Her and Claire are scarily alike. They both have these things that have happened to them that could andshouldhave made them jaded, horrible people… but they didn’t. They didn’t let it change them in the worst ways.
The two of them have fought to keep the parts of them that make them beautiful to me. Both are soft and kind and warm, they put everyone else first, and while I can see Claire starting to take care of herself in a way I’m sure she never has before, she still tries to make sure that everyone is seen.
They see things other people don’t.
And somehow one of those things is me.
They both seeme.
And I think that’s why they’re both my favourite people on this earth, the only two I can really be myself around.
Except I haven’t really been myself around Sasha, I mean, at least not in the way I’ve been myself around Claire. They both have different versions of the real me.
Claire has the depressed, broken parts of me.
Sasha has the soft, would do anything for you, me.
“Do you ever wonder what life would have been like if things were different? If you were noticed, or if he hadn’t died?” I find myself asking.
She sighs, “I used to.”
“Meaning?”
“I will always want my brother back, always wish he didn’t die when he did, but I’m happier now than I have been in a really long time.” Her hand reaches up to grabmine, intertwining our fingers and squeezing tight before taking a deep breath and continuing, “without all that bad stuff, I would have never found my way to you, or my new friends.”
There are so many different responses on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t stop focusing on the feeling of her hands in mine long enough to get them out. It feels so right, like they were always meant to go together.
Everything about Sasha feels right. Her in my bed, opening up to her, having her in my life.
“Do the others know?” She asks when I don’t respond.
“No,” I say, knowing she’s talking about my own demons. “Claire’s the only one.”
Her face drops for half a second before that soft smile she has returns, but I don’t know how to take that. Is she upset that no one else knows? Or does it have to do with Claire?
“Are you ever going to tell them?”
I shrug, “maybe. It’s hard to find the words. I’ve known these guys for years, and the only side of me that they’ve ever really seen is the funny, sarcastic side.” I could never imagine what would happen if they found out. It’s hard to know how some people will react. “My dad left when I was young, not long after I was diagnosed, and I guess I’m just afraid of the people I love doing the same.”
The thought of the guys abandoning me when I tell them has me in this paralyzed state. I can’t seem to get the fucking words out when I finally muster up any amount of courage to tell them, I just freeze, and end up pivoting to a completely different topic.
My dad really did a number on me, and having him text me a couple of months ago really didn’t help to ease any of my worries.
The only redeeming factor was finally being able to open up to someone. Having Claire fight for me, find me in the rain that night, helped me see that some people will stick around.
But that stupid, devilish part of my brain that whispers in my ear keeps telling me it’s only because she has such a big heart.
“You can’t control how other people react, or whether or not they want to stay,” she whispers, detangling one of her hands and resting it on my cheek, “the only thing you can do is open up and hope like hell that the people worth telling are going toprovethat they’re worth it.”
Like you?
“And I have a sneaking suspicion that these people are so worth it.”
Without thinking —which seems to be happening a lot around this girl— I take her hand off my cheek and kiss the palm of her hand. Her eyes widen for a moment before accepting that this is just how it’s going to be from now on.
“You’re right, they are worth it.”
“Come on boys, push it the last couple laps!” Claire yells from the front of the pack, skatingbackwards,might I add. The girl is kicking our asses, and she hasn’t even broken a sweat.
