Page 61 of Mayflower

She is one of the very few who has that much faith in me. Mac was the first one who made me feel like I wasn’t the worst example of what could grow out of a foster kid. Because of him, I learned appreciation and care. Maddy is that tenfold.

“I’ve wanted a lot of things in my life,” I say. “Gotten some of it. Most of it, actually. But I never needed anything. Not even a family. Until you.” My body is burning up again, purging itself with feelings. “I need you so I can feel sane, Maddy. So I can do something good, hope for a better future, make it better for others, Sonny and you most of all. Hope that I can do that. Hope that I won’t fail. For that, I need to feel like a worthy human. I need you, Maddy, just to be able to feel that.”

Finally, I love something more than I loved hating where I came from—her.

I pull her into me, and her soft kiss on my neck unravels my heart.

I close my eyes, feeling and feeling and feeling—the way her nose rubs agains my skin, the way she puckers her lips to press little kisses on my collar bone, the way she whispers, “I got you.”

And then my bravery is back, and I bring my face close to hers, our eyes only inches apart, and I say, “I love you. More than anything.”

A little smile lingers on her lips, and her whisper is capable of thawing a hundred icy hearts. “I know.”

A chuckle escapes me. God, she makes it so much easier to breathe in this suffocating world…

We gaze at each other in silence. She blinks slowly. She doesn’t say a word, but I can hear so many of them, all of it in her gaze. It’s a lovers’ language—feelings that seep from her into the air, penetrate my skin, flow into my heart. My heart feels bigger than my chest. I need a razor to cut it open and release the pressure inside.

Maddy.

Milena.

I used to meditate to her names, obsessing over them.

Mahala. She is a gift of love.

Mantra. I say her name like one, hoping she never disappears.

Meaning. She is the meaning of life.

Melting. At her touch. Under her gaze.

Miracle. I found her kind heart in the darkest times.

Mother… I don’t know the meaning of that word, but I want to have children with her one day. Unlike me, they’ll know what a mother is.

I lift my finger and stroke her underarm where her birth control implant is.

She chuckles through her nose, then freezes, her smile waning.

I want it out. But I can’t say it yet.

Life is short. Decisions are fast. This might be too quick. I might be in over my head. But I’ve never been so sure of anything. I want to live a lifetime with her.

I start from afar. Step by step, right?

“What do you say about moving here?” I ask.

“Rave,” she whispers with a momentary confusion in her eyes, but her lips start spreading in a smile.

“You know, I can keep an eye on you anywhere.” I got my phone back, but somehow, I don’t check on her whereabouts constantly, knowing that she won’t hide, won’t play games. In truth, we’ve been together every spare minute we get outside the Center and her work. “I think my heart will constantly go into emergency mode if I don’t have you close to me whenever I possibly can.”

She laughs. “Your heart, huh?”

“Yeah, that dirty little thing, covered in dust and mold. It got incredibly attached to you.”

She laughs even louder, her mouth open, just like she used to on videos. And the sight of it makes that dirty little thing in my chest pulsate with all sorts of feelings, because she looks happy, with me.

“Rave, your heart is a beautiful beast,” she says. “You just didn’t know it. Or didn’t have anyone to open it to.”

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