Текст книги "Triangle: The Complete Series"

Автор книги: Susann Julieva

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the grand tradition of love letters, I’m fairly sure this one stinks. It’s not very long and not very poetic,

but I apologize again, in much better and more words this time. It’s much easier for me to write it down

than to say these things. And I finally tell him the truth. That I’m crazy about him, and that I’ve been

wanting to be with him since last summer. I just never had the courage to take the leap of faith and let

him know.

My heart’s beating like it’s trying to break through my chest, Alien-style, when I stop by his room.

My stupid hands are sweaty as I bend down and push the letter through the crack beneath his door.

No going back now.

I wince as I briefly imagine the possibility of him reading my innermost confessions out to his

entourage, everyone laughing their asses off. But he won’t do that. I hope. All I can do now is wait for

an answer.

A day passes, and there’s no word from him. He hasn’t shown up at my doorstep to punch me in the

face, though. I take that as a good sign.

So I write him another letter. Little strokes fell big oaks. At least I hope that this also applies to

broken hearts. And he must have had strong feelings for me at one time to still be so mad with me now,

right? Oh, I hope. I start to ask him questions this time. All those little things about him I don’t know,

like stuff he likes and dislikes.

I don’t get a reply this time either. But I’m determined not to give up before his entire room is filled

up to the ceiling with my silly ramblings. I don’t see Danny around on campus for days. And I miss him

like crazy. The letter-writing becomes a daily routine. I even dream of those letters at night.

A week passes without the slightest reaction to my writing. I only see Danny occasionally, in the

distance with his friends. He seems to be needing the space, so I try not to stalk him. It’s hard.

I finally mention what I’m doing to Nick one afternoon at the Plato, out of sheer despair. I expect

him to laugh his ass off, but he just grins and teases me a little. But Danny hasn’t mentioned the letters

to him either. This can’t be good. But if he wanted me to stop, surely he would have told me so? Unless

he’s collecting my letters until he has enough of them to burn in a huge bonfire for everyone to see.

Ack. What am I supposed to do?

* * *

I’m in a surprisingly good mood when I get back to my room, having spent the last hour with Nick, just

talking. Just hanging out. I really wonder why I find myself opening up to him more quickly than I ever

have to anyone. Maybe it’s got something to do with us having Danny in common. Maybe it’s just that

he’s actually a pretty cool person.

I put down my bag full of library books, take out my cheap cell phone for the daily call, and flop

down on the bed. I only have this one number saved. It takes six rings before she answers, sounding

tired.

“Jimmy?”

“Hey, Mom. Did I wake you up?”

“No, I was just… there was something interesting on the TV.”

“You were napping, weren’t you?”

She laughs softly. “How can you always tell?”

“I just know.”

“I brought up a too clever know-it-all.”

“You may have done.”

We laugh and talk about her noisy new neighbors for a while, and she assures me that she’s taken her

meds. Then she demands to hear every detail of my day, as usual.

“So when do I get to meet this Nick?” she asks after a little while.

“I don’t know, Mom. I’m not sure I know him well enough yet for him to stay over at the house.”

“Then you’d better get to know him well enough. You know I like it when you bring friends home.”

I smile. “You’re making it sound like I do that all the time.”

“Still, I have to do my motherly inspection.”

“To make sure Nick’s worthy to be my friend, or what?”

“Something along those lines.”

“You’re crazy, Mom.”

Then out of the blue, she says: “You should have that other boy over again, too. He was gorgeous,

that one. I liked him.”

I swallow and wish my heart wouldn’t beat so fast all of a sudden. “Who’re you talking about,

Casey?”

“No, silly. The tall, dark one. Quite a dish he was.”

“Mom!”

She laughs softly. “But it’s true. Eye candy is the big advantage of having a gay son, didn’t you

know that?”

I can feel myself blushing. “Oh god. Would you stop it?”

“What? Leave me my innocent little pleasures! So what happened to that boy? You never mention

him anymore.”

“That’s because we had a falling out. I told you once before, remember?” I kind of want to tell her

about my efforts to win Danny back, but then I decide against it. It’s too early for that. She’d just get

excited – and possibly for nothing.

“He really liked you, that one.”

“Mom…” Not that this isn’t nice to hear, but discussing my love life with my mother is not my

favorite thing to do in the world.

She sighs. “I worry about you. I don’t want you to be so alone.”

“I’m not alone. Besides, I like alone.”

