“Fuck.”
I lie down, then roll onto my side, resting my hand on Arlo’s pillow.
“I’m not sorry,” I say to the empty room. “I’m not sorry, and I won’t take it back.”
Ittookthreedays,but I finally heard from Arlo.
The problem with having what’s essentially a breakup in your secret relationship is that you have no one to talk to. So I’m sitting in the parking lot of Silverpine Cemetery, ready to talk to probably the only person I can.
Arlo and I have gotten sloppy over the last few months. We’re more affectionate with one another in front of our friends. We touch more freely. We tease more openly. But they still don’t know.
They have their suspicions, I’m sure. Austin and Luca definitely do. But nothing is confirmed. Which really fucking sucks. Because now that my heart is a raw, aching pile of nothing in my chest, it would be nice to have my friends to talk to and to lean on.
But for some reason, we thought it would be a good idea to not let anyone know we were hooking up. That was fine, I think, in the beginning. But then things started shifting, and I started falling, and I swear to fucking God that Arlo was too, but… I guess not.
With a sigh, I glance down at the phone, reading his message over and over again.
Arlo
I can’t talk to you.
I thought that him saying ‘can’t’ and not ‘won’t’ or ‘don’t want to’ would make me feel better. All it does is make me feel even more hollow inside. Like watching him walk away opened my chest, exposing my heart, and this text scooped it out and knocked it to the floor.
I shouldn’t text him back, but I can’t resist.
Me
We can go back to how things were before.
The ‘before I told you I love you’ goes unsaid. But can we really? I don’t think I can. I love him. I’m so goddamn in lovewith him. I’ve said it. I’ve put it out there. It exists. Is ‘going back to how things were’ even an option?
Can I actually shove all my feelings back inside and leave them there? Would it even be fair to him—or me—to try?
Fuck if I know.
My phone buzzes, and I brace myself as I look at it.
Arlo
We can’t. You and I both know that.
There’s nothing I can say right now. Not to him. So I toss the phone into the passenger seat and get out of the car.
I haven’t been here for a while. I used to visit all the time. When the days were hard. Or when I needed a break. When I just needed someone to talk to.
I’ve been failing Sarah my entire life. Why should now be any different?
The path to her grave is as familiar to me as my own hand, so my feet carry me there without much thought, and I sit down in the grass in front of her headstone.
There are new flowers sitting on the top, so someone must have been here recently. My mom, if I had to guess.
“Hey, Sarah.”
I brush a blade of grass off her name.
Sarah Tate
Loving daughter and sister
