Page 18 of The Time It Takes
A slick grin grew on his face before he moved onto his back, leaving my hand to rest on his chest, directly above the tattoo there. “If I’m being completely honest, the only mind I’m interested in reading is yours.”
My mouth parted, his words confusing me. It might be like this often with each other but that didn’t mean we felt the same things. We were different when we were alone, and it only made me wonder if we were just another secret to hold for the other. Something no one else would ever get their hands on if only we hung on tight enough without people seeing our knuckles turning white. He was my best friend and that was for the whole damn planet to see, but this—I suppose this was just ours.
“How about I tell you what I’m thinking instead,” I suggested.
Where my hand rested above his heart, I felt it beating beneath my palm and it called to my own. “I’m thinking that despite what conclusion the rest of the world comes to, my conclusion is this—If there is anything worth remembering, it’s you.”
Out of everyone in my life, he had always understood me best. I traced my fingers lightly across the butterfly.
His hand covered my own, sucking in a sharp breath as he stilled my hand. I saw a part of the tattoo we both shared on his pinky. Ben had one too. We each wore the numeral number, III.
My eyes met his and his face was unreadable but soft. The rhythm pounding against my hand told me he was feeling a lot of things he’d never say. All the things I wouldn’t dare say first.
The words he did say are the ones I would love forever. “You are my person, Willow Grace. My damn very own person.”
I didn’t fight my smile as I scooted closer and rested my head on his chest. His arms wrapped tightly around me, pulling me in closer. I took in the scent of his skin as he played with my hair, and I became liquid in his grasp.
“And your very flesh shall be a great poem.” He shivered as my breath trickled across his skin.
“Walt Whitman?” he guessed, and I could practically hear the smile in his voice.
I gave him a nod in confirmation. At that moment, he felt like mine. My Ollie. My Best friend. My everything. He was my person too.
He was my favorite story to read. He was my good thing—feather light within all the heaviness. Everything else could just fade to black. I could drink his soul for the rest of my life and get tipsy every time.
I wondered for a moment if our story would make it to the romance genre, but the thought made me want to laugh. I heard love makes people crazy in the best way. I also heard it could be quite tragic when held the wrong way. I had seen it tumble and crash in front of my very own eyes.
His love felt like such a delicate fragile thing that I couldn’t afford to hold with my unsteady hands.
Chapter Four
Present
Ihaveninehoursbefore I need to board my flight.
That means I also have nine hours to get my shit together and pretend that I don’t feel the urge to break apart all at once. For the past two days, I’ve heard nothing from Julian. I’ve texted him about Lily being sick but haven’t gotten a response.
He’s giving me space. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve had plenty of it my entire life.
Standing in my entirely too-small studio apartment, I look out the window. My view isn’t as nice as Julian’s. It’s a pretty brick wall though.
I open the window and crawl out onto the fire escape. I’m immediately greeted by my upstairs neighbor as the smell of pot fills my nostrils. I let the memories that came with that smell ease into my mind as I breathe it in. The reality of my situation sinks in.
I’m going back.
Ten years later and all it took was my mother deciding to sell the house. I’m a sentimental fool. I don’t need anything from my old room, I know that. I haven’t needed anything from it for all these years. I have everything I need right here in this loud city.
I have everything I need right here.
I have everything I need right here.
I have everything I need right here.
I have everything I need right—
The more I repeat the words in my head, the more the lie becomes my truth. I’ve been telling myself this since the plane landed all those years ago. I know I’m not happy; I rarely laugh a real laugh these days. I can’t remember the last time it burst from my gut.
Now because of my sick, stupid heart, I hurt Julian too.
