Chapter 9: Second Chances, New Beginnings

Roydon and I have been polite and respectful of each other’s personal space for over a week now after our discussion in my bedroom and I hate it. I want my Roydon back. I don’t like this proper, civil guy who leaves me alone in homeroom or goes out of his way not to get in mine or always maintains an appropriate distance between us when we have to be in the same proximity. I hate this and that I’ve done this to him.

At the same time, I’m grateful for the time and distance. It’s given me more time to think about us and our situation. I want him, I really do, but I’m afraid.

What if I give him a chance to be my friend and the whole friendship thing doesn’t work out? What happens then? I think Michael Bolton nailed it when he asked the question ‘how can we be lovers if we can’t be friends’. I think that’s how the song goes.

I’m not really a Bolton fan. The hair was always threw me off. I mean, I listen to his most popular song if it’s on the radio or whatever but that’s about it.

Anyway, I want to be friends with Roydon. I want to try it out and see what happens. That whole different side of him he showed me ten days ago was…I really want to get to know that side of him. I want him to get to know the different parts of me, even if there aren’t that many. But how can we be friends since there always seems to be this intense chemical reaction between us and we go straight for the bases without having an at bat?

I’m going to try to be friends with him. I owe him that. I really do. I’ve been nothing but a bitch—an indecisive one at that. And all he’s asking for is a chance to be anything. I can give him a chance.

He’s in the library right now even though it’s lunchtime. He’s been hanging out in there for the past few days. We had an awkward moment in art on Monday so he’s giving me space, which is really sweet and unselfish of him since it was so awkward for me, not him, and he tried his hardest to alleviate the feeling.

Excusing myself from my friends, they all know where I’m about to go, I slowly walk from the cafeteria and towards the library. I’m nervous as I do this. I know I shouldn’t be but I am.

En route to the library, I pass Roseanne who has two months of detention thanks to my parents—she would have been expelled if I hadn’t stepped in, but she doesn’t know that. Needless to say, she doesn’t have a happy face on when she sees me walking down the hallway. She actually looks rather constipated but I keep that to myself. She might lose the rest of her sanity if I speak aloud my observation and we’re the only ones in the hall right now.

I find Roydon sitting on the floor in the corner near nonfiction. From the looks of it, he’s doing homework and it’s not going so well. I finished my homework for my post-lunch classes during my morning classes. I couldn’t concentrate on it last night.

I watch him for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. His brows forming a deep V as he mumbles calculations to himself, he huddles over his calculator and notebook. It’s adorable how he scratches his head like every ten seconds and then goes to write something only to stop and rethink everything. He puts his pencil between his teeth as he reworks the problem he’s trying to solve.

I’m stalling. Quit stalling. You can do this, Amber. It’s just Roydon.

But when has he ever been just Roydon?

“Hey,” he says, startling me. My eyes refocus and I realize he’s watching me.

“Hey yourself,” I reply feeling awkward and stupid again. “I’m sorry about—”

“You don’t have to apologize about anything, Amber,” he says quietly, politely.

I don’t like this! I can’t stand this anymore!

“Stop it!” I snap at him. Surprise overwhelms his face as I glare down at him, hands on my hips. “Stop talking to me in that—that damn generically polite tone. I don’t like it!”

“I’m sorry,” he says, but his apology only adds fuel to the fire of my temper.

“You’re still fucking doing it,” I bit out. “I don’t like this—us like this. I can’t deal with you like this and not the way you should be. I don’t like this!”

“So tell me what you want,” he counters, anger marring his voice now.

“I don’t know.”

He scoffs.

“I don’t!”

“Bullshit!” he snaps, coming to his feet. It his turn to glare down at me. “You do know but you won’t say it. I’ve said everything I needed to. I’m sorry if you don’t like me like this, but this is your doing. Not mine.”

“I know that,” I admit quietly.

“Then what are you going to do about it?” he demands.

I shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. I need time to think.”

“Still? You’ve had over 14, 440 minutes, more than 864, 000 seconds, to think about it, Amber. What else do you need to think about? What else could you possibly have to consider?” he asks, coming closer. I hold up a hand to ward him off.

“I don’t—never mind. Just…forget it. This was stupid,” I tell him, incredibly frustrated at the situation and myself, and turn away. “I’m sorry I bothered you.” I fight against him when he tries to stop me from leaving. “Leave me alone. Go back to whatever the hell you were doing.”

