Merry Me

by C.R. Jane

“Natalie, I love you. You’re my girl. My soulmate. People say you can’t meet your forever person when you’re young, but we know that’s not true. You’re my everything. I don’t care about any of that Hollywood crap. I care about you.”

“This isn’t over; we’ll never be over,” as he ran after the car. It was over. Even if it felt like I was dying as I drove away. Even if I cried the entire drive home and then for days and weeks after. He went west the next day—to bright lights and red carpets and dreams so big they barely fit inside movie screens. And I stayed. Quietly. Hollowed out. Pretending I hadn’t just let go of the only real thing I’d ever felt. People said I’d move on. That I was young, that I’d fall in love again. But I knew better. What we had…that kind of love didn’t come around twice. And I was the one who’d let it go.

He’s matured. He does CrossFit now.”

“You mean the last twenty-three months, twenty days, and twelve hours,” he offered casually.

“Why can’t I stop thinking about you? Tell me when this is supposed to leave my system, Natalie, because fuck knows I’ve tried.”

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a slow, soul-level detonation.

Dear Santa, I take back everything bad I ever said about Christmas.

My mouth went dry. My brain short-circuited. Because Easton’s dick—the dick—wasn’t just good. It was weaponized. Like, certified large-scale emergency, evacuate-the-building kind of weaponized. It was very much not exaggerated by memory. It was worse. Or better. Depending on your survival instincts. And apparently, mine had left the chat.

“I need…” I didn’t even know what I was about to say. A glass of water? A fire extinguisher? A lobotomy? “Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to give us both what we need,”

His name pressed against my ribs like it belonged there. My beginning and my end. Finally.

“You’re a menace. I’m just saying,” Easton said. “You’re just saying that because I’m better at making sparkly proposal posters.” He eyed the sign. “It’s objectively horrifying.” “I went through three glue sticks.” “Of course you did.” We stared at each other. “Hi,” I whispered. My voice cracked like a middle school trumpet. His smile softened. “Hey, Nat.” He said it like it was only ever going to be me.

“You once told me love was just a chemical reaction,” Easton said, his voice low and steady. “That it faded or burned out or exploded. That it wouldn’t last.”

“if love really is a reaction, then you’ve been the spark in every single one of mine. Every laugh. Every fight. Every godforsaken moment I’ve missed you.”

I don’t need stars or fate or anything else to tell me. I just need you.”

“Just in case you’re still wondering whether soulmates exist after all this time…I know they do. But not in the perfect, easy way people talk about. I think they’re rare. Messy. Stubborn as hell.”

“Losing her was like forgetting how to breathe,” Easton’s character said, his voice cracking with vulnerability, the kind of performance that would have Oscar buzz written all over it. “But I’d do it again if it meant I got one more day loving her.”