“Trust me, sweetie, you won’t say that once you’re past forty.”

I feel bad for her, and I wish I was there to give her a hug. “How about I come down this weekend?

We could go to the fair.”

“That would be nice. We could go on the Ferris wheel.”

“And spit on people’s heads?” We laugh. It’s sort of an inside joke between us. Apparently I did that

when I was four, and it had Mom in stitches. I wish I could remember. But all the memories I have of

myself at that age are faded and vague. That was before she became an alcoholic. She’s been sober for

many years now, but the illness has left her bitterly marked. Sometimes I wish I could have known her

when my father was still alive. And I often wish I could have known my dad. But all I have are a couple

of bad photographs. Mom says that even though I hadn’t been born yet when we lost him, he loved me.

He picked my name. So I always carry a part of him with me. That’s a nice thought.

“And afterwards, we’ll have so much candy we’ll be sick”, she smiles.

“Ugh. If we really must.”

“Oh, we do. Life’s so short, sweetie. It all goes by so quickly. Promise me you’ll always make the

most of it.”

I get an uneasy feeling, hearing her talk like that. “Mom, is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, my darling. Speak to you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Sleep tight.”

“Sweet dreams, Jimmy.”

“Bye, Mom.”

I hang up with a strange feeling. She sounded so lonely that it’s breaking my heart. It’s making me

want to hop on the next train to go see her right now. I’d be down there all the time if train fares weren’t

expensive and I notoriously broke. But I console myself with knowing that I’ll see her in only two days.

She may talk about going to the fair now, but I know it’ll be a struggle to get her to leave the house. She

almost never does anymore.

* * *

When I get out of my late class the next day and turn my cell phone back on, I have a voice mail from

Terry, Mom’s social worker. It says to call her immediately, and something about the sound of her voice

has my pulse rate up in a microsecond. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. Is Mom okay? Has something

happened? Is she in hospital again? Wild thoughts are spinning in my head. My stomach turns into a

lump of sheer panic. Terry picks up her phone, and her voice sounds even stranger than before.

“I’m so sorry, James”, she starts. And I know.

My knees give way, and leaning against the nearest wall is all I can do not to fall. But I’m still

falling inwardly, down, down, down into the bottomless.

“No… it can’t be…”

“James, listen to me. It was an accident. The police are still investigating, but everything looks like

she fell asleep smoking, and a fire broke out. I don’t think she suffered. She probably suffocated in her

sleep.”

I can’t say anything. I dig my free hand into the rough brick wall, trying to keep breathing. The

world turns into a blur. Terry keeps talking, but I don’t understand a word she’s saying. I think I’m

supposed to come down as soon as possible to arrange for the funeral and everything. I think she says

she’ll help me, but I’m not sure. All I know, all I feel is that Mom is gone.

It rips out my soul, and a feeling of panic sets in. It can’t be true. No, it can’t be. She can’t be gone.

Not now. Not like this. I was going to see her tomorrow. This can’t be real. My brain refuses to

acknowledge it. But my heart reacts with a pain so fierce it momentarily blocks out everything else. It

feels like being stabbed, the knife twisting in the wound, brutally, mercilessly. Terry keeps on talking,

asking if there’s anything she can do. I’m too frozen in agony to reply. I still hold the phone in my hand

long after Terry’s hung up, and I let myself slide to the ground, staring into nothingness. Flicking the

same old switch that protects me from feeling. Sinking into numbness, disconnected. Breathe.

I’m not sure for how long I sit painfully crouched like that, motionless and unblinking until Anna

happens to find me. I’m unable to react to her at first, her words sounding so distant, strangely

concerned. Eventually my eyes regain focus, and I see the shocked, scared look in her eyes.

“James, please say something.”

I swallow, and suddenly a teardrop rolls down my cheek, the wetness rousing me. Anna pulls me

close and takes me into her care.

Chapter 11

Ashes To Ashes

DANNY: Keller is the one who tells me that Mrs. Foley has passed away. I don’t believe him at first.

Then he describes what he knows of the fire. Apparently the entire house burned down. They weren’t

able to save much of it. I’m too shocked to really respond, but he gives me the details of the funeral

tomorrow. I’m not sure why he does it. I just walk away.

I walk around aimlessly for a while as the news sinks in, and I still can’t quite believe that it’s true.