“Don’t get your back up. You don’t deserve to be able to do that. How dare you?” he hisses at me, pulling me closer to him as the librarian glares at us from around a bookshelf. “I’m the one who has given you time and space and tried to understand why you can’t just nut up and say what we both know you want to. You don’t get to make me feel like some bastard who’s only to break your heart. You don’t get to make me the bad guy for wanting something, anything from you.”

“I’m not trying to make you into the bad guy here. That’s not why I came to see you.”

“Then why are you here? Why aren’t you avoiding me like usual and frolicking about in the quad with your friends?”

I open my mouth to tell him. The words are waiting on the tip of my tongue. But something in his eyes makes me hesitate. The silence darkens his eyes with anger and he releases my arm.

“And there you go again,” he says coolly with humorless grin. He moves back to his corner and sits. “Your friends are probably wondering where you are. You should go back to them. I’m busy. I don’t have time to waste on this right now.”

That stings, but I know I deserve it. “I’m sorry for being such a waste of your precious time.”

“If you could just—” He stops and exhales deeply. “Go back to your friends, okay? Just—”

“I miss you,” I blurt before I can stop myself.

He stares at me.

“That’s—that’s what I came here to tell you, all I wanted to say,” I say quietly. “I’ll leave you alone now.”

“Wait!” he calls and shifts to his knees, as if to chase after me. “Did you…you can’t just—say it again.”

“I miss you,” I repeat.

He smiles softly at me. “I miss you, too,” he tells me. I smile back, slowly move towards him when he holds out a hand, and hesitate as I stand over him, unsure of what he wants.

He shifts to make room for me in his tiny corner, but there isn’t much. I sit when he tugs on my hand and try not to focus on our touching thighs and wonder if he’s having the same problem.

“What are you working on?” I ask after a moment of watching his face.

He sighs. “Abrams assigned ten pages of work yesterday because some jackass decided to be an ‘insubordinate punk with absolutely no future worth anyone’s while’. I hate Abrams. That guy is a fucking tool.”

Mac Abrams is the strictest and meanest teacher at our school. He’s generally a math teacher but sometimes he fills in when an English teacher is out. He is one dude you don’t ever want to mess with.

Abrams doesn’t care about anything or anyone and will not hesitate to put you in your place. He successfully and seriously chewed me out the first week of the school year because I yawned during some explanation of this really complicated equation thingy. I was confused as soon as he started speaking and I was suffering through an insomniac period during that time. I was bone tired and seriously brain dead.

“Abrams is an ass. Don’t worry about it. I’ll help you if you want,” I say slowly, hesitantly. “How much more do you have to do?”

“Three more pages. What time is it?” he asks.

“Twenty minutes until the final bell for fourth period.” He swears. I lay my hand on his without thinking. “Breathe, Roydon. We’ll get it done.”

I squeeze his hand and he squeezes mine back. I feel myself blush lightly and clear my throat. “Let’s get this done.”

We barely finish on time, but we do get it done. Using your brain during lunch is not something I would recommend. I’m going to be even more useless in my afternoon classes than usual. Fifth period will be naptime. I’m pretty sure I can manage that in English.

“I’ll, uh, see you later then,” Roydon says after we pack up his things.

“I can…I mean since it’s…my next class is past yours,” I stammer out. “I’ll…I’ll walk with you. If that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’d like that,” he says with a small smile. “I’d really like that a lot.”

“Okay then.” I smile back at him.

“May I carry your books for you while you walk me to class?” he asks and I nod, handing my notebooks to him. “I could walk you to class. If you want.”

“You’d be late. Abrams would kill you if that happened.”

“I’ll be okay. I can handle it. I’ll walk you,” he says this so firmly that I don’t try to argue anymore.

We fall into silence. It’s tense and awkward again.

“What’s your favorite color?” I blurt as we walk up the stairs. “My favorite color is scarlet. Most people just shrug it off and say it’s red, but red isn’t just red. That’s like saying two siblings are the same because they have the same last name even if there are slight differences in their appearances.” I stop as I realize I’m rambling and he’s just watching me. “I’m going to shut up now.”

“Amber.”

“What?”

