Every time I’ve opened it has been like re-opening a wound. It keeps scarring over, and I pick at it until it bleeds again. I open it now, thumbing through to find the last thing he wrote. I read and let it sink in this time, the pain in the words he left behind.
You don’t love me, you love the scar
The parts of me that never ask for more
You pull me close just to push me back
I’m everything you want—except that
Thinking about what Ezra said, about facing the fear, I sit down with a pen and an empty notebook, Ari’s journal open on the end table next to me. I fill pages and pages with random thoughts, getting it all out before I read through what I’ve written. Every now and then, I circle lines that stand out to me,lines that mean something deeper or have a sort of lyrical tone to them. I’ve never written lyrics before. It’s never been my thing, but I feel some of the lines the way I’ve felt Jesse’s words, or Ari’s, when we’re collaborating together to create our songs.
If I love you, let you go
But holding you is all I’ve ever known
I don’t know how to be anything else
I don’t know how to be alone.
TWENTY-ONE
ARI
It takes less than two and a half hours to fly from Los Angeles to Seattle, but the stark difference in the weather makes it feel like it’s worlds away. This morning it was bright and sunny, and now everything is filtered through a haze of rain and fog.
Oddly, I prefer the overcast Seattle sky to the endless blue of LA. I like the way the air feels heavier here, thick with the smell of moss and wet concrete. It makes everything feel more intimate, more real, like the atmosphere itself expects you to confront whatever weight you’re carrying.
LA offered sunshine, warm afternoons, and breezy evenings that gave the illusion of ease. The sea and sun were beautiful, but they offered me no comfort—only an opportunity to pretend.
If there’s one thing therapy has helped me understand, it’s that pretending winter doesn’t exist doesn’t keep it from coming. Living in a bubble, hiding from conflict, and turning to easy comforts aren’t lasting solutions to the things that hurt.
Which is why I need to finally confront Will. We’ve hardly spoken to each other in over two weeks, since our fight in New Orleans.
The last time I laid eyes on him was a week ago at the rescheduled charity concert, and we barely talked to each other at all. It was partly because the show was such a massive success. The night was chaos in the best way. We all walked away from the stage that night buzzing, adrenaline keeping the after-party going strong into the early hours of the morning.
Will was in his element that night, and it showed. He practically glowed while talking animatedly with the creators of theWavesapp, discussing all the ways their platform aligned with ours. Music and revolution are folded together in the fabric of humanity, and mixing social justice work with trash-talking fascist politicians is basically Will’s love language. That night, we had a stage to do both, and we gave it everything we had.
We raised over eight-hundred thousand dollars after all was said and done, and as a band we’ve decided to round it up to an even million dollars. None of us are particularly big spenders, and after the last couple of years we’ve had, we can afford to make extra contributions outside of what we all donate normally. While we normally wouldn’t advertise all the charity and community outreach work we do, we decided collectively that now was the time to be an example. If anything, our communities and country need to see someone stand up. We have the platform and we have the privilege, so we’re going to use it.
That night had been a huge rush of energy and hope that was needed on multiple levels. I’d flown in with a cautious sense of hope that Will and I might be able to sit down and have a conversation about what happened after my date with Alonso.Seeing him animated and lit up the way he was, it made me gravitate to him even more. I was ready to tell him the truth—that I went to LA with Alonso, but not in the way he thought. It was immature of me to let him think I left to be with him, to want him to hurt as badly as I was at the time.
There were a dozen moments when I almost reached for his sleeve, almost leaned in to get his attention, but everything moved too fast. People were everywhere, and it felt like every second someone else needed us for a photo op or sound bite. Before I knew it, the night was over and Will was nowhere to be found.
I only got to see him briefly the next morning as he was on his way out to head back to Raleigh with Naz. I had hoped we would be forced together again in New York. Maybe the universe would do the hard part for us. Instead, it was Will who found me before he left.
Will has always avoided confrontation, especially with me. Most of the time, Will Kessler’s version of conflict resolution has been to pretend nothing is happening.Everything is fine here. Nothing to see. This is perfectly normal.So the moment he took me aside and so much as acknowledged what had happened, I wassat. It felt like something was shifting—not just with him, but with me. Withus.
Will didn’t give excuses or a clipped apology meant to smooth things over. What he gave me was an honest apology, complete with ownership of his actions and consideration for how it impacted me. Every word was careful and sincere. He even told me he’d started therapy and was going twice a week.
When he said that my growth and healing was what inspired him to try, I almost laughed. No amount of therapy or toxicbehavior on his part could lessen my feelings for him. I’d still kneel at his feet and hand him a leash if it meant I could have him.
But just like he gave me the time and space I needed to grow, I knew I needed to do the same. And there simply wasn’t enough time to say everything I needed to say. We barely exchanged a few words about how intense therapy was before Naz shouted that it was time to go.
Will had looked at me then, really looked at me, and quietly said that he hoped I knew how much I meant to him. That he would do anything to be the person I needed him to be.
He was gone before I could respond.
That moment has stuck with me every day since, and I’ve waited on pins and needles to be in his presence again. Now, standing across from him in the rec room of the massive suite we’re staying in, the weight of all the words left unsaid presses in on me from every direction.
