Love on the Brain

by Ali Hazelwood

The real villain is love: an unstable isotope, constantly undergoing spontaneous nuclear decay. And it will forever go unpunished.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a community of women trying to mind their own business must be in want of a random man’s opinion.

SHMAC: No. She’s someone I’ve known for a long time, and now she’s back. SHMAC: And she is married. MARIE: To you? SHMAC: Depressingly, no.

Neuroscience and engineering, sitting in a very expensive tree called BLINK, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

MARIE: Did she at least get ugly while she was gone? SHMAC: She’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“There is no other neuroscientist I’d want to do this project with. Not a single one.”

“The point is, sometimes dislike is a gut reaction. Like falling in love at first sight, you know? Just . . . the opposite.” His eyes spring open. “Bee.” He swallows. “I—”

SHMAC: I know what she loves to eat, what shows she watches, what makes her laugh, her opinions on pets. I know her dislikes (aside from me). I’ve been cataloging a million little quirks of hers in my head, and they are enchanting. She is enchanting. Smart, funny, an incredible scientist. And . . . there are things. Things I think about. But I’m drunk, and this is inappropriate.

She’s everything I ever wanted and I want to inject her into my veins and also to never see her again. There’s nothing like her and these feelings, they are fucking intolerable. They were half-asleep while she was gone, but now she’s here and my body thinks it’s a fucking teenager and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. There is nothing I can do, so I’ll just . . . not.

There’s someone in my corner. A guy who loves Star Wars, and is too tall for space, and will take care of a kitten for half his life.

“Whatever you’re imagining, from the tamest to the most . . . inappropriate thoughts, that’s probably where my mind was at.” He swallows visibly. I watch his throat move. “You were always in my head. And I could never get you out.”

“I really, really, really like you.” He doesn’t reply for a long moment. Then: “I’m pretty sure I like you more.”

“You could rip me to shreds, Bee.”

“If nice means being alone, then . . . so be it.” “I can give you nice. I can give you better than nice. I can give you everything.” He smiles at me, full of hope. “You don’t even have to admit to yourself that you love me, Bee. God knows I love you enough for the both of us.

“There hasn’t been anyone else.” His jaw tenses and works. “Since the first moment I saw you. Since the first moment I talked to you and made an ass of myself, there hasn’t been anyone else.”

“Bee. You want to belong. You want someone who won’t let go. I’m it. I didn’t let go of you for years, and I didn’t even have you.

His hands—they are my home.