“No, my favorite color is amber,” he says quietly. I look at him quickly and he blushes a little before continuing, “We had a cat when I was younger and he had amber eyes. Kiefer was a crazy cat. In the middle of the night he would jump on my bed and stare at me for hours.”

“Must have been because of your eyes.”

“Maybe,” he says in the same voice as before. His blush deepens.

I find myself moving closer to him so that our arms brush against one another’s. He shifts my books into his left arm and let’s his right hand dangle near mine. I smile as his fingers casually touch mine for a moment.

“So tell me more about your cat,” I say as we reach the fourth floor.

“He was a feisty son of a bitch. He acted like he was our master and we were only there to serve him. I just kind of fell in love with the color after having him stare at me so damn much.”

“What happened to him? Is he still around?

“No, he’s gone. I had this crazy, sociopathic neighbor where we used to live. He skinned Kiefer and slit his throat.” I stop at how unaffected he sounds when he says this. “I’ve had the last five years to wrap my head around it. Besides, Jaime Julian was certifiable and irreparably fucked up. He was actually committed before we moved away.”

What do you say to that? Does anyone know?

“Um, well, wow. Okay then. That’s…it’s great he’s somewhere he can get the help he needs,” I say as we reach my second elective class. I take my books back. “I’ll see you later, Roydon.”

“Wait a second,” he says, touching my arm. “Can I have a ride home? After school, I mean. Well, of course after school. That was dumb to say…”

“I can give you a ride home, Roydon. It’s not a problem. I’m on the third level of the garage on row D. You know my car.”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Cur—Amber.”

“Sure thing, Roydon.” The warning bell sounds. “You better go. I really don’t want you to catch hell with the dictator.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” he says and then leans in unexpectedly and kisses my forehead. He leans back and looks so embarrassed that I have to hug him.

It’s my turn to be embarrassed as I pull back and push him away gently. “Go away now.” He smiles and starts backing away slowly, finally turning and going into his classroom at the sound of Abrams’ growl.

I duck into my own classroom as my teacher eyes me. I flash him a grin before going to my seat. I might nap in here. It looks like we’re watching a movie anyway. Knowing Mr. Grafton, it’ll be some weird nature flick. Before Thanksgiving he showed a documentary about birds and mating. What it had to do with philosophy I’m not sure, but it was very disturbing.

I wait until the lights go out and the movie starts before crossing my arms on the desk and laying my head on top of them. From the sounds of it, it appears it’s another nature documentary. The narrator’s voice is soothing as it informs us on the matriarchal society of spotted hyenas. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this one before so I dig my iPod out of my purse and tune out to the warbling, earnest voice of Roy Orbison.

…

Roydon isn’t waiting at my car after school ends but that’s okay. I’m nervous about giving him a ride home. Something tells me the scene in the library won’t be enough to mend the gap between us. We’re going to have to have a serious conversation about the state of us. I don’t want it to happen, but I know it has to. We need to figure out who exactly we are to one another. Or rather, I need to tell him what I want from him.

My friends are all busy with detention, dates, and deviousness so I’m stuck hanging out in the parking garage by myself. Juliana strolls by with some sophomore she’s crushing on and/or dating, who is considerably shorter than her, and ignores me as they hold hands and giggle on the way to his older sister’s car.

Ah, the blossoming of young love. How disgustingly saccharine.

I lean against the trunk of my car as I randomly text and listen to my iPod as I wait for Roydon who isn’t fleeing the school in a timely manner like the rest of our peers. He finally appears twenty minutes later and looks strange. I notice a redhead slipping from beside him and practically skipping away, but not before sending him a bright smile and glancing slyly over at me.

It causes my heart to slowly start sinking, but I’m not exactly sure why. The sinking goes away, however, when Roydon looks at me and smiles.

I smile back as he reaches me. “Hey. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” he says. “Abrams wanted a word after last period. He says I need help in math. Suggested a student he thinks would make an acceptable tutor.”

“Oh, is that you were…”

“Who I was what?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” He gives me a strange look. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“All right. Are you ready to go?” he asks, still watching me with an odd expression.

“Um, yeah. Sure,” I reply. I glance over at Juliana who is hunched over has she makes out with her special friend. “Hold on a sec.”

