"What you said earlier at the fire—"
"I shouldn't have said it. You know how I get. I talk before I think," he cuts in.
I squint at him, surprised at how fast he deflected. "Not true. And that one marinated. I saw it on you," I counter.
A beat when he's silent.
"So you didn't mean it?"
"No. I meant it, but I shouldn't have said it. It was selfish. To Lisa. To you. I'm an asshole. I know it. But—" He drags in a breath and shakes his head. "I'm not playing with you, Emma. I swear, I'm not."
"Then why?" I frown at him. "What was the point of all that?"
His eyes turn to the horizon, but it's like he's not seeing it, just weighing whether to tell me. Then he looks back, tone dry. "Does it even matter now?" And he walks away, like the distance might undo the question.
"It matters to me!" I call after him.
He slows, half-turns, the soft orange light hitting his face just so. "But why?"
I look at him, and it's so painfully clear:
Because you were my scary and my safe.
Because some treacherous part of me wonders if I married the wrong man, too.
Because I need you to tell me there's a world in which you and I are together.
Because I need you to tell me everything's going to be fine.
Because...
"Because of what you said at the fire and even before. You sounded like you were hurting and I hate that," I call instead, stopping about thirty feet from him. "I want to know that you're okay. I know I shouldn't. I promised myself I wouldn't, but I care. I care about you."
He snorts like I actually insulted him. "Youcareabout me."
"I do! I care about you!" I yell and take a desperate step toward him. "I mean what I said before. At least let me be your friend again. Talk to me. I want to know you got everything you wanted—"
"Nobody gets everything they want. The sooner you acceptthat, the easier it is to live," he says dryly and walks faster toward the tree glowing in strobe neon pink like it's been plugged into someone's broken heartbeat.
"You're stalling!" I yell, running after him. "That's my move!"
"Then don't take it personally," he calls over his shoulder, then turns, and walks backward, hands half-raised like he's surrendering and defending at the same time. "If I tell you everything I want to say, what I meant at the fire, what I want to do now, what will you do about it?"
I halt because truth is probably nothing. I just frown and sigh.
He smirks bitterly. "Exactly. That's what I thought. See? I know you too well. So forget it."
I snort, jog to catch up, but it's useless because I can't match him even if he's not speeding. I get there a moment after him.
Hundreds of bodies twist beneath the tree in a living tide of limbs, the air around smelling of sweat and dust and the sweet fog machine.
Mara and Paul are lounging on a sofa under the thick metallic trunk.
"There they are!" Paul calls, pointing when he spots us.
"Ah! What's up, lovers? Or friends with exceptional eye contact?" Mara winks, eyes dilated like the moon kissed her.
Ben and I both roll our eyes, but she doesn't notice, too distracted by the music, dancing while half-seated.
