She stirs a little. The neck of my ragged band tee is soaked with her quiet tears, her voice barely a whisper that I strain to hear. “Sorry.”
“No apology needed,” I murmur. It feels like we’re in a bubble. “We all have things that we’re scared of, Emmy Marsters.”
She hesitates. “What are you scared of?”
“Many things.”
The truth.
My face in the mirror.
Time.
Christ, this could get very deep, very quickly.
I clear my throat. “Pineapples.”
Somehow, I can feel her eyes on me, even though I can’t see a damn inch in front of my face. “Pineapples?”
My head bobs in a nod. “Freaky little things. They look like heads to me. I used to cry walking around the supermarket if I saw one. My brother found a giant one and scooped it out once, managed to wedge his head inside it and chased me around the yard.”
My lips twitch up at the memory for the briefest second, before I lose it completely.
But she can’t see that.
The silence between us is broken by the low sound of amusement in her throat.
It feels like a victory.
I keep running my hand over her hair. It’s soft and silky beneath my fingers, the faintest scent of watermelon rising up. “This okay? I can stop.”
Emmy sighs, then. Her body softens, tension leaching out of it. “Don’t stop.”
So I don’t. We wait quietly against the wall, listening to the people around us shouting. Emmy’s hand finds my neck, her fingers pressing carefully into my skin against my pulse.
Counting my heartbeats.
When I stiffen, she pulls her fingers away before I gently grab them and put them back. “Don’t stop.”
My voice is rough. Hoarse.
She needs it. Something tells me she needs to feel my heartbeat, to anchor herself in the pulse beneath my skin.
And maybe I need it too.
For the first time in weeks, I feel present. With Emmy Marster’s fingers measuring each pulse of my heart, counting them, I feel visible.
And in the darkness that surrounds us, the words gather at the back of my throat.
“I—,”
We both flinch as bright overhead lights flicker on, momentarily blinding us.
My hold loosens as I blink away the orbs dancing across my vision, but Emmy is already scrambling away, taking her warmth with her and leaving cold air behind.
Her face is flushed as she slides off the top of the booth, arms wrapping around herself as she turns to face me.
Neither of us move.
