Page 69 of Take What You Want

It’s always good for a while. It’s fun. Distracting. Different from the hollow caverns in my chest that I continue to push the limits to find ways to fill.

But then those eventually lose their spark.

And it’s never their fault. The women are all beautiful. Smart. Kinder than they should be to me and more forgiving than I deserve.

When I laid on the floor of those gymnasium bleachers, crouching over the top of my mom while screaming, and bullets and chaos erupted, I thought that was the end.

I thought that was going to be the end for me.

And as I felt my mom’s body shake beneath mine with panic and my own trembled in terror, I saw her.

I saw the way she looked at me like I was her entire world. And in the reflection of her eyes, I saw that I was always looking back at her the same way.

And it’s why she felt safe to tell me those words that night. Because she was so sure that I was going to say them back. That I felt the same way.

As I laid there, paralyzed by fear, she was my one regret in life.

And I vowed that I would never leave words unsaid because I was stupid. Or scared.

But she seemed happy, and I wouldn’t ruin that for her.

So instead, I tried to move on. And I did. Each time it was exciting, and the moment I felt any sort of feelings toward them, I needed to say it. Needed to speak it into the universe so I didn’t think back to how I felt that day and add another regret.

But every time I told one of them I loved them, it tasted wrong. My heart always knew what my head didn’t want to come to terms with. That I’d fucked up.

So I’m left, going through the motions, trying to find something to fill the void, while I think about her.

I don’t know what kind of perfume she wears anymore. Is it still the soft floral one she used to always have a travel-sized vial in her purse?

I don’t know her favorite restaurant anymore. Does she still keep a running list of her favorite spinach and artichoke dips at various places she visits?

I don’t know what book she’s reading or what show she’s been watching. Does she texthimall her reactions to them like she used to with me?

Does she sendhimplaylists of her favorite songs and wait to hear whathehas to say about them?

Even her laugh is starting to fade from my memory. It used to be my favorite sound.

Probably still is. If I could just hear it one more time.

But now, all I remember is the sound of her quiet sobs as she trekked across the grass that fateful night.

Saying those words to someone else wasn’t going to fill the void of not being able to say them to the one I really wanted to left inside.

It just took me longer than it should to realize that.

17

JANE

Istare at Nikolai as he says things that I always dreamed of hearing from him, but never did. Instead, I fortified my walls, built myself up from the pieces he left me in, and came to terms that I never would hear those things from him.

But here we are.

So many confusing emotions swirl in my heart and head that it makes me lightheaded, and I lean against a table for support.

“Why didn’t you come find me after that day?” If that was truly his biggest regret when he saw his life flash before him, why has it taken him almost three years to tell me that?

He sighs heavily, raking his hands through that stupidly gorgeous hair of his. “Because I thought you were happy with someone else.”Liam. “And I would never blow that up for you just because I finally got my head out of my ass.”

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