Page 26 of Firefly
Three years of screaming into pillows and wishing God had taken me too. Three years of sleeping with one of his hoodies wrapped around my body because it was the only thing left that still smelled like him. Three years of loving a ghost, and the entire time… he was breathing somewhere.
My chest caves inward so painfully I press my hand against it.
I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of it.
Why didn’t he come for me?
Why didn’t he tell me?
Why did he let me believe he was dead?
And worst of all… why did he look at me like that tonight?
Like I meant nothing.
A broken sound nearly escapes me but I force it down hard, because the Hayden I loved would’ve ran to me. The Hayden I loved would’ve held me while I cried. He would’ve kissed my forehead and told me everything was okay now.
But the man standing in that cage tonight?
That wasn’t my Hayden anymore.
That boy died the same night Justin did.
This Hayden looked dangerous.
Hard. Cold. Tattooed.
His eyes still wrecked me though.
God, those eyes.
The second he looked at me through the blood and bruises, I knew. Every piece of me knew before my brain even caught up.
And for one stupid, beautiful second… I thought he was coming back to me too.
My stomach twists remembering the way my heart leapt when he saidFireflyagain.
That nickname belonged to us. No one else.
Tears blur my vision harder than the image changes.
That girl wrapped around him. Her hands all over his chest. Her body pressed against his side and the fucking giggling, but what killed me was his smirk. It was like he enjoyed watching me break apart.
My breathing turns uneven instantly.
I hate her. Which is ridiculous because I don’t even know her name. But seeing another girl touch him… it felt like being skinned alive.
Hayden was mine first—mine always. We belonged to each other long before we even understood what love was. I remember being thirteen and sneaking out to meet him at the river after midnight. He brought me gas station snacks and wrapped me in his hoodie because I was cold. We laid on the hood of one of the trucks he stole watching stars while he traced constellations against my skin with rough fingertips.
“See that one?” he whispers.
“I don’t see anything.”
“That’s because you suck at stars, Firefly.”
I laughed while he grinned at me then he kissed me.
Soft. Slow and sweet.
