Page 98 of Felix

“Exactly,” he replies, eyes bright behind his glasses. “The truth is we do this all the time. We can’t ever trust our own brains to be unbiased because literally everything we see, hear, smell, think is based on our own perceptions of the world and the way we filter data. Two people can look at the same exact painting and see entirely different things. Someone might see beauty. Someone might see pain. Neither are wrong. But no two people will ever look at the world the same way because our worldview is crafted entirely inside our own heads, not outside of it. Imagine what we could learn if we simply asked each other questions instead of assuming our reality was the only one?”

Ho-ly shit.

My heart hammers as I look at my boyfriend. At his soft smile and brightly lit eyes. He’s stunning.

“That’s a beautiful way to look at the world, Specs.”

He grins at me, cheeks flushed, before turning back to his dad. The man is now in a conversation with Eloise, no longer paying attention to Emil. It’s small, the flicker in Emil’s smile as he faces his plate again, but it’s there. A crack. The tiniest break in his armor.

It feels like my own chest is splitting in two.

I grab Emil’s hand, tugging it close and kissing the smooth skin. “Would you tell me more about that later?” I ask.

He nods, and, after a moment, I let his hand go.

We finish our meal with his family and stay for a while after that. Without being asked, his mom packs us a to-go bag to take to my grandma, including a piece of pecan pie. I thank her, touched by the gesture.

Rebecca hugs Emil fiercely before we go, and Henry gives him an up-nod that Emil chuckles at. He ruffles Henry’s hair, deftly avoiding the swipe Henry takes at him. Rebecca gives me a hug, too, and tells me to watch out for her brother. I decide I like her and Henry the best.

When we get to the car, Emil turns the ignition without a word. I sense his need for silence, so I stay quiet, my hand resting on his thigh during the drive. Once Emil parks behind his building, he doesn’t make a single move to get out of the vehicle. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white.

“I didn’t need to go into psychology to understand why I am the way I am,” he says. “Why I crave attention.”

I swear that crack in my chest splits wider, a fissure of aching pain. It’s confusion as to why his family seems so easily capable of ignoring Emil. Anger that they’re not there for him the way they should be. Family isn’t always perfect; I know that. But I wish, for Emil’s sake, his were better.

I lift my hand to his face, tracing first the eyebrow nearest me and then cupping the back of his head. “Emil,” I say gently, waiting for him to meet my eye. “I see you.”

There’s an intake of breath, a shuddering exhalation. And then there, in his car, Emil cries.

Fuck, does he cry.

Chapter 25

Emil

I’m groggy as consciousness greets me, everything muted and blurry around the edges. My eyes feel dry, and I have no doubt they’re still red from the crying I did last night.

Slowly, I turn my head, unable to see Christian clearly without my glasses but picking up on the slow rise and fall of his chest in the morning light. I ease away, my need to use the bathroom overriding my desire to stay in bed with my boyfriend. I make sure to grab my glasses before walking out the door.

After relieving myself, I wash my hands, clean my face, and then stare into the mirror for a good minute. I’ve always considered my looks to be average. And that’s never bothered me. I’m fine being average. It’s made it easier to blend in.

But now, I’m starting to wonder if I’d only convinced myself I was happy disappearing into a crowd. Expecting otherwise—expecting to be seen—would have meant setting myself up for failure.

My parents don’t listen to me. They ask questions. They say we’ll catch up. But they don’t hear me. They don’t try. Julian and Eloise aren’t much better.

It’s easy to say it’s my own fault. I don’t speak up enough. I don’t tell them it hurts. But for the longest time, I was just a child. I was a child who fell through the cracks, who learned how to shift sideways so it chafed less. They should have noticed. Why don’t they notice?

Christian sees me. Would it be so hard for them to try to see me, too?

I brush my teeth angrily, my motions stiff and jerky. I spit angrily, too. I wish I had an appointment with my therapist today because fuck do I want to rant and rave. But maybe I have something better.

Christian is still sleeping when I get back to the bedroom. I climb onto the mattress slowly, not sure whether or not I intend to wake him. But he stirs, deciding the matter for me. His eyes blink open, and a slow smile spreads across his face as I crawl over top of him, settling my weight on his body like a blanket. His arms come around me.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” I answer, brushing his hair back. The strands fall like silk between my fingers, and I repeat the motion, letting his hair cascade to the side again and again. “When do you want to go see your grandma?”

“I told her we’d be there around lunchtime. What time is it now?”

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