I’m still squeezing my eyes shut, and when I realize I’m squeezing and not just closing, I force my facial muscles to relax again.
Hair will grow back.
Sloane won’t tell anyone my secrets.
We’ll find the treasure.
She’ll kiss me again like she did last night.
Fuck.
No.
We’ll both go about our daily lives again.
I’ll find a new obsession.
It’ll be her.
Goddammit.
Trick of the moment. Not real.
Learning that she feels guilty for breathing because of how she was raised when I feel guilty for getting away with things I should’ve been punished for.
That she’s actively fighting shame all the time when I never truly had to face the shame I should’ve for what happened in Denver.
Wanting to carry her burdens for her because she doesn’t deserve them while I do.
This is why I show up and ask my buddies for favors and then never say another word about them.
Because I’ll hear a coworker’s always wanted to take a trip up to the city to see an air show but never got tickets.
Or an old contact has a kid who’s been struggling in school and just needs a win, like seeing her favorite former boy bander turned solo artist in concert.
I’ve caused harm in this life.
I never want to do it again.
I want to balance my scales.
Watching Sloane balance her own scales for things that aren’t her fault—how could I not want to help her?
How could I not find that inherently attractive in a fellow human being?
The snipping stops. “You want the good news or the bad news?”
There’s no good or bad.
There’s only what is. “Both.”
“I got the pine cone remnants out. And it looks like a toddler attacked your head in your sleep. We just had a new stylist move to town. She might not know who you are. She’s pretty young. But she’s good. She can fix this. Or I guess you could just wear hoodies again for a while.”
I blink my eyes open. “Thank you.”
“So you want me to call?—”
“I’ll wear hoodies.”
