The Bodyguard

by Katherine Center

“I hate time off. I don’t want time off.” “It’s not about what you want. It’s about what you need.”

I said the only thing I could think of. “You’re breaking up with me? On the night after my mother’s funeral?”

Hombre no es gente

And he’d underestimated me, as well. Because it’s so much harder to love someone who’s difficult than to love someone who’s easy.

???? No entendí

But of course, a breakup is a type of grief. It’s the death of not just any relationship—but the most important one in your life. There’s nothing cute about it. “Dumped” is also a word that falls short of its true meaning. It sounds so quick—like a moment in time. But getting dumped lasts forever. Because a person who loved you decided not to love you anymore.

But how does anybody just ever assume they’d be somebody else’s first choice? Was I better than all the other great people in the world? Was I special enough to be the one somebody picked over everybody else?

:(

But Jack gave a confident nod. “They’ll believe me.” “Why?” “You’re totally my type.” I couldn’t resist. “Cleaning ladies are your type?” He pointed at me. “That was an honest mistake.”

Anda JAJAJAAA

“Thank you so much.” “What are you thanking me for?” I asked. But Jack just shook his head in amazement. “I did not expect to laugh today.”

“But she’s mine,” Jack said then. “And she’s staying.”

“If you make my Hannah miserable—” My Hannah! “—I will make you miserable right back.” “You already do.” “That’s more about you than about me, buddy,” Jack said.

Ay

“Stop laughing,” I said. “Stop making me laugh,” Jack said.

“I don’t actually have to pretend much. You are genuinely comforting.” I broke away to scan the hallway. Clear now—both directions.

was the one with ADD and dyslexia and dysgraphia, too. The whole package.” “None of that makes you dumb.”

“People who want to be famous think it’s the same thing as being loved, but it’s not. Strangers can only ever love a version of you. People loving you for your best qualities is not the same as people loving you despite your worst.”

After my mom died—not that long ago—I found it in her jewelry box. She’d kept it all those years. Finding it again felt like finding some little lost part of myself. I was going to wear it every day forever before I lost it on the beach that day. As a talisman for being okay.” “But you’re okay, anyway.”

“That’s why we’re never getting back together.

Taylorrrr

There he was, again—laughing. “I missed you,” he said then.

There he was, with a shy half smile, looking down at my sneakers and leaning in toward me—just textbook bashfully … and I could only see it as calculated, and constructed, and hollow, and fake.

As soon as it all registered—where he was, who I was, what was happening—he clamped his arms around me and wouldn’t let go.

I could manufacture a hundred reasons why I stayed. But the only one that matters is this: I wanted to. I liked it there. I liked holding him—and being held. I liked feeling like I mattered to someone. There’s nothing like the mutuality of a hug—the way you’re giving comfort but you’re getting it, too.

can see why my mom likes you.” I didn’t want to enjoy that too much.

was pinned to the mattress by one of Jack’s enormous arms, slung across my shoulders, and also one of his legs—tangled around one of my own. All of which felt pretty nice, actually. I gave myself a moment to savor it.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Stop it.” “Stop what?” “Stop doing that with your face.” “I’m not doing anything with my face.” “It’s making me laugh.”

“I mean,” I said, looking him up and down, “you didn’t deserve to be let in. So it’s a good thing in the end. But thank you.” Robby was so befuddled, his mouth hung open. “For what?” “For showing me what love isn’t,” I said. And I shoved my door closed and flipped the dead bolt.

Si

I’m thankful to have seen what a real, loving family actually looks like.

“I think just because you can’t keep something doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. Nothing lasts forever. What matters is what we take with us. I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to escape. I’ve spent too much time on the run from hard things. But now I wonder if escape is overrated. I think, now, I’m going to try thinking about what I can carry forward. What I can hold onto. Not just only always what I have to leave behind.” The table was quiet for a few seconds after I stopped talking, and I felt a little squeeze of panic that maybe I had overshot “thoughtful” and landed, instead, on “crazytown.”

His hand behind my neck, his body pressing up to mine, his mouth on my mouth. It was like no one and nothing in the world existed besides the two of us.

“Go find that girl something to sleep in and send her off to bed.” Then Doc added, “Alone.” Jack sighed. After another few seconds: “You got that, Jack?” “Yes, sir.”

JANAAJJAJA

“What? What are you saying?” “I’m saying you’re better.”

“When you’re not around, even for a little while, I feel like I have to go find you. I just feel this pull to be near you. I want to know what you’re thinking, and what you’re up to, and how you feel. I want to take you places and show you things. I want to memorize you—to learn you like a song. And that nightgown, and the way you get so cranky when I leave my stuff all over the place, and the way you tie your hair back in that crazy bun. You make me laugh every single day—and nobody makes me laugh. I feel like I’ve been lost all my life until now—and somehow with you I’m just … found.”

So I decided something right then: Every chance you take is a choice. A choice to decide who you are.

“You were…?” I didn’t know what I was asking. “Bored,” he confirmed.

Ni le vuelvo a hablar más nunca

“You can’t control the world—or other people. You can’t make them love you, either. They will or they won’t, and that’s the truth. But what you can do is decide who you want to be in the face of it all. Do you want to be a person who helps—or hurts? Do you want to be a person who burns with anger—or shines with compassion? Do you want to be hopeful or hopeless? Give up or keep going? Live or die?”

Because love isn’t like fame. It’s not something other people bestow on you. It’s not something that comes from outside. Love is something you do. Love is something you generate. And loving other people really does turn out, in the end, to be a genuine way of loving yourself.