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

by Erik J. Brown

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. And so is he. My Jamie. My stupid, stupid Jamie who left his home and followed me because he thinks I’m a good person. It’s selfish and I so clearly have not learned my lesson because right now I want him here.

This is the first time—in the entire time I’ve known Jamie—I’ve ever heard him laugh. All my snarky remarks, my clever jokes, my anecdotes, retelling him movies, none of it made him laugh like this. And it sounds wonderful.

Every once in a while, Jamie lets out another chuckle. I smile and elbow him, and his laughter comes back. I could listen to his laugh until the day I die and never get sick of it.

You have to trust people sometimes. The good in this world might surprise you.

That laugh! The laugh that fills me with warmth and hope.

He opens his arms as he sees me coming in for another hug. He laughs and I smile through my tears, resting my head against his wet chest. He may feel awkward but I don’t care at this point. He’s alive and he’s here. I pull him close; I don’t want to not feel him against me ever again. He doesn’t even pull away. He’s here. He’s really here.

watch him and I wait for him to speak, but his breath deepens as he drifts to sleep. I am scared to sleep. I don’t want him to wake up and do anything rash. I don’t think he realizes how important he is to me. I didn’t even realize how important he is to me. At least not until now. Not until he told me his story. I know why he didn’t tell me the truth. His guilt, for one. But he was also worried I wouldn’t trust him or I’d be afraid of him. I’m way past that, though. I was afraid when he first arrived at the cabin, but I know who he is now.

What does that mean? At the time, walking up to this house, I was so sure, but in the darkness, next to Andrew, the idea is absurd. I don’t know why this person is so damn important. Then it hits me. It’s because it feels like love.

feel safe when he’s with me and I want him to feel safe, too. Andrew’s breath continues its steady rhythm across from me on the couch. I want to tell him but I don’t know how. How do I explain it when I don’t understand it myself? The idea of kissing him isn’t scary or strange—and I have thought about it. A few times. More so at night, before we go to sleep. When he says good night to me it feels like I should kiss him. The idea of holding him doesn’t make me uncomfortable. Actually, it’s the complete opposite. I want to pull him close to me and hold him while he sleeps. It makes sense in my heart, though it doesn’t make sense in my mind. Even the thought of more intimate things doesn’t deter me. But I’m scared. Disappointing Andrew is what scares me. There’s a massive difference between thinking about things and doing them. What happens if I’m wrong and it’s just friendship and loneliness and horniness all mixed up? And then we try something and it’s awkward and weird and I suck, and then I’ve ruined the only relationship I have left. It seems so trivial when I think of it like that because it feels like so much more than just “the only relationship I have left.”

Nothing I can say will ever make him feel better. I want to make him happy, but I don’t know how.

I think about what it would be like to actually lean over and kiss him. I want to know if that would make him happy. If it would make me happy, too.

I can’t help but hope for that because the other option is just me. And I’m scared that after this, I might not be enough for Andrew to be happy.

“You’re a menace.” But I can’t help laughing as I watch him walk around to the passenger side. Something in my chest loosens and I . . . feel better. Not great, obviously, but having Jamie here with me, making me laugh, making me feel normal—as normal as I can, given the multiple circumstances we find ourselves in. It’s nice. I don’t know what would have happened if I’d made it all the way down to Alexandria alone. Jamie coming after me was the best thing that could have happened. I like that he makes the world feel not so awful. And that he might be making me a better person. 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.

Funny how little things can feel so big when you haven’t done them in a while.

I snort and whisper back, “I hate you.” “You love me.” My stomach does a little flip and my mouth goes dry. Completely oblivious to the reaction he just got out of me, Andrew walks past to greet more people from Fort Caroline. I try to do the same. But I can’t help glancing over at him through the crowd. Every time I do it’s like he feels my eyes on him and he looks right at me, smiles, and winks.

Andrew is probably awake, too. He’s probably lying there, listening to the same sounds I am and thinking about me. I would like him to be thinking about me. It makes me feel a little less strange if he thinks about me, too.

LET’S BE CLEAR ON ONE THING. IT’S fucking torture having the boy you’re in love with sleeping in the same bed as you. Like, right next to you. But, like, a good kind of torture, I guess. If hell is real and I’m going there for being a murderer and I get to choose between the penis bees and sleeping in the same bed next to Jamie for eternity but never being able to touch him, I’m going with this comfy bed.

It physically hurts to be this close. I know I shouldn’t feel the way I do about him but I can’t help it. He’s not the first straight boy I’ve fallen in love with.

I don’t know what these feelings are. Is it possible to be bisexual and not realize it? I ask myself that question all the time, but it’s a stupid question, because the answer is, Yes, dummy, no shit. Then I think back—way back—and try to figure out if I knew at any other moments that this might be who I am. But I can’t remember a time I felt like this before him.

Jamie actually smiles and it’s so fake, but I can’t help but love him for trying.

