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I’m sorry, Will, I think. I’m so sorry you weren’t enough.
“He didn’t push you away.” Everything in me stills. “He held you closer, so close I don’t know how he didn’t leave bruises.”
“You’re very bitchy when you’re sad. Anyone tell you that before?”
“If you wore a flannel like I asked, you could have at least pretended you were a lumberjack. Or straight. That’s always a turn-on.” “Wow.”
I haven’t seen him since the night everything all fell apart, but we’ve talked a couple times since. Well, by talked, I mean he texted me to check in. I ignored him because I’m an asshole.
“You deserve better than that, but it’s up to you to climb your way out of this. We can reach down to help, but it’s up to you to grab our hands and let us pull you up.”
All I feel is the boy in my arms—my boy. My guy. My man. The one who’s been
there all along, waiting for me—and all I can do is pray that I’m not too late. Please, please, please don’t let me be too late.
See, Will, see. See this heart in my chest. See how it flies for you.
“Well too fucking bad,” I murmur. “You are loved. And I’m not better off without you.”
“And I’d rather feel this burden of knowing and loving you than go even a second without you existing somewhere on this planet.”
“You’re so fucking gorgeous, City Boy. Sorry it took me so long to tell you.”
Dropping my forehead to his, I brush our noses together, then cover his hand with mine. I loop our pinkies together and I nod against his head. “I promise.”
I asked Will once why he doesn’t just take the bus. Or have his grandma come at three o’clock when school lets out like the other parents. He just shrugged and said, “You’d be alone.” He confuses me.
“Are you seriously comparing facing our fears—our triggers—to anal?”
I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m not going anywhere. Prove he’s not a whim or a fix or any-fucking-thing else in between. He’s the beat of my fucking heart. And that? That’s everything.
How do I tell him that now that I know what it’s like to wake up in his arms, I don’t know how I’ll ever sleep without him again?
“Life’s too fuckin’ short, kid, to be livin’ by anyone’s standards but your own.”
Catching feelings for a straight guy is hard enough. Catching feelings for your dead sister’s straight boyfriend… Well, that’s just fucking tragic.
“The monster you see coming is often far less dangerous than the monster you don’t,” she says after a moment.
It’s okay to be angry sometimes, my Sunshine Boy. It’s okay to be sad and scared too. Even the sun needs a break sometimes—it’s why it has the moon to help out every night.”
“But you know what? You know what I’ve realized?” I go on, not tearing my gaze off his. “What?” “I like myself a whole lot better when I’m with you.”
“I told you,” he says deeply. “So long as I have the will to live…” I swallow hard, fingers digging into his skin, and I murmur against his lips. “There’ll always be a way.”
“It’s always the ones who condemn it the loudest that have something to hide, right?”
“You’re my boyfriend. Fuckin’ deal with it.”
“One day, I’m gonna hold your hand in public, and not feel like I’m dying when I do it.”
This guy, I think. This fucking guy. Just when I thought I had nothing left to give him, he goes and finds another piece of my heart to steal. Doesn’t he already realize it’s all his?
Life isn’t a fucking black hole, as much as grief and trauma and pain would have us think that. Light can always prevail. And there is so, so much light to be found. We just need to hold out and wait for the sun to shine, because fuck, when it shines—it shines hard. Harder than any starless night.
“Jealous?” I roll my eyes. “No.” As if. “Liar. “I take it back,” I say flatly. “Every nice thing I’ve ever said to you.”
“You’re anonymous, you’re talented as fuck, and you’re sad.”
If wanting to survive this is wrong—if my love for Will is wrong—then God, strike me the fuck down right now because I will not spend what could be my last few moments on this planet not loving Will with everything that I am.
