The Dead Romantics

by Ashley Poston

“He died,” I said. “Ben?”

“Gave him what for.”

What does this men

Dad had already fixed him up, painted his blue lips tan, and covered the bruises on his neck.

Nah bro i might cry

Movement caught the corner of my eye, and I turned to watch Ben not so subtly try to hide behind a bouquet of roses on a table. Because that wasn’t conspicuous at all.

“A romance leaves you happy—or at least content—at the end. Or it’s supposed to. I think.”

This is scaring ne

“Shit,” I whispered. “I think that’s Officer Saget.” “Bob?” “What? No—was that a joke, Benji Andor?” “Too dated?” he asked, ashamed.

Mrs. Holly,

Me mentioned

he interrupted, and placed his hands on the wrought iron fence, and leaned against it.

How exactly ??

some people were back people,

Me

He came over quietly and sat down on the floor in front of me, and for the first time—ever—he had to look up to meet my gaze, and he gave me something that I hadn’t really thought I wanted: his undivided attention. “What was your dad like?” he asked, because he was decent. Because he was good. What was the song Dad liked? “Only the Good Die Young”?

Im gonn cry

I shook my head. “I’m not that pretty, Ben.” He gave me a strange look. His eyelashes were long, and the ocher flecks in his brown eyes glimmered in the dim evening light. “But you are.”

“That bastard,” he repeated a little louder. “Of all the fucking shitty things to do to you, he ruined your memories. Things you told him in private—in trust. That fucking dead-eyed narcissistic asshole.” Behind him, a vase full of orchids began to rattle. I didn’t think Ben knew he was doing it. “The next time I see him I’m going to—”

so sad that ges dead vro im scRed about the ending

“You know, you being angry on my behalf is kinda sweet. I wish I’d met you sooner when you were alive.” He returned the sad smile. “Me, too.”

Crying

I let out a low whistle when I saw it. “Is that mahogany?”

THAT IS MAHOGANY

“Absolutely. Don’t you wish you’d never let me walk out of your office?” I joked. “Yes.” He said it so resolutely, it made me blush.

I loved the way he talked softly, pinpoints on the edges of his words— Loved. Oh.

This is destroying me

“I’m dead and every time I disappear I come back a little less. I’m dead and I can still hear my heart beating in my ears, fainter and fainter. I’m dead and gone and I’m here and it’s not the book—it can’t be the book, Florence.”

Wait what if hes in a coma

said softly, a secret and a prayer, “Stay.”

Destroying me

“I wish . . . I had closed my office door after you walked in and kissed you until you saw stars.”

“I wish we had met instead,” I whispered.

“You did say romance was dead.” I tilted my head, looking at his reflection in the mirror. “Aren’t you?”

“They got together in the end!” “You think so?” “Of course. She moves into the house and then the doorbell rings. Of course it’s him.”

“Five years ago?” he asked, perplexed.

Wasnt his tattoo from 5 years ago

“These last few days have been . . . beautiful. It’s a good ending, darling. As your editor, I have no notes.”

Don’t climb the man mountain, I told myself. Don’t climb the man mountain. Don’t climb— “Florence, I think—” “Don’t.”

because endings were just new beginnings.

I hope you find yourself in a book someday. And I hope that book lives forever.