I blink. “For what?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Taking care of me, like always. Especially the sunscreen.Again. Always ready with the spf,” he chuckles, sounding a little weak, but shit, I love hearing it.
I could only handle staring at his red ears for about three minutes before I crouched down behind him and reapplied sunscreen to his neck and back that he had half assed, making sure to rub out the bit he had left in his hair and getting his ears while I was at it. I swallow. Blocking out the memory of the barrage of texts I got after that.
“Yup.”
His eyes flash, lips quirk in amusement, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Since we were kids. You always forget to reapply. Remember when you got sun poisoning when we were like, seven?”
He grins a little, soft. “I didn’t realize you paid that much attention.” I open my mouth to respond, but I have no clue what to say.
What the hell even is this conversation right now?
Buzz.
I check it when Kit looks away.
Brett: just say you’re in love with him and stop ruining my life already
I almost laugh. Almost.
Kit shifts on the swing. I want to sit beside him and enjoy the evening breeze, but I fear Brett would have his nose pressed against the window in ten seconds flat.
Buzz.
Brett: p.s. I watched him pick the onions off his burger earlier
Brett: that’s how you know it's real love bro. I saw it on a quiz once
Brett: means he wants you to kiss him
Brett: SMOOCH HIM
I put the phone back in my pocket. This time, I do laugh, even if the sound has to work its way out around the lump in my throat. Must be allergies.
Dear B,
Dr. Martin said I should try to do one thing a day that I used to enjoy doing. Reading. Listen to music. Sit outside. Watch a movie. Like doing things I used to do will bring me back to who I used to be. That version of me is gone, B. He's with you.
It's been six months since you left me. Six whole fucking months without you.
I don't think I'll ever be able to look at him.
The tears don't always come anymore when he finds his way back to my bed every night. Some nights, he just tucks his face in the crook of my neck, and I close my eyes and listen to him breathe. He breathes like he hasn't been able to since the night before, and something inside my chest eases just enough to feel it.
His fingers don't claw at my skin, but his hand snakes under my shirt to feel my skin against his palm. Like he's a puppeteer, urging my insides to keep functioning. Making my lungs fill and my heart beat. Like he can hold all my suffering in his hand against me. Some nights, it feels like he can. Forjust a few minutes. And I'm so fucking selfish because I let him. I let him take it with his hand against my stomach so I can feel something else for just a second. Like cool moonlight on my skin.
He shudders in relief every time I shudder with relief. Like he's relieved that I'm giving him my pain to hold in the darkness of my room. His kiss on my neck was supposed to be comforting. It was meant to soothe the fever in my veins. But I'm selfish. Every night, I crave longer minutes of freedom from the suffering. I just want it to stop long enough for the wounds to clot in my bleeding heart. So I don't feel the internal carnage for a little while. So I can bask in his moonlight for long enough to forget to miss the sun. So this night, when I shudder against his soft kiss of comfort, I lean my head back, opening my neck for more. Silently urging him to just…please. To make it go away.
He doesn't. He burrows deeper into me, hugging me so tightly, I think his arms are the only thing capable of keeping me together. But if he's holding me together, who's keeping him from falling apart?
Kit
Age 15
The bedroom is dark except for the soft yellow glow of the lamp. I’m curled up like a shrimp under a fleece blanket that smells like the cabin, even after Mom washed it. My skin is warm from the day in the sun, my hair still a little wet from washing off the lake water, and my heart…
