Page 57 of Every Broken Thing

“You can, you know, talk about it. With me. If you… if you want,” he stammered, uncharacteristically unsure. “Sometimes, it helps to talk about stuff, and if you want to, I’m—like, you could talk to me.”

I didn’t want to talk about it ever, but the offer warmed my chest, chasing away the chill of that bathroom. Instead of replying with words, I stepped forward and threw my arms around his neck. He inhaled sharply, his arms frozen at his sides like I’d caught him by surprise. Seeing as I’d never really initiated contact between us, I probably had.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his arms wrapped around my waist, and as his hands pressed into my back, we both sighed. There was a lot left unsaid between us, but sometimes, words weren’t necessary. Ben had taught me that. And as I played with the endsof the hair curling around the base of his neck, the spark I’d been trying to smother burst into full flame, setting my heart alight.

Did he feel this too? Would it even matter?

Hope was a dangerous thing, but for the first time, I didn’t fight it. And in that corner of a Macy’s handbag section, I let Ben hold me as his hesitant touch made promises I feared he wouldn’t be able to keep.

17

Soft, Gooey Center

We left the mallaround four in the morning, and I nearly fell asleep on the drive home. I roused when Ben pulled into his driveway, parking beside Ronnie’s rusty Plymouth Neon. I thought he was going to take me to my house, but I was too tired to complain as we all crawled out of the car and headed inside.

I stopped in Ben’s bathroom to pee before taking refuge in his bed. Except I couldn’t, because Ben, Esther, and Ronnie were already hogging the damn thing.

“Hey!” I barked, snagging the pillow from underneath Ronnie’s head and smacking him with it. “Move! I wanna sleep too.”

“There’s room,” Ronnie groaned, flipping me the bird, and I hit him with the pillow again. “Dude!” His head shot up, and he glared, his face more boyish without his glasses. “Just get your ass in the bed.”

“I’m not having a threesome with you two,” I said, even as I obeyed, purposefully digging my elbows and knees into Ronnie’s back as I crawled over him.

Esther was already snoring, her sweater-dress riding up her thighs. Ben was crowded up against the wall, leaving the tiniest spot for me to fit between him and Esther. My heart pounded in my ears as I wriggled into the space, forcing myself to face Esther and not Ben. Lying this close to him was already a test of my self-control, and I didn’t want to tempt Fate.

With a sigh, that couldn’t have been disappointment—because it justcouldn’t—Ben curled up at my back, his hands pressing into my spine. His every exhale ghosted over the back of my neck, and if I wasn’t already half-unconscious, I probably could have popped wood from the shiver-inducing sensation.

As it was, I closed my eyes and surrendered to sleep.

Hours later, I woke with Esther’s hair clogging my nose and one of Ben’s arms wrapped around my middle. He was breathing heavily into my shoulder, and Esther was snuggled into my chest. Ronnie lay star-fished across the rest of the mattress, taking up more of the bed then Ben, Esther, and I combined. The body heat was borderline uncomfortable, but I didn’t want to wake either of them by moving.

Esther shifted, her leg slipping between mine, and I stiffened when something hard pressed against my thigh. Since it was morning, I was hard too, so I wasn’t gonna judge. But I had a feeling Esther might feel differently.

Lying in a hot, awkward pile, I tried to ignore her hard-on and go back to sleep. But then she moved again, and I felt her body slowly stiffen as she woke up. She lifted her head and peeked up at me, the light from the bathroom painting her face in shadow. Our eyes met, and she swallowed thickly, scooting back an inch.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“No biggie,” I said.

She made a face, and I captured her chin gently to stop her from looking away. Her eyes glittered in the dim lighting, and for a moment, she looked like she might cry.

“It’s cool,” I insisted, and she swallowed heavily.

“You knew,” she said, and it wasn’t a question. “When we first met, you clocked me, didn’t you?”

I wasn’t sure how I could answer that without possibly hurting her feelings. Not everyone cared about passing, but it was important for some people. And whether I’d clocked her or not, it wasn’t my place to make assumptions about her identity.

I finally settled on, “I didn’t want to assume anything.”

A harsh breath puffed from her nose. “I know I don’t pass.”

Brushing a chunk of purple hair from her forehead, I asked, “Does that matter to you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sorry.”

She shrugged. “That’s life, I guess.”

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