That she’s really gone. I remember our last talk vividly. I had stopped by James’ house last summer after

having left a couple of messages over the phone. Mrs. Foley answered the door and assured me with an

all too familiar smile that James really had gone out and she didn’t know when he’d be back. I was

about to leave again, frustrated, when she invited me in for coffee. We’d only met once before, but I

liked her enough to say yes. To be honest, I kinda jumped at the chance to maybe learn a bit more about

J from her. And she seemed to like to talk about him. She was doing well that day, and we sat down in

her kitchen, had a nice smoke and strong coffee, and she continued the motherly inspection of me she

had begun last time. She had me tell her my major, and asked about my plans after college.

“I’m not sure,” I replied with a nonchalant smile. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

She eyed me over her blue coffee mug. “But aren’t you graduating next spring?”

“That’s the plan.”

“That plan won’t really get you anywhere if you don’t know what to do with your life afterwards,

will it?”

“Guess so.”

She shook her head with an amused smile. “Well, what kind of actor do you want to be? Do you

want to go into theatre? Movies?”

I took a drag on my cigarette to buy time. It was all I could do not to squirm under her gaze. This

didn’t exactly go as planned. “I might not do either”, I finally admitted, deciding to go with the truth for

once. “I mostly went into acting because it wasn’t what either of my parents wanted for me.”

“That’s a very strange reason. What did they want for you?”

“My mother sees me as an attorney, and my dad… he would really like for me to go into music.”

She studied my face with a slight frown that reminded me of James. “I suspect you could be good at

either if you applied yourself.”

I grimaced. “Now you sound like one of them.”

She smiled fleetingly. “All parents are the same in wanting what’s best for their children.”

“Not mine, trust me. What they want for me is what would suit them best.”

“Then it seems like high time to make up your own mind, doesn’t it?” she smiled kindly.

I smiled back and looked away, knowing she was right. I wished I had someone like her in my life. I

probably would have decided years ago.

“My Jimmy wants to be a journalist. I think he will make a great editor one day.”

“Has that always been his dream?”

“Since second grade.”

“Really? How come?” I was curious. I’m pretty sure I wanted to be a pilot when I was that age. As

you do.

“My first husband was a journalist,” she revealed. “Jimmy never really knew what that job entailed,

but then we watched a documentary on Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein one night, and Jimmy was

glued to the TV. He was always exceptionally mature for his age. Even when he was very little, he

would walk around with those big knowing eyes, asking questions even us grown-ups couldn’t answer.”

She chuckled to herself, her gaze distant, almost dreamy. I could just picture little James like that, and it

made me smile too. Mrs. Foley looked at me thoughtfully as if trying to read my mind. “There are old

souls and young souls in this world. And I’m guessing you’re not as young a soul as you let on either.”

I felt strangely naked under her gaze, as if she could see through me. “I’m not sure I believe in the

concept of souls,” I shrugged with a smile, trying to provoke her a little.

But the gray eyes were focused on me, and she didn’t buy it at all. “Bullshit.”

I laughed. Some moments she was so completely like James, it was almost spooky. “That’s good

coffee,” I changed the subject, taking a sip.

“Uh-huh. My first husband used to say my coffee made him fall in love with me.”

“I think I’m falling in love with you too,” I grinned at her, and she threw her head back and laughed.

For a moment I could see the pretty young girl she once used to be.

“Don’t you dare. My Jimmy wouldn’t like that one bit.”

I winked at her. “We could keep it a secret.”

She laughed again, and shook her head at me. “As tempting as that may be, far be it from me to

stand in the way of my son’s happiness.”

My heart gave a strange little jump at that. “Is that your verdict then?”

“Well,” she smiled. “You and he both have a lot of learning to do first, that’s for sure. There’s no

telling what might happen.” She paused and looked at me, a little smile on her lips. “But you passed my

inspection. I’m not sure why exactly,” she added, laughing softly.

“Why, thank you,” I bowed playfully. “I’m honored.”

“As you should be.”

A comfortable silence followed. We both continued to smoke, and I felt as relaxed in her presence as

if I’d known her for ages. I had that feeling again, the same one I’d had the first time we’d talked. A

strange kind of yearning to have what James had, a bit of family, someone who would always stand by

me. You could tell just by looking at her that Mrs. Foley would do anything for her son. She was

prepared to fight like a lioness for him if she only had the strength. I thought she was probably tougher

than she looked, just like him.

