She was losing control. And she didn’t care. She was giving it up…for sometimes moments. And she knew this was one of them. For her, it would be.
“I’ve missed you, Pey. I’ve missed you so damn much that I got your name tattooed on me. The cherry blossoms that wrap around my arm are symbolic of you. It was the only way I could feel close to you,” he whispered in her ear.
She thought his heartbeat was her favourite sound he made. But it was actually the way he whispered and the way it made her heart ache and beat freely.
“Callum, we need a safe word,” she said, looking at the Polaroid of them on the bedside table.
“Why?” he asked as he settled his chin on the top of her head.
“When this becomes too much. When we step over the concept of now. When one of us can’t get over forever. Or when one of us can’t take it anymore.”
“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious—that’s our safe word,” he said softly. “Close your eyes and let me hold you now, for as long as I can.”
His voice sounded beautiful, and she let her eyelids fall. As she listened to his breathing until it finally settled, Peyton kept her eyes close. With one last sigh, he held her tight against his body before relaxing. After listening to each inhale and exhale Callum made, Peyton slowly opened her eyes. With a turn of her head, she was able to confirm that he was asleep.
This is when I know he loves me.
When he holds me in his sleep.
When he’s exposed and vulnerable.
When he can’t hide behind his fears and excuses.
When I know that there’s still hope…
That he can love me again.
A tear fell before Peyton whispered to herself, “Supercali-fragilistic-expiali-docious.”
After the bed dipped, a cool breeze fluttered over and settled on her arm and the side of her face. An arm wrapped over her, and she moved, her eyes slowly opening. A groan left her as she turned her head.
“It’s me,” Callum whispered, and she smiled, still half asleep.
She lay her head back down and closed her eyes. “You should go home, Callum. I don’t want you to get sick,” she said.
“Turn around for me,” he instructed.
Peyton turned in his arms, her forehead against his chest as he held her tight against him.
“You’re still burning up, Pey.”
She snuggled into him. “I haven’t been able to stay awake. Dad might take me to the hospital if I still can’t stand tomorrow. Is Mrs West’s cat still lying next to me? I’m too weak to make him move. Is Mr Lucky comfortable?”
Callum chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “There’s no cat here, Peyton.”
She raised her head, her eyes slowly opening. “Are you sure? He was by my feet just before.”
“Mr Lucky isn’t in your room. Close your eyes and get some sleep. We might have to take you to the hospital tomorrow, Peyton. You’re burning up. I’ll go get you a cold rag,” he said, his hold on her loosening.
She gripped his shirt. “No. I’m freezing. Just hold me. Make sure you let Mr Lucky out the window when he wants to leave.”
He laughed lightly. “Okay, I’ll be sure to let him out. Goodnight, Peyton.”
Peyton’s head fell and she slowly let go of his shirt. “Goodnight, Mr Lucky.”
Somewhere far away, she heard his beautiful laugh. Her head weighed too much to process another thought and her eyelids were too heavy to open. His hands rubbed circles on her back and her body no longer felt like her own.
Like a dream, she heard someone whisper, “I love you, Peyton.”
“I love you, too, Mr Lucky. But I think that I’m in love with Callum. He’ll let you out soon. Be a good kitty.”
Blink.
Breathe in.
Blink.
Breathe out.
Blink twice.
And repeat.
All night, Peyton repeated the cycle of blinks and breaths. The way Callum held her through the night reminded her of when she was sick. That night, she’d been delirious, not really sure what was actual reality and what was the result of an extreme case of the flu. She had dreamed that Callum had said that he loved her, but she knew it was a dream. He never said anything when she woke.
Peyton spent the night staring at the Polaroid of them on her bedside table as Callum slept next to her. The need to say the safe word consumed her. She knew she was on the road to self-destruction. Taking a deep breath, Peyton turned in his arms until she was face to face with him. His mouth and brows were relaxed. When he was asleep, he seemed free and looked every inch the seventeen-year-old she’d loved. The thought caused heat to succumb her chest.
The reality was that the person she’d once loved no longer remained. Instead, he was a shell. He seemed lost, without a home. She wanted to touch him, have her fingers trail down the side of his face. See if he reacted the same way that he had when she used to do it under the cherry blossom tree outside her window. But she refrained from doing so.
Say it, Peyton. Say the word that will make him leave. End this now, her conscience screamed