“What helped you?” I whisper.
“I stopped keeping my hurt to myself. I found someone to share my baggage with, and he’s made sure I’ve never carried it alone.” With one last smile, she softly says goodbye before slipping out the door that leads to the lecture hall’s exit.
Later that evening,I sit cross-legged on my bed, chewing my lip as I decide whether to press send on the text I have typed out.
“Fuck it.” The swoosh echoes through my silent room as the message flies from my hand and across my parents’ property to the guesthouse outside.
Trading another truth. I tell everyone I’m allergic to tomatoes, but I actually just hate them.
Weston:
Why don’t you just trade truths with the people you’re lying to about your tomato hatred?
Because tomato enthusiasts peer-pressure me into eating them. Saying I’m allergic shuts ’em up.
Weston:
Tomato enthusiasts. Terrible people.
Is that your truth?
Weston:
Weston: I don’t know. Depends on who I’m talking to.
I smack my forehead.Fucking idiot. Why did I assume he’d know it’s me?
Weston:
I’m kidding, Willow.
Weston:
My truth is that I say I don’t eat sugar when I’m training, but truthfully, I don’t like sweets.
You’re a monster.
Weston:
Ouch.
Kidding…kind of. Definitely going to make you try my aunt’s lemon bars, though. They’ll change your mind.
I got your number from Penelope, by the way. I guess I figured I’d text you so you have mine too. In case you ever need something.
In case you ever need something?I roll my eyes at myself.
Weston:
Thanks. Same to you.
Goodnight, Wes.
Weston:
Goodnight, Wills.
Wills. I sigh, flopping back on my pillows to stare at the ceiling, alarmed by the butterflies fighting to break free inside my chest.
