Phantoms of my younger self hover in the periphery, showcasing the unseen scars littering my soul. The broken boy abandoned so many years ago clings to bitterness while the man I am now sags beneath the weight of defeat.
“That it was nothing more than a one-sided infatuation and I'd get over it.”
“And did you?” He asks. “Get over it?”
I turn to face him. Those eyes burn with hope and hurt, regret and guilt, longing and adoration. I wish I couldn’t read them so clearly.
“I wanted to,” I whisper.
Knuckles graze my cheek. “Let me set the record straight. It wasneverone-sided.”
I drop his stare.
He pinches my chin. “Look at me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “It hurts to.”
“Please,” he begs, “I need you to see the truth.”
Obeying him might be a mistake, but I do anyway.
Something fierce scorches from deep within him.
“I’ll never be able to take back the hurt I inflicted and that’s a burden I’ll carry with me until I’m in the dirt. But my feelings for you never went away. They never will. You are, and always will be, the best thing that ever happened to me.”
It’s sitting on the tip of my tongue:Then why would you leave me?
I almost ask. I can see he’s bracing for it. Preparing to answer me whether I’m ready to hear it or not.
Which furthers my dread.
I think of the young, destroyed boy I’d been, sitting on the edge of my bed wishing my shattered heart would just stop fucking beating. I begged and pleaded for answers— for someone to put me out of my misery. But did I really want to know or was I disillusioned into thinking it would magically reverse the damage?
I’d like to think I can handle it now. And maybe I can soon, but not today. I don’t ask the question he’s silently begging me to. Instead, my hand finds his waist, gaze flitting between his mournful eyes and pouty lips.
“I guess… you can prove it to me.”
A hint of a smile forms. “That’s all I could ever ask for, but you do realize what that means, right?” His fingers sink into the hair at the base of my skull. I’m trying not to lose myself in the sensation when his breath tickles my lips. “It means we're not doing any secretive bullshit. I’m taking you out. Holding your hand whenever I fucking want. Kissing you and showing you off because you deserve it.”
My heart pounds. “I want that too… but I’m scared.”
“Of what people might think?” He asks. Familiar hurt shines through his somber eyes. “Or of being withme?”
Rather than answer him, the question that's been gnawing away at the inside of my skull tumbles out.
“What if I’m too much for you again?”
He pulls back, stunned.
I want to stuff the words back in my mouth and swallow them.
“Remy.”
Denying it is pointless. “Because I was. I wasn't just sick. I was selfish and stubborn and in denial. Most of the time I’m still all of those things, even when I don’t want to be.”
His grip in my hair tightens. “And I’m any better? We can trade flaws all day, but it doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t push me away. I never let youin.” There's no air. What he's saying goes against everything I've known as the truth for six years. His jaw rolls. “It’s not easy for me, but at this point, I have no choice. I want to be with you more than I want to shield you from my darkest parts. Please, baby, I'm begging you, give me another chance.”
This could end in disaster. The rational thing to do would be to stop it now, put our ghosts to bed and avoid the risk altogether. But that doesn’t feel like logic. It feels like fear.
