All That's Left in the World (All That's Left in the World, #1)

by Erik J. Brown

He unties the brown—formerly yellow—T-shirt from around my leg, then reaches down to the cuff of my jeans. He tries to pull it up, but the blood and damp weather have made the denim shrink and the jeans go no farther. I breathe in deeply as pain shoots up my leg. “Don’t think jeans were a good choice today,” he tells me. “This happened yesterday.” “Take them off.” “Shouldn’t you buy me dinner first?” I ask. I don’t realize I’m going to say the joke until it’s already out. My face warms, but my embarrassment is short-lived as he finally lets his smirk grow into a smile.

It hasn’t even been a full day, but having him here gives me something to do. Something to distract me from the silence and the memories and the fear. It also doesn’t hurt to have someone to talk to. Just by being here, Andrew helps me in a way I didn’t think I needed.

I keep trying to come back to the food, to focus on what’s important, but my mind wanders to Andrew. My gut reaction when Howard pulled the gun. I tried to get in front of it. It didn’t matter because the others by the trees had their guns on both of us, but my focus was only on Howard’s gun, pointed at Andrew. Most of my night is spent imagining what would have happened if Andrew got hurt, if they killed him. And if I survived. I spiral, thinking about every possibility that could have happened. Mainly, though, I can’t figure out why the whole incident is affecting me so much. Andrew, who I met six weeks ago, is someone I was willing to jump in front of a gun for.

He puts on the kickstand and gets off the bike, walking toward me. There he is. The only person in the world left to even care about me. And all at once I realize it was a mistake to run off. Leaving him was easier than trying to convince him not to come. But seeing him here, now, gives me full-on heart-eyed butterflies in my gut. They’re stupid and, like Jamie, they shouldn’t be here. But they are.

It’s been a week since I left home to come after Andrew and I’m thinking about it again. Most nights while I’m up and Andrew is asleep, this is what I think about. He asked me why I came after him and the question haunts me. Because I don’t know the answer. No, I do know the answer, it’s just that the answer doesn’t make sense to me. I told him it wasn’t safe at the cabin anymore, and that might have been true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. After I found Andrew’s note I couldn’t stop picturing him getting hurt again. Falling and breaking his leg. Stepping in another bear trap.

I stifle another yawn and turn to look at Andrew, sleeping soundly, and I can’t figure out what it is about him that makes me feel this way. Maybe it’s the fact that we’ve spent the last several weeks around each other nonstop. Or maybe it’s just that he’s the only person I’ve been able to talk to since October.

Oh shit. I really just fell in love with a straight boy, didn’t I? I mean, it’s clearly been there for a while and I only just noticed, but there it is. “What?” he asks after I’ve been smiling at him for way too long. I shake my head. “Nothing.” “Stop making fun of me, just drive.” I’m not making fun of you, Jamie. I would never.

My chest isn’t tight like it was in Fort Caroline, but I still wish he were closer to me. Thankfully, I’m also too tired to worry about it. The last thing I see before I slip into a fitful sleep is Andrew’s face. And my stomach does the flip again.

I’m attracted to Andrew but I’ve never felt an attraction to any other guys before.

Jesus Christ, this sucks. I don’t know how Andrew even survived all this constant questioning and back-and-forth as a kid.

With Andrew it doesn’t feel temporary. If someone put a gun to my head and said, “Imagine your future without him,” I don’t think it would be possible.

Jamie lets out a whimper in his sleep and his breathing speeds up. I reach out and grab his hand. In moments his breathing returns to normal and he’s asleep again.