Page 38 of Solitude

Another pause.

Then he releases me.

I sail forward and extend my legs. My eyes close of their own accord, head tilting back, and I inhale deeply. I can’t focus on anything besides the breeze ruffling my hair, skimming over my skin, and under my clothes.

This is as close as I imagine I’ll get to flying.

It’s only when his hands close around the chains again, jerking me to a halt with my back against his chest once more, that I open my eyes and turn my face toward his. He’s right there. So close we’re breathing the same air. So close I could count his eyelashes that seem so unfair of him to have.

“Winnie?” His voice is so soft and raspy. Like if he’s too loud, he’ll shatter the moment.

My voice cracks as I finally speak, and it’s not the sultry, desirable rambling I expected to fall out. No, it’s sad and depressing. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Beck doesn’t bat an eye, though. His eyes flit around my face again, brows pulling down in confusion. Our gazes lock once more, and he asks, “Right now? Or in general?”

“Both.”

“Who says you need to know what you’re doing? Half the time I’m just winging it, Winnie. Right now and in general.”

“You have goals, though.” I swallow, turning my headaway, and Beck releases me. The swing travels back and forth twice before he stops it again. This time I don’t turn my face. “I don’t know what mypurposeis, Beck.”

He sighs. “You equate purpose with achievable goals, Winnie. Sometimes our purpose is simply existing and being happy.”

Warm fingers tuck underneath my chin, and I don’t fight him as he turns my face towards his own. He’s staring at me like he really wants me to understand what he’s saying.

“If you aren’t happy, what’s the point?”

“Are you happy, Beck?”

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, mulling over his answer carefully. I almost think he might ignore the question, but then he leans in closer to me and trails the tip of his nose over the shell of my ear, inhaling softly.

As he backs away, he simply says, “Yes.”

He doesn’t stop me this time.

Sometime later, when we’re walking back home and the back of his hand is brushing against mine, I finally find the courage to confess the one thing I’ve been too cowardly to truly acknowledge.

“I was rejected from every college I applied for.”

The truth falls out of me, and Beck stops walking, his body turning to give me his full attention.

“What?”

I inhale and exhale slowly. When I look up, his face is carefully blank, and I’m grateful for it. “Every college Iapplied for? Well, the four ivy league schools my parents wanted me to apply for… I was rejected.”

Beck’s brow furrows, and he scratches his eyebrow. “You only applied to those four schools?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “My parents want me to go to an ivy league school.”

Beck runs a hand through his hair and blows out a frustrated breath. “Yeah, but what do you want, Winnie?”

What doIwant?

“I don’t know.”

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