holding me like he’s punishing air for slipping between us.
“Don’t wanna talk about it right now, aight?
“Don’t even wanna fuckin’ think about it.”
His voice sinks into a whisper,
rough and raspy.
His eyes, on mine.
All his armor, gone.
“I been replayin’ that night in my head for two days straight, hearing you say that shit on repeat, watchin’ you leave with him. And I thought that was it, thought I fucked it up for good.
“And now you’re here.
“In this house.
“With me.
“With my moms.
“And my hands won’t stop shaking every time they’re not on you.”
“So, no—I don’t wanna talk about it, Sonny.
“Right now, I just want you here?—”
His voice cracks,
throat catching around the word.
“We could be mad.
“We could be a fuckin’ mess.
“Don’t matter.
“I ain’t tryin’ to fix shit right now.
“Just be here with me. All I want.
“You. Right here. With me.”
And my heart just screamed into a pillow from inside her grave.
Then punched it.
Then kissed it.
Then cried over it.
Pathetic.
“Fine,” I say, and it barely makes it out.
I clear my throat, try again.
