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My heart beats out of my chest and falls at her feet.
She quickly wipes at her tears. “Then, one day when I was fifteen, I came out for food and found a fifty dollar bill on the kitchen counter. There was no note, no message, no goodbye.” She lets out another sob and tries to recover quickly. But her breaths are shaky, causing a strain on her words. “They just left me there,” she weeps. “And a part of me was grateful. But fifty dollars doesn’t allow you to the pay the rent.”
“Jesus Christ...”
“So no, Ky.” She finally looks at me through tear-filled eyes. “I can’t answer your questions about what high school was like for me because I didn’t experience it.”
“So how—”
“And that’s all I can give you right now. And I’m sorry that I couldn’t give it to you earlier. And I’m sorry if it’s not enough—”
“Enough?”
“I’m sorry if it’s not enough to make you want to talk to me again. Because I’ve been miserable, Ky. For the last three days I’ve been sitting in my apartment miserable, and all I’ve wanted is for you to knock on my door and talk to me. I wanted you to understand, but I couldn’t talk about it. You gave me a chance, and I just couldn’t. And then you shut me out, and you left me devastated. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I finally reach out and bring her to me.
“I’m sorry that I—”
“No, Madison. I’m sorry.” I kiss the top of her head and hold her tighter. “I’m sorry that I pushed you. I had no idea...”
She wipes her face on my shirt and looks up at me. “Will you please just talk to me now? Because I need you. I know it’s wrong for me to need you. And I know that you—”
I pull her into my apartment and shut the door behind her. “Fuck, Maddy, you have no idea how fucking sorry I am.”
“I don’t need you to be sorry. I just need you to talk to me again.”
I sit us down on the couch and pull her legs over mine.
She sniffs. “I’m sorry I went on your face thing, I honestly—”
“I don’t even care anymore.” I sigh and shake my head. How someone like her is still standing, still appreciating the world the way she does—I have no idea. But just like her outlook on life, she deserves to be cherished.
And I’m going to be the one to cherish her.
“But I—” she starts.
“Shush.”
“It’s just—”
I kiss her.
Not just to shut her up, but because I have to. And as I kiss away the taste of tears from her lips, the desperation in our hearts—it finally dawns on me—I need her, too.
Fuck her secrets.
Fuck her past.
I’m going to change all of it.
MADISON
With every single kiss—he stole my breath and made it his, holding it captive.
And I knew it then—that whatever we were meant to be—for however long time would allow it—it was going to be breathtakingly, heartbreakingly, beautiful.
18
KY
“CAN I ASK you a question, Doc?”
“Sure,” Doctor Aroma says, straightening her shoulders.
“Do you believe in fate?”
She tilts her head slightly, eying me with a look of concern. “What do you mean exactly?”
“I mean do you believe that things happen for a reason?”
“Something specific you want to mention?”
I shrug. “Say, hypothetically of course, that you’re in Afghanistan, and you know your time’s almost up. Your commander calls you and another guy from your unit in for a chat. He tells you that one of you can go home. It’s up to you two to decide. You and the other guy draw straws. I—I mean you win. But you have nothing waiting for you at home. The guy that ends up staying back has a wife who’s pregnant. Still, you picked the longer straw—so you go home. To nothing. Two weeks later the other guy gets shot in an ambush while on patrol. He dies. All the while you’re sitting alone in your apartment feeling sorry for yourself—until the day you go to his funeral.”
“Did this happen to you, Ky?” she asks, picking up her notepad.
“It’s just a hypothetical.”
“And you think that, hypothetically, one guy died and one came home, and there’s a reason for that?”
“No.” My shoulders slump. “Yes. I mean maybe. Like maybe I was supposed to cross paths with somebody that needed me. Like maybe I needed to save her. Madison and I—we’re very similar people. We both have shitty pasts, and we’re both trying to find a way to change that. Because in the end—I think we’re both struggling with the realization that the past doesn’t create us.” I take a moment, gathering my thoughts. “I don’t think it’s our pasts that define us, and it’s not even our life’s final destination. It’s everything we do in between, the actual living, that creates who we are.”
***
Madison ended up in my bed last night. We didn’t do anything, not physically. But that doesn’t mean that we didn’t connect. We faced each other—holding tight to what seemed like the only thing that made sense in our world—us.
We spoke for a long time, and afterward, we both knew where we stood. For me—I’d give her everything, and in return, she promised to give me as much as she could. And that was enough. For now—and for as long as she needed it to be.
