Page 48 of All That Remains
He wasn't wasting any time. He must not have gotten word I’d agreed to meet. Still, I was glad he’d reached out directly. I now had his number and he had mine. No more intermediaries.
"Of course. Whatever you're up for. I’m down."
Rome: "Coffee?"
"Sounds good."
Rome: "Where?"
"Idk. You choose."
Rome: "Ok, I've got someplace in mind. Kind of private."
Rome: "Noon ok?"
"Perfect. Yep. I'll be there."
Rome: "Cool."
Rome: "I'll send over the address in a sec."
Rome: "See you tomorrow?"
Rome: "Ok??"
I smiled. I loved when he was so impatient he texted multiple times in a row. It took me right back to 2011.
"Ok, can't wait. Talk soon."
He sent a final thumbs up and that was it.
As John and I drove along the boulevard, my breath quickened, forcing me to gaze out the window so he couldn’t catch me smiling. I pressed a fist to my contorting mouth. Everything was suddenly awash with color, like treetops in autumn, or the blood returning to the cheeks after a pallid stretch of illness. I was transported back to the beginning of everything, remembering the final day of Nirvana at my dad’s bungalow, which I had recounted for Naomi only moments ago. She was now categorically aware that my'she'was in fact ahe.
***
Middleton, England
September 2011
I rolled over and he was already facing me, half asleep. I watched his eyes struggle to stay open, lashes but dark fringes against hollowed cheeks. The lips were slightly parted. His thumb lingered before his mouth, as though he bore an inclination to draw it inside. I traced his eyebrows and nose with my fingertips, then finally the swollen lips. They closed around my lead finger and he watched me groggily. I was acutely aware of how exquisite he was; more than any girl I’d ever seen.
"I dreamt of you..." I uttered, toying with the silver crucifix around his neck. "Last night."
"Mm..." he sighed, vibrating the bed. “Keep talkin’.”
All the other boys said my tone was morbid and annoying, but he seemed to derive pleasure from the sound of my voice. Sometimes he ordered me to talk to him, directly in his ear, even when he didn’t feel up to responding.
“Mate…it was so vivid. You dream of me too?"
"'Course, babe.” The accent became a soft lilt whenever he was tired. "I always dream of ya…"
I lay back and watched the ceiling. "Feels like summertime."
"You warm?"
He pushed the covers off and fanned me a little. I was too bemused to tell him I was perfectly content. That I meanthefelt like summer. When I brushed my toes against his, he shot up, scooting to the end of the bed and taking my foot into his hand.
"What?"