I cross the garage to Juliana, who is sincerely sucking some serious face, and clear my throat politely. Neither seems to hear me so I try again but louder this time.

Still nothing.

I glance back at Roydon who is laughing and find myself staring at him as if this is the first time I’ve seen him before. I don’t even realize Juliana has detached herself and is watching me until she flicks my forehead. She smirks at me as I blink at her.

“Can I help you?” she asks, still smirking.

“Find a ride home. I need to talk to Roydon in private,” I tell her and her eyes change even as her smirk remains. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly.

“I don’t believe you,” I return. She shrugs carelessly and turns back to her friend. “All right then. Have fun making out with your woodland creature, Sasquatch.” She glares at me and curses viciously at my back as I walk away. “I love you, too, little sis!”

“Kids,” I say to Roydon when I slide into the driver’s seat. “They grow up so fast. It seems like only yesterday she was a metal mouth with pigtails and doing all the dance moves along with a music video of the Backstreet Boys airing on MTV.”

“Ah, memories,” Roydon says in a nostalgic tone. “Gee our old La Salle ran great.”

“Those were the days,” I add with a smile. He smiles back. “I really missed you,” I admit before I can talk myself out of saying it and am pleased when he reaches out for my hand. “Can we go somewhere and talk? Would you mind if—”

“I’d like that.”

I slowly let out the breath I was holding. “All right. Where do you want to go?”

He shrugs. I look down at our loosely clasped hand. There is something both beautiful and frightening all rolled into one at the sight of them together.

“There is a field between here and Haven Bend,” I tell him. “We can go there.”

“Cool. I like fields. The openness is refreshing,” he replies.

“That’s kind of random,” I say, backing out of the parking space. He’s still holding my hand so it’s a little difficult, but it’s manageable. Besides, I don’t want him to let go just yet.

“So tell me something random about yourself then. To even it out and restore the natural order.”

I follow the line of cars waiting to vacate the premises and try to think of something random about myself. We’re practically out of the garage when I finally shrug. “I don’t know, dude. I’m not really random like that.”

“Then tell me something unusual about you. Or a little known fact.”

I pause to think about it. “Well, I wasn’t born with curly hair. Until the age of four I had ruler straight hair that wouldn’t curl worth a damn.” He glances at me in an assessing manner. “What?”

“I don’t think you’d look right without curly hair.”

“I think I look nice with straightened hair.”

“You look nice however you are, Curly. I’m just saying you—I prefer you with curly hair. It’s what I’m used to is all. No offense meant.”

“Don’t worry, Roydon. I didn’t.” I squeeze his hand and try to calm my heart after his inadvertent use of his special nickname for me. I turn right at the next stoplight and head away from town. “Are you hungry? I think I could use a snack.”

“I can eat.”

I pull into a nearby drive-thru and two combo meals. He lets go of my hand to reach for his wallet as I dig around in my purse for plastic. I try to object when he shoves a twenty-dollar bill at me, but he won’t let me.

The drive-thru worker watches us argue for three minutes before Roydon finally decides to unbuckle himself and reach over me. I try to stop him but he won’t be denied. The employee, who looks about our age, is clearly trying not to smile and failing miserably as she hands me the change and I receipt. I dump both into Roydon’s lap and pull forward to the second window.

We don’t talk the rest of the way to Angel’s Field. The old battleground is officially known as Leslie Field, it had been controversially renamed in the late 60s to honor some local boy turned army general who died in the line of duty, but was now known to the locals as Angel’s Field because of a terrible crash during an air show. It happened before I was born, but my parents have photos from the aviation exhibition. The inferno was crazy and the crash killed fifteen—pilots and by-standers—and injured nearly two hundred others. It was terrible tragedy for the area.

Roydon is waiting to eat until we get there but I can’t. I’m too nervous. I need something to keep my distracted. I’ll probably regret the anxious eating later, but right now I need something to keep me from freaking out. It’s not working as the further we get from town the more my appetite flees.

I know we have to talk. We have to come to some understanding between us. But I’m so nervous about what might or might not happen between us.

As if sensing my growing anxiety, he reaches for my hand again and holds on tight. I know he’s trying to tell me he’ll be around no matter what, but in what capacity? I don’t want to hurt him. I know I already have.

Why are emotions so complicated? Why do relationships have to be so complex?