We talked about this and that, and before I knew it I had been there for over an hour. She was getting

tired, so I thanked her for the coffee and the company, and said good-bye to her. Never knowing that

that was the last time I would speak to her.

My aimless walking has led me back to my dorm room, and as I let myself in, I suddenly know that I

need to go to the funeral. I may not have known Mrs. Foley well, but she’s left quite an impression on

me. It hurts to think that she’s gone, and I feel a wave of sympathy for James I never thought I’d be able

to feel again in my unforgiving anger. All of that seems so silly and petty all of a sudden.

* * *

You know how it always rains at funerals in the movies? At Debbie Foley’s funeral, the sky is overcast,

but birds are singing happily in the trees nearby. It smells of earth and wet lawn from the light spring

rain last night. I’m the last one to get there. When I enter the cemetery, a small group has already

gathered around the open grave. Only two elderly women and three guys in firefighter’s uniforms, the

rest are James’ friends. I’m surprised by the turnout. James is standing in the middle, dressed in black,

his gaze pinned to the ground. Mills is there beside him, Keller, and two girls I’ve seen J hang out with.

A lot of reporters from the Woodhaven Herald are present, showing support I’m sure James never knew

he had.

I stop near a tree to watch from a distance. I’m not sure he would want me there, so I’m hoping I

won’t be noticed.

I can’t stop staring at James, even though I know I shouldn’t. He seems completely composed, but

he’s wearing the exact blank, cold expression he wore when he told me to stay out of his life. And

suddenly I understand.

I almost can’t bear it anymore then. It’s like all my anger comes tumbling down, and just vanishes

into thin air. Feelings I’ve been suppressing so hard over these last couple of months are bursting back

up to the surface. No chance of holding them back, that’s how strong they are. Seeing him like this does

everything the many letters he wrote me couldn’t. Words don’t mean a thing. But this now, it shows me

how hard it was for him to give me up. That exact same look on his face. It shows me that what he

wrote is true, that he did care about me. That he was in love with me then. That he still feels the same

way about me now.

Forgiveness. It’s so sudden and strong that it feels like there never was any grudge at all. The past

doesn’t matter. Because nothing has changed. I feel the same way about him as I always have. I’m as

crazy about him as I’ve ever been. My heart is beating like crazy. And it’s killing me to know how much

he must be hurting right now. And that I can’t be there to help him through this. It’s tearing me apart,

the way I’ve been treating him. The way I let my wounded pride get in the way of being with the one

person on earth I’ve ever really wanted to be with. I feel like the world’s biggest idiot. But I can’t tell

him now. I need to leave him alone, because the last thing he needs right now is me barging in, trying to

break through the carefully constructed composure that’s shielding his pain.

So I stay where I am and watch from a distance, the wind carrying over only half of what the priest

is saying. It doesn’t matter; the speech is always the same. I am the resurrection and the life. I wonder if

Mrs. Foley even believed in that. I say my silent good-byes to her, and I thank her for having been kind

to me, when every other mom in the world would have surely kicked me out. In spite of her illness, she

was a caring human being with a brilliant sense of humor, and she never deserved to die like this. That’s

when a ray of light breaks though the clouds and lights the scenery. And James suddenly looks up and

right at me.

We stand completely still, just looking at each other. And the composed mask James was wearing

starts to crumble almost immediately. I realize that I’m moving only when I’m almost there already.

Like I’m on autopilot, and this is all that I can do. Then I’m next to him, and he’s looking at me like

someone losing the ground beneath his feet, and I take his hand in mine. He squeezes my hand and

holds on tight.

* * *

“That’s all that’s left of it,” James says tonelessly. We’re leaning against my car that’s parked in what

used to be his driveway. The house is gone. Only part of the walls and a bit of the first floor is still

standing, along with the porch. You can see some remains of the upstairs bedroom. Black, indefinable

masses that used to be furniture. The stench of burnt wood and plastic still hangs heavy over the place,

nauseating. Yellow police tape warns us not to cross, bright against the coal-black ruins.

“Are you sure you want to be here right now?” I ask softly.

James only nods, staring at the remains of his home. We stand in silence for a long while until he

speaks again.

“You gotta love the irony.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

James turns his head to look at me, his expression blank. “Simon was a firefighter.”

I look away, unable to hold his gaze. He’s right. That’s pretty damn ironic if you think about it. If

Simon were still alive today, this surely wouldn’t have happened. And he was the one who caused Mrs.

Foley all that misery that made her ill to begin with.

