The Island

by Briar Prescott

“Am I in those plans?” I ask, echoing that moment from a long time ago. “In every sentence on every page,” he says solemnly.

It’s an undeniable truth. My heart is in his hands, and he’s squeezing it. And he doesn’t even know. Doesn’t even suspect. It’s as if I’m about to die. I crave, and I yearn, and I ache, and I want. Hopelessly, helplessly, desperately in love…

The thing about craving and yearning and aching and wanting is that you eventually get used to it. It’s a part of you. Something that just is.

I crave, and I yearn, and I ache, and I want.

“Love you too, Dyl.” I squeeze my eyes shut and safely tuck those words into the Adrian files in my heart. I already know I’ll be taking them out numerous times, revisit them, examine them, imagine him saying it to me for real. Imagine him mean it for real.

We just sit there. And share the same fear. What if nobody comes?

All the craving and yearning and aching and wanting—it comes back with a vengeance. Not that it ever fully went away, but it’s been in hibernation. Not anymore.

We fuck greedily. We fuck ferociously. We fuck like there’s no tomorrow. Like we’re at the end of the world. There’s no one else. Just me and Dylan. So we fuck. A lot. We don’t talk about it. Not at all.

But now, I’m terrified. Now everything is real. The way he makes me feel is real. The way I crave, ache, yearn, want is real. The way I’d be willing to lay my heart, my soul at his feet without a second thought is real. The heartbreak if he leaves would be real. It’s terrifying. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my entire life. Because now it’s all real.

I hate that I love him. I hate that I still hope he can love me back. I hate that it takes physical effort not to go to him and beg him to love me. All I want is to go to him and beg him to love me. No.

I’ve loved Adrian for half my life. Years and years of nothing but unrequited love. And I hate it. I hate this feeling. I hate everything Adrian makes me feel. I hate that now I know everything. Everything I’ve been missing and will spend the rest of my life missing. All I want is not to feel. But I don’t get that luxury.

Adrian looks at me with an unreadable expression on his face, which is terrifying because I’m fluent in Adrian. It’s my one great talent. My party trick. The skill I’m proudest of. My one big accomplishment.

“I have loved you from afar. Desperately. Quietly. I have craved and yearned and ached and wanted. For years. For the better part of my life.”

“For you us started on that island. For me we started long before that.” I dash the back of my hand over my eyes and take a big breath. “For me, it’s always been you. Just you. Always you.”

My body craves him. My lips yearn for him. My heart aches for him. My soul wants him.

When I think about my life, all I see is you. I love you. You’re not an expressway to happiness. Never would’ve been. You’re my fucking adventure, and I want to hold your hand and continue taking the road unknown with all its twists and turns because you will be there. Right next to me. Forever. There’s nowhere else I can be other than here with you. It’s you,” he says. “My heart wants you.”

“What are you doing?” He glances at his lap where the phone has landed. “Exploring our options. Making plans.” I push myself up to a sitting position and lean my head on his shoulder. “Am I in them?” “In every sentence on every page,” he says. I nod and sort of feel like crying again. I’m not even sure whether it’s from happiness or something else. “Tell me about these plans,” I say. “Well…” He wraps his arm around me and pulls me closer. “I plan to live with you. And love you. And build a home with you. And be stupidly in love with you.” Goosebumps.

“I’m making plans.” His smile widens. “Am I in them?” I kiss him. “In every sentence on every page,” I say. Like he’s always been. Will always be. In my book of life, every chapter is named Dylan. It’s the best book I’ve ever read.