And that I thought back to him, too — to that day in his room, to the way his skin was hot and sticky with sunscreen, to the way his lips were warm on mine, to the way it felt to be touched by him. But what was the point? He hadn’t been able to heal the wound my mother left. No one could do that but me. And when it came to what happened between me and him, it was even more pointless to bring up. Because he’d taken it all back. He’d said it was a mistake, that he was sorry, that he never meant for it to happen. A day that had killed me and also brought me to life within hours meant nothing to
...more
