Page 17 of This I Promise You
Jace and I were born in the same year, nine months apart. I was premature. I felt like we were twins and he was my best friend. Or the closest thing to one anyway. He had other friends, but he always made time for me as a kid.
I tried texting them both for New Year’s and Jace for his birthday, but neither of them responded. I’m sure they’re mad—I just up and left without a goodbye. I knew that if I talked to them they’d convince me to stay, and that was completely out of the question.
She throws her phone on the couch, fills up her wine glass, and sits back down on the floor. “Anyway, why English?”
I put my phone and my disappointment aside.
“I like words.” I shrug. It’s the most honest answer I can give, but it still feels like bearing my soul. “Like, individually. I mean, I know I’m not good with my words, but I like…words. Putting them together is fun but challenging. They can be beauty. They can be danger. I…” I cut myself off because this just feels like too much. I’ve given her enough about me already.
But she’s not having it.
“Oh no you don’t! Keep talking.”
I sigh. This shit sucks. Trusting someone with my thoughts, my emotions, it’s only left me hurt and bleeding. But for some reason, I feel like I can trust her. I guess? I don’t know. It’s whatever. So I bite the bullet and open up to Huxley as much as I know how.
“Words can change a person’s life, ya know? Like, ‘I do’. They’re two simple words, and yet they mean everything. But they don’t mean the same thing to everyone. They are consent in their most basic form. They can be freedom to another world or they can be torture, a ball and chain. Love is a four-letter word. Singular. But it holds so much weight. Hate is also a four-letter word, but hate can be a release. Fuck is another four-letter word, the most universal word. Yes and no are also each one word. They can both make complete sentences even though they have polar opposite meanings. When you string words together you can create magic, like your book or music. Words can be healing, but words can also cause someone to commit suicide. They are beauty. They are danger.”
Her eyes are wide, but I can’t read her. She hasn’t moved at all while I’ve just been rambling aboutwords. I’m such a nerd. I probably said too much.
Damn it, Paul!
“Whoa. Okay. Wasn’t expecting that. Seems there’s more to you than meets the eye.”
Oh. So, okay. Um. Huh? “Wait. Is that a good thing?”
“Uh, yeah!” Huxley squints and does this sassy head sway. “Paul, you’re so smart and wise. I would have never guessed all these tattoos and anger issues actually held a soul. It’s beautiful.”
Thanks, Huxley. But I don’t say it. All I can do is blush. That might simultaneously be the nicest and most sarcastic thing anyone’s ever said to me about me.
“Mind if we go deeper?”
“Uh, sure. Why the hell not.”
“Switching gears.” She lays back down on the floor. “What does love mean to you then? Earlier you talked about it like it was a curse or something.”
“Isn’t it?” I’m sitting cross-legged now, facing her.
“Elaborate.”
“It’s just… Love is nothing but a promise left to time, a sentencing. A trap. I don’t do promises and I don’t do love because love is a lie. People use ‘love’ too frequently and rarely ever mean it. Sure, not everyone. But the masses for sure.” I pause. “You… You can’t fucking go through what I’ve been through and believe in all that sappy lovey-dovey bullshit. It may be real for other people, but it’s— Fuck. It’s just not real for me, okay?”
“And what have you been through?” she asks reluctantly. But I can tell she wants to know. I’m sure she’s been dying to know since we met.
“Huxley. Don’t.”
She moves to sit across from me. “Come on, Paulie. You were doing so well—”
No. No! I can’t fucking do this. “Don’t call me that! Don’t you ever fucking call me that again.” I’m on my feet before I can stop myself. My hands are in fists at my side as my nails dig into my palm. I’m fuming. I can’t. I can't, I can't, I can't. My arms are flexed, tense. My knees locked. “Never again. Don’t ever fucking call me that. Ever. Do you hear me?”
Huxley jumps up and wants to touch me, I know, but I give her a look to stay away. “Shit. Paul, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I won’t. I hear you.”
“Whatever. I’m going to bed.”
“Yeah. Okay. Get some res—” But I’m in my room and slamming the door before she can finish. I sink to the floor and try to even out my breathing. I can’t leave to go to the gym now and work off this anger, so I need to get my shit together before hearing that fucking name causes a full-fledged panic attack. My heart is racing. I start counting back from one thousand to focus my mind, and I lay back on the floor at the foot of my bed while I force myself to stop shaking.
Paulie.
Easton
