“You were supposed to show up tall and annoying and alive.”
I wanted to smile.
Couldn’t.
“You arrogant, beautiful, stupid man.”
That one reached deep.
Yeah.
Fair.
Her fingers moved through my hair.
Or I dreamed they did.
My whole soul leaned toward the touch.
“I tried to move on,” she whispered. “I really did.”
No.
Don’t.
Don’t tell me that now.
Don’t tell me anything I couldn’t answer.
She talked about nursing school. Matcha. Cupcake. Concerts. Nice boys. Daniel. The man with the clean hands who had almost fit into the life I had imagined for her. I wanted to hate him again, but the drugs had taken most of my strength, and jealousy required blood I didn’t have to spare.
Then her voice changed.
Lower.
Closer.
“He saw the ugly pieces and ran,” she said. “You called even the ugly part of me pretty.”
Something inside me cracked.
I had run too.
Just in the opposite direction.
“You left, Dylan.”
There it was.
The accusation I deserved.
“You left me with blank pages and a bracelet and a nickname no one else could say without making me want to cry.”
I tried to move my fingers.
I didn’t know if they moved.
I’m sorry.
