“At least think about changing your mind,” Jackson says. “And brush your hair, for God’s sake. You’re starting to look like the girl from The Ring.” He gives me a somber smile, then he’s gone.
I shuffle into English, arranging my hair in front of my face like a curtain. Jackson’s right. I probably do look like the girl from The Ring. I hurry to my seat, avoiding Colter. I can’t see him, see his eyes, his lips. If I do, it will be over. I open my English book and stare at the pages; the words blur, and my heart starts pounding and echoing in my ears. I cover them and hunker into my desk. I must look crazy.
Class goes by fast and I succeed in not looking at Colter. I get up and hurry out the door, except someone’s there at the same time and we do this awkward dance of who’s going to go first. Then I realize it’s Colter, and our gazes lock together through the curtain of my stringy hair and the same sequence of emotions repeat, as if ticking them off like days in a calendar—love, safety, heartbreak, guilt, shame, love, regret, love. The huge bags under his eyes have purpled on his colorless face and his whole expression is just . . . wrecked. And I know, without a doubt, this is how he’ll look when I’m gone.
Why did I have to have this stupid plan? Why couldn’t the gun have just gone off like it was supposed to? Why did he have to get so close to me? I try to think of something to say to make it better for him, but nothing comes. Our eyes meet for a brief second and I’m out the door, running to the exit. I can’t do this. I only have a day until Halloween. I make it to my car and lean against the window. I slam my fist on the glass and I let out a scream that sounds more like a growl.
“Sounds like you’re taking this as well as me.”
I jump at Colter’s voice and close my eyes. Why can’t he just leave me alone? I flatten my palms on the window. “Go away.”
“No.”
I cry out—the growl and scream. “Please.”
“It’s been three of the worst days of my fucking life.”
I turn around, whimpering softly, my chest convulsing from the crying fit. He looks so weak, so different from that confident, optimistic boy I met. I did this to him. “Me too.”
He moves closer and I push my back flush against my car window. “Why are you doing this to us?”
He has every right to ask, but he already knows the answer. “You know why.”
His eyes go wide; then they relax. He takes a long breath in. “You haven’t changed your mind. I failed you.” He shrugs, defeated.
I’m sure he can see the confusion and pain on my face. He’s known and hasn’t said anything. “You didn’t fail me. I just don’t understand why you keep trying.”
He looks up at the sky as a small tear slips down his cheek, leaving a shiny path. He lets his gaze fall and centers it on me. “Because I love you, Ellery. And when you love someone you want to take away their pain.” He wipes the tear away and straightens his posture like he’s trying to prove he’s not going to be affected by it. “I’m not sure how long you’ll keep me around. But I want to be with you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I’ve seen how stubborn you are. I’m not stupid. I can see it in your eyes. I’ve seen it before.”
“In Ryan’s.”
He nods. “I knew he was depressed. I tried to help him. I even called the hospital, but I hung up before I could tell anyone. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t betray him.” He looks at something in the distance. The hair sticking out of his cap blows onto his forehead and he has to shove it away. “I kept pushing him after that. Over and over, and he kept telling me it didn’t matter.” His gaze travels back to me. “I’m not going to push you. If you want to die, I can’t stop you. I know that,” he says quietly.
I want to tell him I’m fine and have it be the truth. I’d do anything to get that expression off his face and have his other one return, the one before he met me. “Are you going to tell?”
He lets out an exasperated groan. “I have to. I know I should.” He lifts up his hat and runs his hand through his hair. “Please don’t make me do this.” His eyes are desperate, confused, scared. “I told you I’d give you till Halloween, but I can’t ignore . . . .” He starts to pace back and forth, pounding his fist into his leg.
I need to stop this. I grab him and pull him closer. “Colter.”
He grabs my shoulders like he did at the cemetery. “Tell me you won’t do this. Tell me you’ll change your mind and be with me.”
“I . . . .”
His fingers are cutting into my shoulder, but I don’t think he realizes it. “Please,” he pleads, his eyes alight with desperate hope and his breath visibly shallow with worry.