“Doesn’t it make you just want to take off your shoes and run around like a kid in the backyard?” he asks suddenly. I pull off the road and find an old oak to park under. Before I can answer he frees himself from the safety restraints and dashes out of the car. “Come on!”

“No way!” I call back.

“Live a little,” he says as he comes around the car. I shake my head at him but he doesn’t pay that any mind as he opens my door. He stares down at me with an impish grin.

“What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Roydon?”

He pokes my arm as his grin widens. “Tag! You’re it!” I watch in varying degrees of amusement and surprise—of all the things he could have said, that was the least expected—and am surprised at myself when I unbuckled my seatbelt and dart after him.

“Catch me if you can,” he taunts over his shoulder in a singsong voice.

I save my breath for running as I chase after him. He’s faster than he looks like he should be. He also runs like a jack rabbit, bobbing and weaving every which way every few feet. If he ever has to get away from a gator I think he’ll be good.

The chase continues for nearly five minutes and I know I’m losing speed. This is too much running for me, between the chase in school and this now. It’s too much for my lazy bones.

With a burst of speed, which I know my thighs will regret later, I launch myself at his back, knowing I won’t be able to run him down otherwise and take him to the ground. We roll into one another as we tumble and grass has stained our clothes by the time we are still.

“You’re…it…” I pant. I am not a natural athlete. I nearly flunked P.E. in elementary school. “Damn…you run…de-de-defensively. A serial killer…would…give up…trying to…flay…your punk ass.”

“Well shucks,” he says with a grin. He hardly sounds winded while I’m practically dying over here. “You have to be able to outrun and outmaneuver the five-o when you’re skating on private property. Cops around here are surprisingly fit.”

“So you do…skate…then,” I wheeze before dissolving into a coughing fit.

“Are you okay?”

I nod, still coughing. God, I think my asthma symptoms are coming back. Damn grass and wild air.

“I don’t think you are.”

“I’m fine,” I choke out.

“You sure?” he asks, sounding and looking quite worried.

“I’m sure,” I reply and take five deep breaths. I cough again and clear my now sore throat. “I’m really okay.” He doesn’t look convinced. “I’m just a little winded is all. I’m not too big on exercise.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking when I—”

I snatch my finger away from his lips and watch with wide eyes as his eyes darken, but not with anger. I remember his eyes looking like this before his orgasm. He shifts until his body is covering mine while we lay amongst the long blades of grass and blooming wildflowers.

“Roydon…”

He gently lays his forehead against mine. I shiver at the feel of his breath on my lips and sigh as the backs of his fingers tease cheek and lips while they trail across my face and down to my neck. My hands slide under his shirt and up his back. The muscles quiver beneath my hands as his eyes close and tongue comes out to wet his lips. Through heavy eyes, I watch him draw his bottom lip into his delicious mouth as my nails rake down his back.

Our moans meld when his body jerks and he grinds himself against me. I angle my head to capture his lips and ravage his mouth as he wraps my legs around his waist. He starts to rock slowly, his right hand slipping between us to caress me through the fabric of my pants. I push myself against him while my mouth opens for him to plunder and close my eyes to revel in the sensations stirring within.

“I want to make you come,” Roydon whispers after moving away from my lips to kiss my neck. “Will you let me?” I reach between us for the button and zipper on his jeans. “Do you want me inside of you?” I try to nod but can only moan as his fingers slide into me. “I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to make me come.” My breath hitches and my body arches up against him. “I want…oh God, Roydon…I need…”

“Tell me, Amber. Open your eyes and tell me.”

I open my eyes and find his, now more blue than violet, staring down at me. God he’s so beautiful.

“Tell me,” he insists silkily, nipping at the skin near my pulse. He adds another finger as he pushes them into me and draws them out slowly. “You want me to make you come. But what else, Curly? What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to come inside of me,” I say breathlessly and tremble as the first rolling hills of an orgasm reach me. “Please.”

He pulls his fingers out and I moan at the loss. He kisses me deeply, as if to make up for it, and tugs at my pants until we’re both fighting to get them to my ankles. I push his shirt up his torso and help him out of it attacking his chest with my lips.

