“I—I miss her all the time though,” she continued. “I just…I don’t think it did me good, being so sad. You know, openly. But it’s different in your case.” She took the bottle from me and drank.

“Why?”

“Rose had time, which means we all did. My mom, my dad, my sisters, and I all got to say goodbye. To hear her say it. I lost my best friend, but she wasn’t really living—not the way she should’ve been, at least. So I can’t be too sad, otherwise it would be selfish.”

“I—”

“It’s not the same with you, which is why I think you’re so awesome.”

I snorted. “Awesome?”

“You’re sweet,” she said. “After everything, you’re still sweet. That, coupled with the fact that you manage to get up every morning is, to me, pretty fucking awesome.”

“I don’t think it’s an achievement.”

“Oh, but it is,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “Do you mind if I ask you a real one?”

I shook my head.

“Why are you so scared of him?”

I tried reaching for the bottle, but she didn’t let me have it. Instead, she held it close to her chest and smiled kindly.

“I can’t turn it off, Blake,” I said. “I’m not— This is not going away in a month or two. I hope it does, one day; don’t get me wrong. But I also know it’s not going to disappear just like that.” I snapped my fingers. “My future is one of episodes and therapy sessions and pills and… sadness. Why would I put that on him? I won’t ask that of him.”

“But you want to?” she asked.

Or maybe it was a statement; I wasn’t quite sure. Either way, I answered her. “So fucking badly.”

“What if he wants all that though?” She handed me the bottle.

I looked at her for the longest time before trying to smile. “Who would want that?”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Heartbeats

After I walked Blake to her apartment, I took my time going back home. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep that night. In part because my sleep deprivation was pretty consistent at that point and, as much as I enjoyed the silence, it had been getting harder and harder to spend countless nights awake in a house that felt very little like a home anymore. It could sometimes get too loud, all the silence. Also, I wasn’t exactly sober, nor was I drunk enough to successfully stop my brain from replaying Lucy Bell’s hand touching him like that. It was stupid and it was childish, but as I walked the streets that night, all I could think of was how much I fucking hated Lucy Bell.