Page 57 of My First Time Fling

“Have you ever actually hurt anybody, during any of your attacks or nightmares or anything?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean—”

“That doesn’t mean you couldn’t hypothetically, possibly, maybe do something like that once, in one tiny universe out of all the billions of possible universes out there, no, you’re right. But doesn’t it suggest to you that it’s not verylikelyto happen, if it’s never happened in the past?”

“Then why the hell can’t I stop imagining it, if it’s not something I’m actually going to do? Why the hell can’t I get it out of my head?”

“Because you care about him,” Gabe said. “Because the more you care about someone, the more you want to keep them safe. That doesn’t mean you’re doomed to hurt Jesse. It just means you care.”

“But what if I do hurt him?”

“Then you deal with it then.” Gabe shook his head. “If you want to get philosophical about it, you’re almost bound to hurt him at some point or other. Not physically, but emotionally. And he’ll hurt you too. But that’s love, you know? Hell, that’s life. Sometimes you hurt people when you don’t mean to. But what makes love work is that you apologize and you work through it and you grow stronger because of it.”

“Or you destroy yourselves completely.”

“Only if you don’t try to put things back together again. Here, look.”

Gabe stuck his arm out, twisting it so I could see the underside of the cuff of his sweatshirt—a sweatshirt I couldn’t believe he was wearing, seeing as how it was July in southern Georgia, but I supposed that was beside the point. The cuff looked like it had been darned by a seven-year-old on acid.

“I’ve had this sweatshirt since high school and I used to pick at the seam here on my wrist, until one day, it finally wore through. My mom sewed it up and handed the sweatshirt back to me. Two months later, I’d picked through that stitching too, and the hole was back. She sewed it up again and told me to stop doing that, but of course, I didn’t listen, and within a week I’d ripped through that.”

“Your mom must have been pissed.”

“She was. And when I brought it back to her that time, she made me fix it myself, by hand. And I didn't know what the fuck I was doing, but I went back and forth across the seam like a zillion times to make sure I didn't tear it out. And yeah, it doesn’t look as pretty. But it sure as hell isn’t going to rip apart again.” He stared at me expectantly.

“I’m sorry,” I said, making a face. “I think I lost the point of that anecdote.”

“What I’m saying is that, yeah, you’re going to fuck things up sometimes. But you just sew it back together until you mend the tear. Until you’ve made the seam stronger than it was before. It might be messy. But it works. And then you just keep the thread handy for the next rip that comes along.”

“But what if I do something that can’t be fixed? I could—I mean, I might—” I swallowed hard. “I’m just scared of what could happen.”

“Well, duh, dude. Look, I’m not trying to make light of it, but so's everyone. We’re all just out here living, fucking terrified and trying to pretend we’re not. We wake up every day and maybe nothing happens, or maybe we get hit by a bus.”

“This is supposed to be encouraging?”

“I’m just saying, sure, you can decide you’re not ready for this. That’s totally legit. And who knows, maybe someday you’ll become this perfect person with no flaws and you’ll be one hundred percent ready for a relationship. But then again, that might never happen. What you do know is that right now, you have someone who cares about you. The you who you are right now.”

"I hurt him,” I whispered. I dragged a hand across my face. “How could I even ask him to forgive me after everything I said?”

“You just ask him. You say you’re sorry, and you tell him what you told me. And then you just ask him. It’s that simple.”

“But I—”

“He texted you, man. He said he was there if you ever wanted to talk. Text him back. Or better yet, go talk to him in person. I feel like a lot of this could probably be cleared up if you just saw him again, don’t you think?”

I stared at Gabe. Turned over what he’d said in my mind. Stared at him some more. And somehow, half an hour later, we were in the car, headed across town.

We drove to Jesse’s house first, but his roommates said he wasn’t there. I couldn’t imagine that he was at work, the night before the marathon, but I wasn’t sure where else to check, so I directed Gabe to the Flamingo. For all I knew, Jesse wasn’t even running the marathon anymore, but I had to at least try.

Gabe was still driving slowly down the street, looking for a place to park, when I saw him: Jesse, standing on the street talking to someone.

“Stop!” I croaked, my voice tight with emotion. “Stop, stop, I see him.”

“Where?” Gabe’s head whipped around. “Where is he?”

I couldn’t answer. My eyes were glued to Jesse and the person he was talking to. Jesse was lit up by the glow of a street lamp, but the other person was dark and shadowy—until they stepped forward into the light.

It was Tanner.

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