Without Merit

by Colleen Hoover

He takes a step closer to me and it suddenly feels like I’ve swallowed his heart because I have all these extra beats in my chest.

I am nothing like my identical twin sister, who prefers cadaver hearts to fully functioning ones.

And now, considering He is currently dressed as a Packers fan, complete with a home-team jersey, a Wisconsin cheese hat, and now Drew Waldrup’s missing trophy, I think I shall deem Him Cheesus Christ.

The Cowboys chances of losing are good. The chances of my father actually following through with a threat are not.

“I’ve met a lot of people in my life, Merit. But you might be the strangest of them all.”

“Not every mistake deserves a consequence. Sometimes the only thing it deserves is forgiveness.”

I wonder if this is what death is like. Just . . . nothing.

WHY AM I SO REPULSIVE?

If I dropped out of life, just like I dropped out of school, everyone’s lives would go on. With or without Merit.

“Without Merit,” I whisper to no one. “That’ll show ’em.”

Sincerely, Without Merit.

Maybe I regret swallowing the pills, but not writing the letter. Maybe I regret everything.

Acknowledging that this is the first hug I’ve had in years makes me cry even harder.

IF THE ENTIRE HISTORY OF THE EARTH WERE COMPRESSED INTO A SINGLE CALENDAR YEAR, HUMANS WOULDN’T EVEN APPEAR UNTIL DECEMBER 31ST AT 11:00 P.M.

“Why can’t we be a normal family?” My voice is muffled against Sagan’s chest. “I don’t think such a thing exists, Merit,”

When we get outside, Sagan laughs. “That was odd.” I don’t disagree. But I like odd, so I’ll probably come back.

“So many people dream of living in a house with a white picket fence. Little do they know, there’s no such thing as a perfect family, no matter how white the picket fence is.”

He laughs. “Let’s make a pact. Whenever we get our own houses someday, our picket fences won’t be white.” “Hell no, they won’t be white. I’d paint mine purple.”

My heart couldn’t beat any faster if I drank a 5-hour ENERGY and chased it with a Red Bull.

“Tuqburni is used to describe the all-encompassing feeling of not being able to live without someone. Which is why the literal translation is, ‘You bury me.’ ”

But I just wish you could like yourself as much as I like you.”

“So I have moments of unhappiness. What teenager doesn’t? Everyone sometimes wishes they were someone else. Someone better. With a better family.”

“You don’t get to decide what your life means to anyone else.”

You need to fall in love with yourself first.”

the quote I had Utah put up. NOT EVERY MISTAKE DESERVES A CONSEQUENCE. SOMETIMES THE ONLY THING IT DESERVES IS FORGIVENESS.

We aren’t put on this earth to be carbon copies of our parents. Peace doesn’t come to everyone in the same form.”

In small font are the words, “With Merit.” I stare at it for several seconds before the meaning really hits me. In the letter I wrote to everyone, I signed off, “Without Merit.” Sagan wrote the opposite.

“With Merit.”

“Having depression is no more out of your control than Sagan’s intolerance to milk, or Utah’s pale skin, or Honor’s bad vision. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. But it’s not something you can ignore or correct on your own. And it doesn’t make you abnormal. It makes you just as normal as these idiots,”

I used to feel like I was on top of the world. Then one day, I noticed that it felt like I was no longer on top of the world. I was just floating around inside of it. And then eventually, it felt like the world was on top of me.”

the same two things could happen to two people, but that doesn’t mean they would experience the exact same stress over it.

“It annoys me when people try to convince other people that their anger or stress isn’t warranted if someone else in the world is worse off than them. It’s bullshit. Your emotions and reactions are valid, Merit. Don’t let anyone tell you any different. You’re the only one who feels them.”

“You’re easy to like every day,” I whisper, right before I finally fall asleep.

“You’re learning early that life isn’t fair. Took me seventeen years.”

“I will. I just wanna show Mom Tuck and Dick.” He cradles both puppies in his arms and heads toward the back door.

“It’s not where I was born. It’s where you buried me.”

“I didn’t get the tattoo because it was where I kissed you for the first time. I got it because it’s where I met you.”

I smile and run back home. Home. This is the first time I’ve ever referred to Dollar Voss as home. THE END.