I’VE STARED AT THE COMPUTER since ten. At eleven, I’m still staring. The cursor blinks on and off. I’ve got no words. The decision has to be made. Do George the zombie and Olivia the human fall in love and stay together, or is Beth right? Am I forcing my characters into something so unrealistic that no reader would ever believe it?
My cell vibrates again. I glance at it in HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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anticipation. Maybe it’s Beth. I sink lower in my chair. It’s Gwen. Again.
Gwen: why aren’t you answering?
Because I’m not in love with you. She’s not used to being denied. I’m not used to denying her and her constant barrage of texts and calls throughout the night shoves the knife further into my windpipe. I’m in love with a girl who doesn’t love me back.
Part of me wants to answer Gwen and go
back to my previous life. Nothing was
complicated then. Nothing hurt too much or seemed confusing. Everything was planned.
Perfect.
On the outside, that is. How did I miss that everything internal was a mess? My parents.
Mark. Me and Gwen. Lacy. Is Chris a mess?
Logan? How many more of us are faking the facade? How many more of us are pretending to be something we’re not? Even better, how many of us will have the courage to be ourselves regardless of what others think?
I flip off my computer screen and the
overhead light, yank off my shirt, and lie down in bed, even though I know sleep won’t come.
The problem with feeling too much is how the HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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hurt consumes every part of me. A slow
agonizing throb aches in my head.
Rain continues to beat against the roof. A storm front that was supposed to hit tomorrow flew into the area today and stalled out over town. Part of me doesn’t want the storm to pass. This was our rain—mine and Beth’s.
“Can I come in?”
I jerk up at the sweet sound of Beth’s voice coming from the other side of my open window. My fingers fumble with the screen and it bangs against the house as it falls to the ground. I hold my hand out to her and help as she swings one drenched jean-clad leg over the frame, then the other.
The dim light from my alarm clock casts a strange blue shadow over Beth as she shakes uncontrollably next to the window. Her wet hair clings to her head and her clothes cleave to her body. Drops of rain slither down her face and her teeth chatter. “I hhaadd ttoo sseee youu.”
“Here, use this to towel off.” I drape a
blanket around her shoulders, stare at her to convince myself she’s really here, then rummage through my drawer. I pull out a T-HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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shirt and a pair of cotton sweatpants and hand them to her. In one quick motion, I turn.
“Change. I promise I won’t look.”
Though I want to. She’s here and I’ll do
anything to keep her from running. Beth feels like this storm. Constant and persistent as a whole, but the more I get close and try to clutch the individual drops of rain, the more the water falls out of my hands.
I hear the sound of wet material stubbornly moving against her skin and then the sound of cotton being tugged over her head. “Okay,” she says in a small voice.
I suck in a breath and suppress the groan.
She’s absolutely killing me. My T-shirt ends at the middle of her bare thighs. “Are you going to put the pants on?”
Beth shrugs. “They’ll just fall off.”
She’s right. I force my eyes to her face. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been worried about you.” About us.
Beth fidgets with the hem of my T-shirt. “I can’t say it back.”
And she crushes me into nothing.
“But I want to.”
Hope. A single thread exists and it keeps HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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Beth and me alive. “Because you want to
love me or because you do?”
She straightens out the shirt and runs her fingers through her hair. “What if I do? Feel that way?”
I let her words sink in. Beth loves me. My heart settles and I swallow to find my bearings.
“Because if I do…” She stalls and I start to wonder if her trembling is from the cold or from her emotions. “And you…” Beth sucks in air, then lifts her head so that her eyes plead with mine. “I can’t say it, but I…I want to be here…with you.”
We’re still on shaky ground—Beth and I. If I do the wrong thing, she’ll bolt. The rain picks up and patters harder against the roof. My ribbon clings to her wrist. Beth doesn’t believe in the unseen. She needs a physical reminder that I mean what I say.
My eyes dart around the room and discover the perfect object on my dresser. I brush past Beth, grab the clear bottle, and pour the scant remains of cologne out the window.
“What are you doing?” she asks as if I lost my mind. Who knows, I probably have.
I hold the bottle out into the rain and watch HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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as the steady flow slowly fills it. When
there is enough, enough that Beth can clearly see, I close the bottle and hand it to her.