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Feeling eyes on me, I look up to find Reggie watching me with an odd glint in his gaze. He glances down to my neck, right where— Oh God. Oh shit.
mm
He’s shattering. I’m shattering. Maybe together, we can stay whole.
“He’s right here, Waylon. You can tell him yourself.” I frown and he rolls his eyes. Not taking my eyes off the gravel path before us, I duck my head. “Way?” “Will?” he says sluggishly. Fuck, he’s out of it. “Yeah, I’m right here.” He sighs, and I swear it sounds like relief.
From the second we’re conceived, all the heart really wants is death. Why beat at all, if it’s not beating to one day stop? We convince ourselves that we have a purpose, a reason for existing at all, but the truth is—we’re nothing more than empires waiting to fall, deluding ourselves into thinking we’re invincible. That we’re forever. Living isn’t prolonging the inevitable; it’s simply prolonging the acceptance of the truth our minds keep from our bodies.
My eyes catch on the rumpled sleeping bag on the floor.
My eyes sting, and I need out. Out of this bed, out of this room... Out of this fucking house and out of this fucking life—
relatable
From somewhere deep inside my fucked-up head, I register his hand smoothing circles on my sweat-slicked back before it changes to light, but somehow firm taps. “Feel that? Focus on my touch. Nothing else. Just what my hand is doing. One, two. One, two...” My eyes squeeze shut of their own volition, and I find myself doing what he says. I cancel out everything else around me, even Will himself. Nothing else matters right now but his hands. Thud, thud. Thud, thud.
But all I feel is...cold. And not the shivering kind of cold that can easily be fixed with a hoodie or a blanket. But the bone-deep sort that hurts so much, you go numb.
“Were you tryin’ to kill yourself? Is that what you’ve been trying to do?” I suck in my cheek and shrug. I want to say no, but the truth is... I don’t know. All I do know is I’m tired. I’ve been tired for a long-ass time.
“Zayne was my first boyfriend, you know? My first real relationship after years of fucking my way through every out and proud gay boy I could find in a thirty-mile radius,” I say sarcastically. I shoot Waylon a look. “Emphasis on the out and proud.”
It’s why abuse victims are at a much higher risk of being re-victimized when compared to individuals who’ve never been abused. Why someone who’s been raped might throw themselves into potentially dangerous situations, when they know just how real the stakes are because they’ve lived it already. It becomes this sort of...obsession to take control back. Figure out where it all went wrong and flip the script. Change the ending.”
Waylon twists his mouth into a scowl. “So that’s what this is.” I frown. “What?” “I’m just some second chance to you.” I try to open my mouth and explain, but it’s no use. He cuts me off before I can even get a word in edgewise. “I’m just a fucking project to you, aren’t I?” he spits out.
will you ahut up for a second
Grabbing both of his knees firmly in my hands, I squat down in front of him, shutting him up mid-sentence. He goes rigid. I cock an eyebrow when he finally manages to tear his gaze away from my hands. “You done?”
“You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?” I smirk. “And not the fun kind.”
WHOA THAT CAUGHT ME WAY OFF GUARD
“Didn’t you ever hear about this thing called personal space?” I hum, pretending to think. “Can’t recall. Remind me again?”
“What happened shouldn’t have this much power over me anymore—over either of us. Because, babe, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not fooling anyone here.”
"babe" GAH
“I didn’t even come out to anyone but my family until I was in high school ’cause I was scared I’d lose another friend over it. Or worse, I’d...I’d fall for someone who couldn’t love me back the way I needed.” My breath hitches.
Deep down, we both know this has been a long time coming. We needed this if we have any chance at moving on. He needed to know how much he hurt me back then—how deep that hurt ran—and I needed to finally face those ugly parts of me head-on. Because I was a victim too, and knowing what I know now doesn’t just erase that fact.
But if hurting him with the truth is what it takes to prevent history from repeating itself, I will happily fall on that sword for him. A thousand fucking times over. I’ll piss him off until he’s old and gray if that’s what it takes. His demons got nothing on me.
“But you do care about being out?” I rotate my head toward him. Searching his eyes. “Not exactly...I just don’t wanna be an experiment. I won’t risk being...tossed aside.” Understanding filters through his eyes; the past heavy in their depths. He nods. “Good. You deserve so much better than that,” he says in a strained voice.
amen to that BUT you’re our favorite “closet case”
“God, he had the patience of a fucking saint.” A grunt. “I suppose he’d have to, dating you.” Slowly, so slowly, I turn to face him.
LMAO the slow head turn
“Don’t you dare apologize. Do you know how refreshing it is to laugh when talking about Zayne?” I blow out a breath, tipping my head back. “I needed that.” A breeze blows through, shaking the windmills hanging from the awning. “I didn’t know him,” he says after a while, “but I think he’d want you to laugh more.”
