you because I don’t have any other choice.’ And that’s fucking stupid. And we’re not gonna do that. I can live without you. I just choose not to. And I’m terrified as fuck, still, by the way. But… I also love you more than I’m afraid.”

SOBBING AGAIN

“And I love you too.” “I know,” I say, because whatever else I’m uncertain about, this is the one thing I know.

And when he wraps himself around me and hugs me tightly, it feels like my heart is going to burst. I’ve never felt like this before. Until him.

UNTIL HIM *sobs*