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I don’t know what I’d do without Lanston. He’s become a rock in the void of my existence. He tethers me to the ground and I can breathe so freely in his presence. The world isn’t so scary and hopeless with him lighting up everything around us.
We spend the rest of the afternoon unpacking what little we have on hand. The bed is at least clean. I’m not so sure about the couch. Lanston plugs in his phone charger and checks the calendar.
Our plan is pretty shit. But it’s all we’ve got.
Today is Tuesday. Liam is meeting Crosby in the greenhouse in two days, like he did last week… when his hands were so terribly damaged. We are going to be lying in wait with weapons. We’ll call the police anonymously so they will arrive, but should things not go as planned, then we’ll improvise. There’s no way that night ends without Crosby being caught ortaken care of.
We eat microwave noodles for dinner and huddle in the twin-size bed at midnight. It’s absurdly cold in this house. Neither of us could figure out how to work the stupid ancient heater and we gave up after a few hours of trying to Google instructions with no success.
“Hey, you asleep?” Lanston murmurs close to my ear, his arms wrapped around me.
“Not yet,” I whisper softly, brushing my thumb over his warm hands. They’re always so warm.
He takes a deep breath. “I keep thinking about what you said.”
I hesitate. My brain instantly jumps to the worst thing. He’s talking about our therapy session.
When I don’t respond, he continues. “I will never fully endure what you have, but I think I understand it. My father was always really mean to me. I couldn’t cognitively bring myself to accept why though. He hated me. More than hated me, he wanted me gone.” I swallow hard and my hands tighten around his. “I didn’t understand it… and I’ll never be okay. It hurts to admit. It hurts to say out loud. I will never be okay. And itishis fault. For a long time, I blamed myself. I would tell myself, ‘If I was just a better son. If I wasn’t so unbearable. If I tried harder.’ It took me a really fucking long time to realize.Fuck,I was just a kid.”
Tears fall from my eyes and wet my pillow. His voice breaks with emotion as he continues:
“All I wanted was for him to love me. I was just akid.But he judged me like an adult for everything he blamed me for… So no, I don’t think I will ever understand exactly what you’ve felt, but God, did it hurt to hear you say it. Because I know the burden of wanting to die. To die, just so they can live without the weight of your existence.”
My jaw trembles and I shift in the bed to look at Lanston. His hazel eyes are watery and glisten with misery I feel down to my bones. My eyes trace the stitches that reach down to his forehead.
His fingers caress my cheek softly. “No one looks at me like you do, Wynn. When you look at me, I feel like I can shatter into a thousand birds and just… fly. You set my soul free from the chains I keep wrapped around my shoulders.” Lanston smiles wearily. He looks so tired. I wonder if that horrid man he calls father haunts him in his dreams too. I hate him. I’ve never hated someone I’ve never met so vehemently. Lanston is the gentlest soul I’ve ever known. One that would never hurt me.
Not like the others. Not like so many.
“You’re my best friend, Lanston. The closest soul I’ll know to my own. How rare that we’d find one another in this life. How beautiful that our illnesses would allow us to meet in such a horrible place. I love you. I’ll always love you dearly.”
His eyes close and a sad smile crosses his lips as he presses a kiss to my forehead. “You’re mine too, Wynn. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Liam knows that; I think that’s the only reason he trusts me with you. My love for you two… It’s endless. Like a sea that just keeps lowering the depths to make more room for the life we three have ahead.”
We fall asleep crying, hands clasped and hearts full.
Full of dreams.
Full of all our life not yet lived.
38
Liam
My room has never felt socold. Unwelcome.
I stare at Wynn’s empty bed and try to smother the ache that throbs in my chest. All I’ve ever sought is pain. I loved pain.
Or at least I thought I did. Now it only festers.
I hate the sting of it. I despise the scars left behind by every foolish thing I’ve ever done. Most of all, I regret my hands. My eyes linger on the scabbed cuts on my knuckles and fingers. The purple bruises that keep getting darker.
I hurt more than myself that day. I hurt her. So terribly I hurt her. I’ve never seen her eyes so consumed with pain and suffering. I’m certain with everything in my heart that I will never do that again.
My bed creaks as I sit up and set my feet on the cold floor, rubbing my hands together to try and bring some heat back to them. They’re always so icy, much like my demeanor.
I lower my head and anxiously rest my hands on the nape of my neck.
My phonedings, drawing my eyes to the lit-up screen.
