Kid

by Jescie Hall

“I love you, Kai,” she says breathlessly. “It hurts, and I’m scared, but I’m in deep, terrifying love with you.”

My jaw tightens as two random memories flood my mind: My father telling me I’d never mean more to him than a check from the government before he passed out in the chair as he drank away my lunch money, and Hawke as a twelve-year-old, handing me a rolled up brown paper bag secretly by the lockers before we hit the lunch room. It was a sandwich his dad made him, telling me he ate so much at breakfast, and it’d get thrown away if I didn’t take it. He always knew, just like now.

“I’m ready to break for you,” she whispers, still gripping my hand between hers. “But are you willing to crack for me?” “Shatter,” I reply, pressing myself against her again, my hips pinning her to the van, my eyes cast down on hers as my hands hold her broken little face, making sure she knows the truth in the deepest part of her. “I’ll shatter myself into a million pieces just to meet your broken.”

Tomorrow’s adventure is entirely unknown, but one thing is certain: her secrets, whenever revealed, will be mine to hold.