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“This is the type of love story that deals with real fucking problems. It’s a story about forgiveness and unconditional love, and it shows how much a person can change, really change, if they try hard enough. It’s the type of story that proves that anything is fucking possible when it comes to self-recovery. It shows that if you have someone to lean on, someone who loves you and doesn’t give up on you, you can find your way out of the darkness. It shows that no matter what type of parents you had, or addictions you were faced with, you can overcome anything that stands in your way and become a
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‘After’?” She tilts her chin up, using her hand to shield her eyes from the sun.
“That’s what it’s called.” I look away, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the name. “It’s about m...
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He wants to remind her that whatever their souls are made of, his and hers are the same. Their favorite novel said it best.
“Baby, the last blonde I had in my bed was you.”
She proves me wrong: sure enough, I’m slapped by a pregnant woman at a wedding.
“I’ve been warning you off of her for years now, kid; don’t make me cause a funeral at a wedding.”
“I thought I would save you from dancing with him, he’s a little short. Terrible dance partner,”
“He told me you bribed him.”
“That little fucker.” I glare at the traitor as he sits back down at ...
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“I lost a bet on my twenty-first birthday.” She laughs. “You actually got a smiley-face tattoo? What the hell.”
“You won’t know how lucky you are to be able to spend your life with the other half of your soul until you have to spend your life without them.”
“You can’t just talk about us like that. About our souls.” She ends her sentence with a whimper. “Why not?” “Because…” She can’t seem to find an explanation. “Because you know I’m right?” I egg her on. “Because you can’t say those things publicly like that. You keep doing it in your interviews, too.” She rests her hands on her hips. “I’ve been trying to get your attention.”
“We’re a mess,” she whispers, lifting her head up so that her eyes can meet mine. “An undeniable, beautifully chaotic mess.”
“Maybe that you still want to marry me?” Her eyes are wide, and mine feel as if they are going to pop straight from their sockets.
“Vegas, let’s go to Vegas right now.” I dig into my pocket and pull my keys out of it. “No way; I’m not getting married in Vegas. You’re crazy.”
We had a rule, only one rule in our house: no fighting in front of our kids. My children would never hear me raise my voice to their mum. Ever.
AFTER EVERYTHING, we made it. Whatever the hell our souls are made of, they are the same.