Strong arms come around me, crushing me to a warm, firm body. Cutting my words off with a sharp gasp. Because holy shit, Waylon is hugging me. Waylon, of all people. Comforting...me.
“You’re allowed to be fucking pissed off, regardless of what you know to be true. You can’t change how you feel. You can only feel it. It doesn’t make you a bad person, Will. It just makes you human.”
He knew you’d beat yourself up and, somehow, through all that...darkness caving in around him, he managed to think of you. Worry about you.”
The question remains, though: how did he find out?
No. If Waylon wants to share his side of what happened back then, then it has to be on his terms. Because at the end of the day, his healing is his and his alone, and only he can decide when he’s ready to face old ghosts.
“That night, though—the night I went up there with my dad’s gun...” I squeeze my eyes shut. “To this day, I don’t know why I thought about you.” I swear my heart grinds to a halt. It just...stops. Everything just stops. “...and, somehow, through all that...darkness caving in around him, he managed to think of you...”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way, right?” he says simply.
“My will to live. That was on me and only me. I could end it at any moment. It’s the one thing he couldn’t control. Couldn’t touch. The only thing that was in my hands. So long as I had the will to make it through another day, I’d be okay. There would still be a me. A Way.”
“There’re a lot of meanings behind this symbol, but that’s the one I chose for myself. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” And my heart... It. Just. Explodes. There’s no other word to describe it.
I open my eyes and lift my shaky fingers. It takes a couple swipes of my thumb this time before a flame ignites. I lift the card, teasing the corner with enough heat it starts to curl up— A hand darts out and grabs my wrist. “Don’t.” I freeze.
Waylon’s back is to me, so I don’t miss how quick he is to reach behind him and tuck the rolled up brown paper bag into the waistband of his sweats.
All I know is that today, I made the decision to let him go once and for all. And Waylon stopped me.
And it’s not even that I crave alcohol or being high. Not really. I just want my brain to shut off for a bit. I just want to feel like me.
The thought alone fucked with me enough that I found myself calling Will at two in the morning one night in a near-panic, wondering if this was all one big mistake.
He looks...good. Fuck, he looks really, really good.
He holds his hands up suddenly, the half-empty cup in his left hand crunching when he grips it just a little too tight. “It’s not my fault,” he enunciates very carefully.
Ah. I make a come-hither gesture with my fingers. “Give me that.”
hot
I thought you, of all people, would’ve known better than to drink anything Ivy makes. Remember Fourth of July?” He winces. “No.” I point my pinky finger at him from around his cup. “Exactly.”
I try to hide my scowl as I instinctively reach for a tumbler. My fingers pause, flexing against the glass. I blink. What am I doing? “Way?” Will says. Frowning, I meet his concerned gaze. He nods to my hand. “You okay?” I feel Jeremy’s eyes on me. They’re both drunk, but clearly not so far gone that they haven’t picked up on the fact I’m quietly losing my shit over here.
get a grip
See, Doc? Progress.
Mouth dry, I go to open my mouth and assure him it’s not what he thinks...except it is, isn’t it? He was touching me, a casual squeeze of the arm that any friend would do, and my gut instinct was to make sure no one was watching. How fucking messed up is that?
“Bad night?” he whispers. “Bad life.”
“He’ll probably regret it come morning, but that’s what he gets for giving into Ivy.”
His dark blond hair curls over his eyes, and I just...I can’t resist. Not anymore. Not now, when he looks so damn peaceful. Quiet. The guy’s rarely ever fucking quiet. I card my fingers through the pieces, brushing them away. I tell myself I’ll just stay here for a minute. Just a minute... I’m not sure when I cave and gather his head in my lap, but here we are. My fingers play idly with his hair as I stare blankly at the wall.
Trusting him not to fall over, I get up and run my toothbrush under the water before lining the bristles with toothpaste. “Sit up,” I tell him as I crouch down next to him. He complies, and I take the empty water bottle before curling his fingers around the toothbrush. I grab some painkillers from the cabinet and fill the water bottle up from the sink. Then I dampen a washcloth as he spits into the toilet bowl. He brushes sluggishly and messily, and I have to bite my smile at the sight of toothpaste dribbling down his chin. “Open,” I say, cupping his chin with the washcloth. When he does as I
...more
I can’t help but tense when he rolls over, easily fitting his head into my lap and wrapping his arms around my waist like he fucking belongs there. He rubs his nose into my stomach and I nearly choke on my own saliva. Swallowing the lump that’s suddenly found a home in my too-tight throat, I wrap my arm around his back.
“How long have you been standing there?” I barely manage. Will must sense my sudden rigidness and makes a small noise, almost like a keening. His grip tightens. He’s barely conscious, yet some part of him knows I want to jump away. Run. “Long enough,” a low, deep voice sounds from my open doorway.
who is it?
“Way?” “Yeah.” “Don’t let him win.”
