Depression. Not quiet, or silence… but depression.
I let my hand drift to her cheek, brushing away the tear that slowly slides down her face. Seeing her like this breaks something inside me I didn’t knowcouldbreak. I watched Claire suffer, I watched her cry, but it didn’t feel like this. When I see those tears in Sasha’s eyes, I feel like the world around me is crumbling, like life itself is being ripped out of my chest.
She closes her eyes, letting more tears break throughthe wall she was trying so hard to keep up. When she opens them again, she looks like a little girl. A little girl who wants nothing more than for someone to comfort her.
So I do, I leave my hand resting on her cheek, rubbing my thumb in little circles, giving her what she won’t ask for.
“J was always my rock.” She smiles sadly, “he would have liked you.”
Jesus Christ. This girl is ripping my heart out.
“Sasha,” I breathe, “you know you don’t have to go through all of this alone anymore, right?”
She pulls her hand from my hair and places it over the one I have on her face, “and that, Johnny Davis, is why I don’t know what to do with you.”
I let her words sink in as she slowly drifts off to sleep, analyzing every last part of them while I watch the tears dry, while I watch her chest rise in a steady rhythm.
This girl is something else, and from now on, whenever she’s here late, she’ll stay with me. She will never walk home alone again. She has a home here with me.
nine
SASHA
The morning light pours through the window, lighting up the wall with beautiful arcs of sunshine.
All I can think about is how I opened up about my brother for the first time. I didn’t even mean to, it just kind of happened.
He made me feel safe, comfortable. Maybe I crossed a line, got too serious with him too fast, but it just felt… right. Everything about sharing that fucking bed with him felt right.
I don’t know what to do with Johnny, he meant every word he said to me last night —I know it— but that’s the thing that scares me the most.
For the first time in months, I don’t feel like I have to face all of this alone, because he’s here to help me through it.
If I ever tell him how I feel, and he doesn’t reciprocate my feelings, then I risk losing him and the support he’s given me without even knowing it.
His arm tightens against my waist, and I feel a blush creep onto my cheeks. My back is pressed against his chest, pulled in tight by arms that haven’t let go of me all night.
He’s asleep, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
Realistically, I know that this moment won’t last forever, but just for a second, I let myself think that this is more than it is.
Last night, he gave me way too much hope, confused me beyond belief with all the touching and whispering and jokes. Those fucking jokes about being more than friends are what truly sent me reeling.
He thinks he’s being funny, but I think it’s kind of cruel. He doesn’t know how I feel, but that doesn’t mean the sting isn’t there.
“Good morning, Pixie,” Johnny grumbles, seemingly unfazed by the position we’re in. “Did you sleep well?”
Let me think about that for a second. Yes.
It’s the best sleep I’ve had since Jurian died, since I killed him. I’ve been plagued with nightmares, restless sleep and a world filled with guilt for so long, I forgot what it felt like to sleep peacefully.
Ever since I met Johnny, the guilt seems to fade more and more. It’s still there —I don’t know if it will ever fully go away— but everything feels lighter when he’s around.
“I did. You?”
When he doesn’t answer, I turn over so I can look at him. He’s smiling, and the sight makes me dizzy.
No wonder every girl on campus is obsessed with him.
