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She looks startled. “What do you mean?”
I sigh, wiping a hand over my face. “If I’d told you that I was in love with you before this whole experiment started, what would you have done?”
“I would’ve asked you out for a drink.”
“No,” I say softly. “You wouldn’t. Try again.”
She considers for a few seconds. “I would’ve run for the hills,” she admits eventually.
“Even with your ten-year-plan?”
Her shoulders slump. She crosses her arms over her stomach. “I think we can agree that the ten-year-plan was just a crutch. You’re right. I would’ve left.”
I nod. “Before we started this, you weren’t looking to be loved. You wanted to find a boyfriend the same way you want to find laundry detergent at the grocery store. To cross an item off your list.”
She presses her lips together.
“I’m not blaming you,” I say quickly. “Not at all. This is on me, not on you. But that’s why I lied. Because if I told you how much I loved you, I would have lost you. And I couldn’t lose you, L. I couldn’t. I…” I trail off, rubbing my chest. Even the thought takes my breath away. “The last time I lost someone I loved, it almost killed me,” I force out, my voice strangled. “I don’t know if I can do it again. You’re the most important person in my life right now.”
Her eyes flick to the picture of my mum, carefully tacked to the bottom of my noticeboard. Understanding shimmers across her face. Another pang of self-hatred spikes through me.
After my mum died, I used to wish that the grief could hit me all at once. If it was just one massive wash of pain, I could’ve fought through it. Let it make me stronger. But it’s not like that. It’s like a tap dripping, steadily eroding you away. It doesn’t make you strong; it only ever makes you weaker. And now, over a decade later, I’m apparently so weak that I’ll lie to the person I love most in the world, just to keep her close to me. “Some days, there’s not much fight left in me,” I admit. “It was easier to lie. So I didn’t have to lose you.”
Her eyes gleam at me in the low light, completely unreadable. “So you pushed me away.”
“Yeah. I did. I’m sorry.”
She crosses her arms over her stomach. “Well. I guess I can’t really blame you,” she says. “I was doing the same thing, right? I was using that stupid list to push everyone else away. Including you.” She looks down, taking a deep breath. “You don’t get hurt by bullet points.”
“Layla…”
“I think you’ve probably noticed by now,” she says, her voice wavering. “I am so scared of people hurting me. But—” She steels herself. “I think I trust you, anyway.”
My heart jumps in my chest. I reach out and take her hand. She watches, curling her fingers into mine. “I can’t promise I won’t hurt you,” I say levelly. “I’m sure I will. But I promise that when I do, it will never, ever be on purpose. And I’ll find some way to fix it. I will.”
Her whole face changes. As soon as the words leave my mouth, it’s like the sun’s come out from behind a cloud. “I believe you,” she says slowly. “I trust you. I do.”
And then she falls on me. Literally — her body just sort of collapses onto my lap. I wind my arms around her waist, pulling her close, breathing in her sweet scent. She tugs my mouth to hers, and for the first time in a long while, my body relaxes.
Kissing Layla feels like taking off a heavy backpack, or finally getting to lie down after spending hours on your feet. It feels like waking up for work, and realising that it’s the weekend, and you can spend all morning in your warm bed. It feels like safety, and relief, and happiness. It just feels right.
“I’m sorry,” she says into my mouth. “Sorry I left you. Sorry, sorry.”
“I’m sorry I lied to you.”
“I love you,” she breathes, and my heart expands in my chest. I force myself to pull away. She looks down at me, her green eyes soft and dark.
I curl my thumb under her cheek. “I love you too,” I say quietly. “I missed you so much, L.”
A shiver runs through her. “Sap,” she whispers, and I smile, pulling her mouth back to mine.
***
SEVENTY-NINE
***
LAYLA
