Page 109 of Last Letters to Ara
Yes, please. Trap me, I beg you.
A warm breath tickles across my face with a sleepy little sound. “Where are you going?”
“Ideally nowhere.”
“We have to.” Theo chuckles. “Today is about you becoming the next fashion icon.”
I snort. “I don’t know about that.”
He nuzzles my neck. “How are you feeling?
“Like death, but comfortable. Really comfortable death.”
He sighs, content. “We should get going.”
“We should. Doesn’t mean that we have to.”
He playfully smacks my hip and sits up. “Come on.”
Theo comes around the bed, handing me the Advil which I graciously accept, hoping my salvation comes soon. I swish the water around my mouth in hopes that it does something to minimize the stank, just in time.
Theo leans in and kisses me.
I will never get used to this feeling, his lips against mine and his hands around my waist. His words from last night seem as though they came in a dream, but I know the truth. Theo shared them with me in a way which gave me the freedom to hold them close for a while, until I was ready.
Everything with Theo feels natural. Here I am, standing in nothing but his shirt and some underwear, wearing a pad he bought for me. Not even a lick of me feels self-conscious as I lift the shirt and begin getting dressed as he watches.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “I so badly want to touch you, but if I do then I’ll never stop.”
The things he says? They will be the death of me.
Yesterday when I was packing, I went to grab my most “fashiony” looking outfit I owned, something I bought and never wore which still had the tags. In the end, I didn’t want to go about this day as anyone but me. If they didn’t want me how I am, then I wouldn’t want them.
In the end I went with my high-waisted jeans, my clean pair of Converse, with the first wearable shirt I ever made. From the front it looks like a plain, white crew-neck t-shirt, but the material is higher quality than what you can buy. The back is open, tying in a beautiful bow at the bottom. It’s simple, me, but fucking cute.
Throwing my hair up into my usual bun, I mess around with the pieces so it looks a bit more tamed and less crazy. I dab some concealer under my eyes, then apply mascara and a bit of blush and highlighter to accent my bone structure (a little trick I learned from Lou).
Theo comes up behind me, looking as devastating as one can look in a Henley, as he wraps one arm around my waist, and the other comes around to brush my face.
“You look so beautiful.” He runs a finger down my bare spine. “Did you make this?”
I nod.
He smiles. “I love it.”
Not able to resist for a second more, I turn around to pull him down for a kiss. Theo slips his hands into the back pockets of my jeans, nearly sending me to the morgue.
Here lies, Ara Scott, who died the way we’d all want to go: adorable as shit.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his lips.
“It’s the truth.”
“Not just for the compliment, but for everything.” I need to get this out. “Theo, I don’t know how you managed to walk into my life when and how you did. I’ve stopped questioning it because all I know is how right it feels. If you can’t ever share how or why…I’ve decided I can live with that. But you’ve changed my life. You were the first person besides my dad to believe in me, and that means something.”
“You made it easy.” Emotion stirs in Theo’s eyes.