J swallows, and completely out of the blue he says: “I killed him. That’s what I did. I killed him, and

now he’s got his revenge on us.”

I stare at him, not sure I heard that right. “James – what are you talking about?”

He slides down the car and sinks to the ground. Somewhat unsettled, I sit down by his side, waiting

for him to explain. There’s a strange expression on his face, a deep pain in his eyes that seem so distant.

He doesn’t even look like the James I know right now, and I admit that might freak me out if I didn’t

care so much about this guy.

“I’ll tell you what I’m talking about,” James says tonelessly, strangely calm in a way that’s almost

scary. “I’m talking about the day that changed my life forever.” He trails off and stares at the remains of

his house again, transfixed like he can see the events of the past unfold again before his eyes right now.

“I don’t remember exactly when Mom started to drink. I think I was about seven. That’s when things

got really bad some nights. Simon couldn’t stand the drinking. It made everything much worse.

Everything had to be in perfect order all the time. And when we failed at that…” He trails off and just

stares into the distance for a long moment.

“I was sixteen when it happened. I’d been trying to talk Mom into leaving Simon all summer, but

she wouldn’t. She thought he would never let us leave, no matter where we ran to, and I know now that

she was right. But back then I still thought we had to try. So one weekend when he was on a fishing trip

with his buddies, I packed our bags. I didn’t even ask Mom, I just did.” He sighs. “I bet you know how

the story goes. I couldn’t get Mom to leave, and Simon came home early. Saw our bags all packed by

the door.” James pauses, as if trying to force memories back to light that he’s been suppressing for

years. “I… I don’t remember much of it. But he had her on the ground and he was choking her when I

came downstairs. And I knew for sure he was gonna kill her this time. And… everything kind of

happened really fast. I remember that I grabbed the baseball bat that was leaning by the door. I’d always

hated the stupid thing, but Simon had made me join a team all the same. He loved baseball, you know. I

hated it. I sucked at it. And he hated me for sucking at it. I’d been meaning to leave that damn baseball

bat behind… I think I must have swung, and I’m pretty sure I hit him on the side of his head. It’s… it’s

kinda blurry somehow. I don’t remember the impact, only the swing. Then he was on the ground, and

someone was screaming for him to leave… maybe it was me screaming. And then he staggered out and

was gone, and we heard the car start, and he drove off.”

He exhales, as if talking has taken a lot of physical effort, and I don’t doubt that it must feel like that.

I don’t dare say a word. Shocked as I am, I need him to tell me the rest. Somehow this wants out right

now, and all I can do is to witness, and listen.

It takes a long moment before James continues. “The police knocked on our door about an hour later.

They said Simon was in the hospital, in a coma. He’d gone to his favorite bar. He had slipped on the

stairs to the restroom and fallen all the way down. I know those stairs. They’re long, steep. Cracked his

neck and broke his back, they said, amongst other injuries. But I knew the truth. I knew it was my

doing. The way that I’d hit him… he must have had a concussion. I know that’s why he slipped and fell.

He wouldn’t have otherwise. He wouldn’t have. He never woke up again. He died two days later. And

it’s all my fault.”

I shake my head vehemently. “James, this is bullshit. It wasn’t your fault. None of it was.”

He looks at me with empty eyes that spook me. “Everything was my fault, Danny. If I hadn’t packed

our bags, if I hadn’t…”

“You saved your Mom’s life, James. You did the only right thing. Damn it, in my book that makes

you a hero.”

“No,” he insists, taken aback and shaking his head. It’s like he’s not even really here, but in his own

world, his own hell. “And Mom made me promise afterwards. That I would never tell a soul about the

fight with Simon. They thought all his wounds were from the fall. Pretty convenient, right? And she

didn’t want anything bad on my record.”

“Oh Jimmy. There wouldn’t have been. Don’t you see? What you did was self-defense. It’s Simon’s

own fault he fell. You know that. Tell me you know that.”

Finally he looks at me again, and his eyes are so full of pain. He shakes his head. “No. No, that’s not

true. That’s not…”

I pull him close and the rest of his words get muffled on my shoulder. It sounds like he can’t breathe,

choking on the tears he can’t cry. I want to give him space, but he clings to me. I hold him tight when at

last a few reluctant tears fall, hot and wet on my neck, and I hold him even tighter when his body starts

to tremble with an anguish I can only imagine, but never share, as much as I wish I could to make this

easier. To take off some of that massive load this boy has been carrying around. I whisper soft words

into his ear, soothing words, reassuring words. I don’t stop for as long as it takes for him to become

calmer again. All of that self-loathing suddenly makes so much sense. Everything about him makes so

much sense. And I know in this moment that I couldn’t love the guy more than I already do. He is

everything to me now.