It’s a tiny gesture, one that probably means absolute squat, but it feels intimate. More intimate than sharing a bed in Fort Caroline or holding each other in the dark of a flooded tunnel, or even lying on a cabin floor while his hands caressed my leg. This feels so much different than all that. I lock eyes with him. Half his face is cast in shadow and there’s sadness there, but something else in his eyes. He seems hopeful. Maybe. Is this . . . Are we having a moment? Like a romantic moment?

“Then that’s the one he shall tell.” I nod as I poke the fire. “You love him.” I stop, looking up at her. She has her eyes narrowed at me. I don’t say anything. “I can tell,” she continues. “My sister used to flirt shamelessly with our lawn guy. And then she married him.”

“No. But when he tells movies, you watch him, and if he stands up and gets too close to the fire, you watch his feet and move your arms toward him. And she used to do something similar that you do. When Andrew’s telling a story about you both, you tense up a bit because you don’t know if it’s going to be embarrassing or sweet. But either way you have the same smile on your face at the end of it.” I don’t know how she knows I love him when I don’t know it. I know I watch his feet because I don’t want him to get too close if he’s going to do some physical joke. I certainly don’t know what my face looks like when he talks about our journey down here together, but yes, sometimes I am worried he’ll tell an embarrassing story. And even when he does, I do still like the way he tells it. “And he loves you,” she says. “But you don’t say it to each other when you go to bed.” “Wha . . . I . . . No. We don’t.” “Why?”

But protecting Andrew is something I would do in a heartbeat. I would do anything for him.

My heart’s racing and it has nothing to do with the fact that our hands are bound and we’re minutes away from death. “I have . . . I’ve . . . It’s . . .” Oh, fuck it, why am I talking? I kiss him. He freezes and I nudge forward, trying to tell him it’s okay and he can kiss back because I want him to kiss back. He finally does, his mouth opening to mine, and he lets out a held breath through his nose. Then he pulls away. “You kissed me,” he says, as if I didn’t know what I was doing. “I did.” He groans in misery and I’m taken aback. “You kissed me for the first time and I just spent the last ten minutes with a dirty T-shirt stuck in my mouth.” “I . . . you . . . what?” “Screw it, never mind. Can you just . . . do it again?” “Yes.” The word is barely out of my mouth before his lips are against it. We kiss and it’s difficult because I want to put my hands to his neck and run them through his hair. Which, now that I think about it, needs a cut. But our kiss has the opposite effect of a fairy tale. When it’s over, it isn’t happily ever after. We’re still in the same predicament.

Andrew smiles, attempting to help me through it. “Are you trying to tell me you love me?” “Thank you, yes. I am. I love you.” I’m crying now. “And I will always love you.”

We’re facing the end and it’s not okay but it is. It’s all okay. The world ended and there’s nothing left but shit. And him. Us. So that’s all right, then.

“This is why I love you,” I say. “Exactly this. I was so scared before you got here.” I don’t clarify, but I mean the cabin. I was lost without him and I would have died, I know that now. I never would have been able to survive another year alone in that cabin. “You make me feel safe. Like the world hasn’t ended and there’s nothing left. Because I have you.” He puts his forehead against mine. “I may make you feel safe, but you’re the one who saves my ass all the time.” His voice breaks and he closes his eyes hard. “I wish I could do the same now.” “It’s okay.” I kiss him. “You’re here.” I kiss him again, hoping he knows it’s enough for me. “I love you, Jamison.” Everything is so bleak, but nothing has ever sounded as amazing as hearing him say those words to me. Weeks—no, months—of fear and wondering gone in an instant. He loves me. I only wish we could find a way out of this mess so he could retell this whole story to me like it was a Hallmark Channel movie.

“Hey,” I say as he stands again. He looks down, determined, on edge. “Kiss me.” Just like that, all the fear and worry melts from his face and he smiles. He drops to his knees beside me. His lips are soft, gentle. He leans back and smiles at me. “I love you.” “Stop saying it like I’m dying.”

I want to pull him close and hold him and tell him I love him. I want to take all that pain from him. If I needed to get shot once a week to take that pain from him, I would.

When he kisses me, my chest feels lighter again, like he’s taking on some of my sorrow but passing on some of his love. Evenly distributed like the supplies that have been in our packs during this journey. And I remember those first days out from the cabin when he was limping and I carried more. Or when I was injured and he carried everything. That’s how we’ve survived together. I nod as Andrew pulls away, still holding my face in his hands. “We’re going to be okay,” I repeat to him. If things get hard again, I’ll carry him. And he’ll carry me. And we’ll be okay.

“I know,” he says. He turns and pulls me close. His sweater smells like him and it makes me even warmer. “I like it here.” “So do I.” Other times I love the people we’ve met here. The friends we’ve made. The safety we feel.

But then I look at him; I hear his laugh, I see his smile, and the darkness melts away. Then I do have hope—even just for a little while—because I know that there is something in this world I can fight for. Something I will fight for if I have to.