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Her courage floors me. Her courage highlights my own cowardice.
It’s over. All the illicit things we’ve been doing. All the things I’ve been hiding from Emma. All of it is over, but I don’t feel relief. I just feel enormous amounts of pain and hurt and burn.
My eyes are on the verge of falling shut when I hear him whisper, almost distractedly, “You bring them back…my words.”
“She’s like you, Thomas. She’s strong and bright, and she loves you.” For the first time in months, I don’t hold myself back. I don’t choke the tears that come to my eyes. I let them fill to the brim. “You think so?” “Yes. She has what you have.” “And what’s that?” “Fire.” Hadley nods. “She has your fire.”
I think of her smile, her raven hair, her violet eyes. Her smooth, creamy skin. Her slender limbs wrapped around my body. Her tattoo. Her laughter. Her courage. Her words. We’re soul mates, Thomas. You’re like my favorite song. You have to talk. You can’t live like this. You’re holding on too tight. You remind me of some kind of fire-breather. Layla Robinson, the fire-breather. My fire-breather.
“You wake up the words in me.”
“A lover is the one who waits,” he paraphrases. “Then, I’ll wait. Forever.”
bravery is not the absence of fear, but the courage to do something despite it—taking that first step despite the danger of falling, creating a piece of art knowing that people might not appreciate it. Bravery is like falling in love. You don’t know if the person will reciprocate, but still you fall.