I roll over on top of him and continue my journey down his abdomen. He lifts his hips when I pull at his jeans and boxers and jerk them down his legs before reaching out to touch him. His body bucks into my hand as I caress him. Covering my hand with his, he shows me how to touch him. It doesn’t take long to fall into his preferred rhythm and he takes his hand from mine, moving it under my shirt to play with my breasts.

Dizzying one another with lust, we torment each other with our hands and mouths for ages before we’re both quivering with desire and no longer able to ignore the intense need to join our bodies. He reaches for his pants and digs his wallet out of his pocket, pulling a condom from behind a family photo. I take off my shirt as he slides the condom on over himself and guide him down with me, over me.

Now would be the perfect time for me to stop him and for us to talk. This will only further complicate the issues between us. But as he slides into me my mind loses all rational thoughts, and all that matters is him and us as we are at this very moment—connected in the most potent, humanly way possible.

It’s beautiful.

…

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” I say sometime, perhaps an eternity, later. I’ve slowly regained coherent thought and speech even as my body is still sinfully warm from his and carnally craving him. Looking over at him, I curse as I realize I sound like I regret what just happened between us.

I don’t.

“Roydon, that’s not—” He sits up and looks out into the distance. “I don’t regret this. That’s not what I meant. I just…I asked you out here to talk about us, not to have earth-shattering sex with you in the middle of an old battleground.”

“It was good, wasn’t it,” he says with a small smile after a long while. He turns to me and brushes a gentle hand down my cheek. “Maybe one day I’ll actually get you into a bed. At least I protected you this time. No more scares for us.”

I stare at him. Something is wrong with him. “Roydon—”

“Maybe we should get dressed,” he continues. He reaches for his jeans.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Why should there be? I’m great,” he rambles as if he stops I’ll say something he doesn’t want to hear, something he won’t be able to ignore. “I have a ton of homework to do. What about you? The art assignment should be fun though and—”

I wrap my arms around his him, hugging his back, and lay my head on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean for this to happen because I need for us to be friends,” I tell him, tightening my hold when he tries to extract himself and move away. “We’re great at this and flirting and making out, but what else is there? I need for there to be more than just this. Do you understand? Before this, I need that.

“If we did this and became…whatever…and it didn’t work out because, when push came to shove, there was nothing more than physical attraction between us that would kill me. I don’t know how, but you’ve become very important to me in a short amount of time and I’m still trying to sort it all out.

“I promised myself I wasn’t going to get involved with anyone else ever again, but then you happened and it all went to hell. In a way I’m glad for that. But I need time to refocus myself and figure out what I’m capable of. The Jamison thing still hurts, and I know the two of you are nothing alike, but I can’t…I need you to understand that it’s not you. I—”

He turns in my slackened embrace and hugs me. “Okay. I get it.”

“Do you?” I ask and he nods. I’m not sure he does. “I need us to be friends.”

“All right.”

“I want to be your friend and have our odd little relationship again. I want you to sit behind me in homeroom and not leave me alone. I want to let you get to know me.”

“That’s fine, Curly.”

“No! Don’t—you can’t call me that, okay? If we’re going to just be friends you can’t call me that. I have to be Amber for now. And later if we do becoming something more…but now I’m Amber and you’re Roydon,” I insist, leaning back to see his eyes. I don’t understand what’s passing through them right now.

“You want to get to know me. That’s what you said ten days ago. Well, fine. I’ll let you get to know,” I carry on as he continues to watch me. “There’s not much to me. I’m just…well, I’m just Amber. I’m just me.”

He stops me when I try to pull away and turns my face towards his. “That’s okay,” he says calmly. He has a soft smile on his face. “I’m just me, too.”

I cover his hand on my cheek. “Thank you. I don’t deserve you as a friend.”

“I’m not entirely sure I agree with that,” he says and kisses my forehead. “Come on. Let’s get dressed and go home. You can help me with my math homework.”

“Joy,” I reply, reaching for my clothes.

We walk back my car in silence, but it’s not entirely uncomfortable. He throws an arm around my shoulder and bumps his body into mine. I nudge him back as the waning sun starts to give way to the falling night and for a moment let myself believe it will all work out. We have another chance to write a better story to than the one before, and I’m going to try my hardest not to screw this up.

A nagging feeling tugs at my heart, despite the elation of having a new beginning with Roydon, and I know in my soul that the worst hasn’t passed for us yet. I only hope we’re strong enough to weather it together.