Arrows Through Archer

by Nash Summers

If I were in his position, I might fall a little in love with my own loneliness.

“You carry around hurt like a cop carries a badge.”

“You’re like a brother to me, Archer. You’re not perfect, but no one is. And if I met a billion people on this planet, I’d still choose you. You and your silent fucking depression—you and your quiet heart and your fear of living.

Maybe if this universe of ours was different. Maybe if everything was different and the sky was the ocean and the clouds were the soil. Maybe if life hadn’t engrained me with apprehension or uncertainty or a longing for some things I obviously could not have. Maybe then, we would’ve had words for each other.

He ignored my question as he stared down at his now-empty glass. “Puzzles make you happy, don’t they?” Sharpshooter by nature, my instincts told me to go in for the kill. “It’s not the puzzles that make me happy, Mallory.”

People fall into each other in different ways. Some people fall together in laughter, surrounded by energy and joy. Some fall into each other in passion, unable to keep their skin from touching. But Mallory and I fell into each other slowly, gently, tentatively, like almost everything we did. We were quiet and fluid.

That was all it took to break my heart. A two-letter word. Not a death in the family, not a sibling disowning me. A two-letter word from the man I loved.

“I feel so light. Like maybe there is a light at the end of the tunnel.” “There is.” I kissed the top of his head. “And if there isn’t, I’ll dig a way out for us. Because I’ll be wherever you are. Now and forever.”