“What for?”
“For not judging us,” I say softly. She doesn’t reply, only nods. She’s the second person to know yet she’s the first to accept it, and for that I’ll forever be grateful. Acceptance feels nice.
With one final exchange of smiles, I turn and head over to Tyler’s room, scooping up my backpack from the floor with my free hand and then closing the door behind me as I lay the laptop down on his bed. The curtains are closed, like they haven’t been opened all day, and Tyler’s bed isn’t quite made. I can’t blame him. He must have been so hungover earlier. Sighing, I carefully pull off my hoodie and throw it to the side along with my bag. That’s when I remember the new addition to my wrist.
I flick on the lights, holding my arm up as I study my skin up close. The Saran Wrap feels damp and clingy, and the letters are bold and dark underneath it. As delicately and as carefully as I can, I remove the plastic. My skin is slightly raised and a little inflamed, but looking good. It’s exactly what I wanted, just the way I imagined it.
Along my left wrist, the words No te rindas stare back at me. It’s in Tyler’s handwriting, exactly as he wrote it on the Converse he gave me. His words. His writing. His one simple request. He’s the only one who’ll understand it, and for that reason alone, I adore it.
Tossing the plastic wrapping into the trash can in the corner of the room, I turn the lights back off and grab my earphones from the bedside table. Getting comfortable, I adjust the pillows and place them up against the headboard, climbing into the bed and leaning back. I pull the comforter over me and reach for the laptop. Without wasting another second, I plug in my earphones and stare at the dark screen. I hit the play button.
At first, nothing seems to be happening. The video does shift slightly, but it’s too dark to make out what exactly I’m supposed to be looking at. I increase the volume, and to my surprise I hear Tyler’s voice. Low and hushed, nothing but a gentle whisper.
I close my eyes and listen, feeling my stomach twist as I hear his voice. He tells the camcorder my name. He tells it my birthday. My favorite color. My birthplace. The color of my hair and the color of my eyes. Slowly, he keeps going. It takes him a minute to describe my eyes alone, and that’s when I decide to pause the video. I wave the cursor over the screen to bring up the timeline, and the moment I see it, I blink and check it again.
The video lasts for four hours and twenty-seven minutes.
It has to be a glitch. There’s no way.
For four and a half hours, I listen to Tyler’s voice, endlessly whispering and quietly laughing. He tells the camcorder about the first time we met. He talks about all the things he loves about me, some of which are habits and mannerisms that even I’ve never noticed before. He talks and talks and talks, hardly ever pausing and without a single second of hesitation at all as he reflects on the moments we’ve shared together. Of conversations and kisses, trespassing and parties.
As the video goes on, as the hours go by, the darkness gradually lessens. It continues to brighten over time, and outlines begin to become clearer. After the second hour I can see Tyler’s entire face, his bright eyes. He’s in his room, right in the spot I’m in now. By the third hour, he turns the camera away from himself and points it at me. Me. Right there, right next to him, sleeping the entire time.
By the time the video wraps up, it’s daylight on the screen. Tyler doesn’t even look tired as he mentions La Breve Vita, and that’s when it all begins to sound familiar. His words after the point . . . I’ve heard those words before.
It’s at that exact moment that Tyler turns the camera on me again, his soft voice murmuring, “Hey, you’re finally awake.”
“What are you doing?” I sound half asleep as my tired eyes stare straight into the lens. I stare back at myself through the screen.
“Just messing around.” His voice echoes through my earphones, and I shake my head in complete disbelief. Just messing around? He’s been talking about me for over four hours. It’s almost as though he never wanted me to see this, never wanted me to know about it.