“It did,” I assure him, moving a little closer. “You did more for me than anyone else did, and you were twelve. If I was living it daily and didn’t understand what was happening, how were you supposed to?”
Shrugging, he meets my gaze again, and for once, it isn’t only lust I see. It’s longing. “I knew something was wrong, and I never once tried to figure it out. I was just happy when you showed up and annoyed at you when you didn’t because I was just as selfish as the next kid. I’ve wanted to apologize for that for years.”
“You were twelve,” I repeat. “And like I said, the food, the sugary drinks, the blankets, the safe space... I can’t say for sure I’d have died without it, but I can tell you that year was the worst I lived through. It was their most active year, and if you hadn’t let me in your treehouse, I could’ve ended up in their way.”
My words seem to help him let go of some of the guilt he carries, because he slumps a little when he releases a sigh. “I wish you could have stayed there, though.I should have let you move in, no one would have even known. I used to daydream about it.”
“I want to explain myself now if that’s okay.” Turning to face him better, it’s my turn to stare at the graveyard on his hands and the roots that snake down his fingers. “It took me years to find you. When I was adopted, I spent the first two years fixing my health, being bombarded with tutors and therapists. By the time I was mentally and physically healthy enough to look for you, I couldn’t remember what town you even lived in. I had to retrace my own steps and visit the towns I remembered living in, wandering around until I found your house. It was already vacant and the treehouse was gone, but I knew. The second I stepped on the property, I knew. So then I had to go back through the city records to find out who lived there when I did. It was a long process, and once I figured out who you were, I convinced myself you wouldn’t remember me at all until you did that interview.”
His hands fidget like he’s tempted to reach out for me, but he refrains. “That makes a lot of sense. Fuck.” His head falls back with a soft thud. “I’m sorry I didn’tbelieve you. I was being bombarded with messages from women claiming to be you, and when I met you I was so drawn to you as a person that I separated you from all of my other fans. I guess I kind of panicked when you said the same things they were, and more than that, I panicked at the possibility of you actually finding me. I’d have to admit to myself that you weren’t a ghost, and the hell you were going through was real. I’d have to admit that the guilt I carry has always been justified.”
Finally, an explanation I can accept. Is it perfect? No, but mine isn’t either. We’re human. “When I said that wasn’t how I wanted things to go down, I meant it. My intentions were to thank you, and I had this delusion that when you found out I was real and alive, we’d have a movie-worthy reunion. Looking back, I guess that was pretty stupid.”
“I used to have that same delusion, and I still fumbled when I got my chance.” Tentatively, he reaches out to hold my hand. “So you just wanted to thank me? Not...bewith me?”
Butterflies slowly wake up in my stomach as I lace my fingers with his. “Ithought so. But then you were flirting and Sidney invited me to the after-party and made it clear what you wanted, so I thought sex was the only way to get close enough to thank you. I wasn’t expecting it to be so...”
Confirmation he feels the same as me shows when his fingers twitch against mine. “I don’t know what he said to you, but I definitely made it clear I wanted to fuck you. I thought it would help me stop obsessing over you, especially when I realized you were at every show. I was wrong, it only made it worse.”
“Oh, that’s basically what he said. Not the obsessing part, but that if I showed up, you’d be expecting me to fuck you. For what it’s worth, Hollow Apparition would’ve been my favorite band whether I was your childhood ghost or not. You really are good at what you do.”
Nodding, I see a faint blush on his cheeks when he huffs. “No one has ever told me how blunt he is in those situations, but that explains a lot. Was that awkward for you?”
“A little, but only because I didn’t think I wanted that. I think the ones that came before me — pun intended — would’veappreciated knowing they were going to get what they wanted. And it was really only awkward for me because he made it clear you weren’t interested in Brooke when she was standing right there.”
“I still couldn’t pick her face out of a line up, and I feel like an asshole about it. Yours I could draw from memory at this point.”
I’m pretty sure he fell asleep staring at me with the way he was facing when I woke, so maybe he means it. But a Bash who means it is very different from the Bash I thought I was dealing with, and I’m not sure what to do with that. “So the air is cleared. I understand why you didn’t believe me, you’ve mostly accepted my gratitude even if you still aren’t sure you deserve it. Where do we go from here?”
“I don’t know, maybe an island? We could fucking disappear for a little bit and make up for lost time.”
I don’t look at him, I can’t see the hope I know is there as I turn him down.
“Funny. And just when I thought we were finally being serious,” I mumble. “What should we do after that? Elope to France and get married at the foot of the Eiffel Tower?”
“I was being serious, and definitely no trips to Paris for you. I don’t share.”
What does sharing — oh.
I guess I have to be the bad guy. “Raincheck on the island. I have a tour to finish, and as much as I’d love to take my first real vacation, I think what I’m doing could be really important for a lot of people.”
“You’re right, it is. Raincheck.” He moves our hands into his lap and closes his eyes, the expression pained as he releases a breath. “So... I ruined it, didn’t I? Us. Everything. Whatever vision you had of me.”
I should say yes. But how can I? I understand what happened and why, and it’s not like I never made mistakes when it came to him, so why should we punish each other? I’ve spent my whole life building and repairing the walls inside of me in a desperate attempt to keep the rot out, but sitting here with him, feeling his warmth, his sincerity... I’m starting to feel like I’ve had it all wrong.
Building walls only keeps the rot inside me. Maybe if I want to get rid of it for good, I need to take a leap of faith. I need to let the walls fall. “Hi,” I say slowly,raising my eyes to meet his. “My name is Alaina Barclay. My parents were serial killers, and the fall after I turned ten, you used to let me in your treehouse and feed me snacks. You saved my life, and I’ve been searching for you for a long, long time. To say thank you, and maybe get back the only real connection I’ve ever had. So hi.”
Bash’s hand reaches to cradle my face as he makes a move to kiss me, but he shocks me completely when his lips stop a half an inch from mine, and he pulls himself back. “Hi, Alaina. I’m not good at this shit, but I’m going to try.” He takes a second to gather his thoughts. “I didn’t realize it, but I’ve been searching for you, too. In every face in the crowd, in the depths of my mind whenever I felt alone. I’ve never told anyone, but you saved me just as much. Every time life felt like too much, I’d remember you and the strength I could see in those beautiful, sad eyes. I’d think to myself that if you could keep putting one foot in front of the other with bruises all over your body, then I could push through whatever life was throwing my way. I may have convinced myself you were a ghost,but the connection you felt was always real. I felt it too.”
That’s all I ever needed to hear. That I wasn’t crazy, that it was more than just my trauma that made me hold onto it so tight. So if this is real, if he’s real... this is a no brainer.
“No, Bash. You didn’t ruin anything.”
Chapter Twenty:
Fuckboi
Bash