I’m trying my best to understand why he’s so insistent that he’s the one to blame for Simon’s death.

Especially when it’s so obvious that he did the only right thing, protecting his mom and chasing that

bastard out of the house. I would have done it, everyone with at least a trace of courage in their bones

would have done the same thing. None of what happened after than was his responsibility. Simon was a

grown man, and he should have known better. How stupid do you have to be to go straight to a bar and

drink with a possible concussion? He should have gone to the emergency room instead. It’s almost like

he wanted this to happen, to make James believe that he had blood on his hands. To haunt him for the

rest of his life. My fists clench and I almost wish that bastard weren’t dead, so I could have a little heartto-

heart with him. If you ask me, what happened to Simon that day was instant karma. Payback for the

life full of misery he had given to his family. Retribution. I only wish James could see it that way.

Maybe some day, I’ll be able to show him a different perspective. But I know it will be a long way. And

maybe he never will.

I try to see myself in James’ shoes, severely abused by the man who came into my family as the dad

I’d been missing all my life. I try to imagine what it must have been like, trying to please Simon, but

unable to keep his violent temper in check, no matter what I did. Always doing everything wrong in his

eyes. I am a queer, and he hates me for that fact alone. I’m not the athlete he wants me to be. I’m not the

son he expects me to be. I am a failure. I try to please him still, and deep down I just really want him to

like me. I hope things will get better. I hope Mom will stop drinking. I hope we’ll get some help, but

there is none. People look the other way, and we’re too scared to say it aloud. Simon’s a hero to the

community. Nobody would believe us anyway. There’s no getting out of this situation. And the one day

I find the courage to try, everything goes horribly wrong. I almost get my Mom killed. And I give

Simon the concussion that leads to his death. I am a horrible person. I hate myself for what I’ve done.

People should stay away from me. I’m no good. I may seem free now, yet I’ll never be free. There’s noone

who could love me for who I am. How could I even love myself? How could I ever forgive myself?

I’ve been carrying this around since I was sixteen years old. I could never talk about it. Not to anyone.

In all these years, it’s grown and grown inside my head, slowly but steadily eating my soul.

Minutes have passed. My little trip inside James’ head has left me feeling dizzy with pain. But at

least now I understand. And James seems much calmer now, so eventually I haul him up, get him back

into the car, and I drive to a motel I saw on my way into town. I get us a room, and he immediately lies

down on the bed, and curls up into the fetal position. I lie down beside him and listen to his breathing,

knowing somehow that he doesn’t want to be touched right now. I wait until he’s dozed off. Then I

quietly leave the room and organize something to eat and some tea.

He starts to wake up when I steal back inside and sit down on the bed beside him.

“Hey,” I say softly and hold out the paper cup to him.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice sounding uncertain and small as he sits up and takes the cup from my

hand. He won’t meet my eyes.

“You hungry? I brought pizza.”

He almost smiles, like he can’t believe I’m here and I’m doing these things. I get him to eat a few

bites, and drink some of his tea. Then he lies down again to stare at the ceiling. I join him carefully. I’m

not sure what he needs me to do now, so I’ll just lay here with him for a while.

I’m not sure how much time passes before he speaks. When he does, his voice sounds small and

hoarse.

“You don’t have to be here.”

“No, I do. I want to.”

He sounds confused. “But… why? Danny, don’t you see that you should run from me as fast as you

can?”

I almost smile at that. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

He glances at me for the first time again. “Get what?”

“That I love you, you idiot.” The words just slip out like that, like they’ve been on my tongue for

months now, just waiting to be spoken.

James blinks slowly, and swallows. Repeatedly. I’m sure that’s the last thing he was expecting to

hear. “You’re crazy,” he finally says.

“About you? Why, yes I am.”

“But… didn’t you hear what I said? How can you…”

“Shhh. Stop that. I want you exactly the way you are. I always have. Nothing can change that.”

“I pushed you away,” he says, still sounding so unbelieving it’s breaking my heart.

“You did. And I was angry, and stupid, and unforgiving, and I couldn’t see why you did what you