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I try not to look at him. My eyes might get stuck.
“Then it’ll be over? I mean, at some point everything will be over. What matters is how much it hurts first.”
He’s the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen in real life, and I hate it.
I’m stepping out behind him when he turns back around. I bump into him. Both of us say, “shit.” Ezra’s eyes widen. “Sorry.” His hand comes down on my shoulder. Then he lifts it off and steps back, bumping into my mom’s fern stand. “Fuck,” he mutters, steadying the thing. “I was wondering—do you need a soda or water?” Is this awkward Ezra? Why’s he looking at me like that? “Do you?” I laugh.
His eyes widen in horror. “Even better,” he says, sarcastic. “Nothing like a good, solid tragedy.”
“Never jump,” I whisper. “Never fall.” His lips brush my back. He hugs me tight, wrapping himself around me. “You gotta be careful, Millsy. Don’t come here without me.”
And then he steps in closer, wraps a hand around the back of my head, and kisses me so hard and deep I nearly slide to the ground.
He looks happy. He looks sated. He looks like mine—for just the smallest moment.
Nothing matters but him—being in this moment with him. At least until I can’t anymore.
I wake up with Ezra wrapped around me like some kind of insane starfish. He’s behind me—he’s spooning me now—with one arm around my shoulders, one hand clutching the waistline of my boxer briefs, and one of his warm legs pushed between mine, like he wants to be sure we’re joined from head to toe.
“Look at me, Ez. Look at my face.” He shuts his eyes. “Tell me this much: Who fucked up before me? Who fucked around with you and made you feel like loving you was hard work?”
When I was sick, you took care of me. If you’re sick, nothing feels good; you’re in pain. And you’re saying I can make you feel better? I’d do that all damn day. All night, too. I’ll suck your dick ten times a day if you want. If I can cure depression for you with a blow job, sign me the fuck up, baby. You got nightmares but I make them better? I’ll be your drug. You think helping you feel good could ever be a burden to me?”
Hi, no one’s held my hand since I was like six. No one’s touched me in a few years except nurses and a lot worse. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
His arm tightens on me, and I feel him inhale. He blows the breath out, and when he speaks, his voice is raspy. “Don’t leave me again.” I nod, and for a second I can’t find my voice. When I do, I sit up, so I can look at him when I promise, “I won’t.”
I just want to tell you that I’m happier than I deserve. And that I love him. I hope it will last.
He thumps my chin lightly. “Whatchu smiling about, Millsy?” “Nothing.” “I got something on my face?” he asks. “Just a whole bunch of everything I’ve ever wanted.”
I love you. I don’t even like being in love. It scares me. But I love you. So much I could never say no to it.
I love you. Please stay safe. Don’t ride bikes and don’t have any seizures. Love me- okay? Can you please still love me? Even if it’s been a while? I’ll always love you too. Your Ezra
Been off all those meds from Sheppard Pratt and of course, my dick is fucking gay as shit again.
I wish I could hold you when you sleep. I’m not a girl- but I am kind of in love with you. If it’s not real, I hope it fades. Because I don’t think about anything but football and you. It feels right, though. You make me feel things, Miller. Even if you are only my stepbrother. Sleep for me.
“I love you,” I say. “I’ve got you. You’re mine, and I’ve been waiting for you, so I can wrap you up and never let a damn thing ever hurt you again. Not without going through me first. I know you’re bigger, but I need to take care of you,” I whisper.
"I don't really know you. But I feel like I can't live without you."
I bring our joined hands to my mouth and brush my lips over his knuckles. "It's a fucked up story, Miller. But it looks like we're together at the end."
