Page 74 of Unwanted

His gaze never leaves mine as his thumb traces the length of my cheekbone, offering me comfort I don’t feel I’ll ever deserve. “It wasn’t one single moment,” he says. “We always did drugs together, and the first time you did them without me kind of threw me off. But we were at a party so I didn’t think twice. And then little red flags just kept popping up.”

“You continued to do them without me and then the first time I saw you shoot up, I knew I’d lost you.”

The mention of my first time doing heroin conjures up the memory, as well as that euphoric feeling, almost immediately. My face heats in shame and I attempt, despite our closeness, to avert my gaze.

“Don’t,” Frankie warns.

The seriousness in his tone has me quickly flicking my eyes up at him. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t look away from me,” he says a little softer. “Not now. Not ever.”

“I’ll never…” My voice cracks and I try to regain a hold on my emotions. “I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you.”

Frankie gives his head a quick shake. “You hurt yourself more than you ever hurt me.”

I knew we could argue about this all day. When your self-worth was as low as mine had gotten, there was no reasoning to be had.

“One of the steps is to make amends with people you’ve wronged during your addiction,” I explain. “But after I found out you left, I could never manage to pick up the phone and call you.”

“I don’t need an apology.” He hooks a leg over my hip, bringing his body closer to mine. “At the time, I just wanted you to get through rehab. That was the only apology I would accept. But what you’ve done with your life in the last four years? What you’ve donefor yourself?” he punctuates. “It’s everything to me.”

He was too kind to me. Kindness I didn’t deserve and kindness I didn’t think I’d earned, but I kissed him in gratitude anyway.

“Tell me more,” he murmurs against my lips. “What happened after rehab?”

I don’t miss that Frankie’s body is flush against mine, getting closer and closer with every word that passes between us.

Closing my eyes, I remind myself he wants to know everything. When I feel his hand move from my face to cover my own hand, I open them.

“I know you don’t want to tell me how you felt after I left.” Regret fills his eyes, and I don’t know if it’s for asking or for leaving. “But I want to know.”

A humorless laugh leaves my mouth. “You’re a masochist.”

“And you’re avoiding the question.”

My hand moves of its own volition, tracing all the lines on his face. His laugh lines, his frown lines, his worry lines.

His jaw, his lips.

He was beautiful.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you about the first time I realized I was in love with you.”

“Arlo.” My name is a soft, breathy scold, but I hear it all the same. His eyes soften and the edge of his lips twitch. “Tell me.”

“Remy’s mom was coming out of jail and he told you he wanted to go see her. He wanted to ask her if he could live with her now that she was out.”

Frankie interrupts me. “She was never going to say yes.”

“Shh,” I chide. “This is my story. Now, he was, what, ten at the time?” He nods. “You knew she didn’t really want him, and instead of convincing him not to go or telling him she would only let him down, you took him to see her and quietly sat with him while he wore his heart on his sleeve and asked his mom to love him and she said no. And then you spent every day after that trying to heal that little boy’s broken heart.”

“It didn’t work,” he says sadly. “I don’t think he ever recovered. He retreated more and more into himself every year after.”

“My point is,” I continue. “You’ve done that for every one of us. Time and time again you’ve broken your own heart to try and heal our heartache. It’s incredibly hard not to fall in love with someone who would sacrifice his whole world to save someone else’s.”

I somehow manage to bring our bodies closer, tightening my hold on him, loving the way my heart is beating against his. My fingers continue to trace his face as unshed tears fill my eyes.

“It seems so obvious to put the people you love before yourself and your needs, but I didn’t do that,” I admit. “Hindsight shows I didn’t even want to do that. I put those drugs before you time and time again. I was happy to die for them. You asked me to stop and I didn’t. You asked me to get help. You took me…” My voice trails off, my breath becoming harder to catch. “You took me to get help, and do you know what the last thing I said to you was?”

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