Page 67 of Rewriting the Story

I stop in my tracks, my hand resting on the doorknob. “I love you with every molecule of myself I’m capable of.”

As I look back at him, I find his entire body stopped dead in his tracks. He knows what I said. He knows I didn't say it in the past tense, but I leave before he asks me about it, feeling too overwhelmed.

I get back to my room, the tears still flowing, because everything he said about me is right. I’m a coward. I’m cruel. I was an idiot to think that, in the future, Henry and I could be some sort of civil, even friends. Because after what I did, how could we get back to even a semblance of how we were before? I ruined any shred of that when I stood in front of him and lied right to his face.

23

Then — Spring Semester in College

All I Know by asiris

“Here,”IsaytoHenry as I hand him one of my Bluetooth headphones.

Every week, Henry and I go grocery shopping together. We don’t live together, but we both grab food for our places since we’re over at one another's apartments more than we’re apart.

It’s been a weird adjustment, Henry being my boyfriend. I never thought someone would willingly be around me this much. Besides my friends, I figured a relationship like this was never going to find me justbecause of how I am.

Brash. Cold. Unnerving to most people. I run from my feelings more than I run toward anything, but Henry was the biggest surprise. I’m still not sure I deserve him, or if I ever will, but for now, I’m going to enjoy his company before he realizes I’m not the one for him.

Because I do. I enjoy being in his orbit. What used to be shopping alone every week with my headphones in so nobody would talk to me has turned into Henry and I sharing headphones and shopping together.

Each week, we trade who plays music. This week, it’s my turn, and I have a perfectly tailored playlist for tonight. I spent all day yesterday combing through my catalog to find the perfect mix.

Now, on this cold, rainy Sunday night, Henry and I are going to shop and listen to the same songs together. We always come late on the weekends, when it’s less crowded and calmer than having to maneuver around carts and annoyed people yelling at workers.

“Are you ready?”

I roll my eyes as I laugh. “Why are you making this sound like some sort of race?”

“You know what I mean, Mills. Are you going to press play?” He gets out of my car and shuffles around to my side, umbrella in hand as he opens my door for me.

A year ago, I would have gagged and thought love was gross.

Now, I love sharing an umbrella with someone, him holding it for me as I carry our tote bags and make sure the playlist plays in the correct order. As I grab a cart and he shakes out the umbrella, he meets my eyes and smiles at me.

I feel like the luckiest girl in the world, having that pointed at me and not someone else.

“Let’s go, Hen,” I say as he sets the umbrella in the cart and takes over steering it. I have the list on my phone for both of us, and most of our trips go the same way.

He steers the cart and practically follows me around the store. I grab everything off our list and place it in the cart, and neither of us says a word.

It’s perfect. It’s my idea of quality time. Just being able to exist in his presence is enough. Still, I do love it when he opens his mouth to talk about something he loves or to tell me about his day.

It’s weird. In a way, I’m still in the adjustment period. For once, I don’t want to run. My entire life, I’ve run from every emotion, every attachment formed with family or people who wanted to be my friend, only to give up when they realized how strange I am, how cold I am.

But with him, it’s different. College has been so different than I imagined it ever would be. Not only has Grand Mountain brought me the girls, but it’s brought me to him. Henry Hayes, lover of words and nerd stuff, who tilts his head when he gets nervous.

For once in my life, I have a lot to lose, and it’s terrifying to think about that. I know now more than ever that I don’t want to lose what I have around me. I can’t. If I do, I don’t know who I’ll become, and as soft, slow music flows through my ear, I feel it for the first time.

Love. I’m in love with Henry. Ilovehim.

My first instinct is to shove the feeling down, but I block it out. I let it settle in my mind, my heart, my bones. Right in the middle of the fucking fruit section, I feel content. I feel this is the exact place I’m supposed to be at this point in my life, and no matter what shit comes my way, I couldn't care less about it.

Because I have him, and for some reason, in every way that matters, I want to run to him instead of away.

Henry Hayes, this sweet, kind man in front of me, who doesn't mind my dry humor. He doesn't care about my resting bitch face and how unapproachable I always look. He shares music with me, and umbrellas, and he lets me read what he’s written sometimes, and I love him, but he doesn't know that yet.

I simply say nothing as he taps my leg with the cart, probably wondering why I’ve been staring at the pomegranates for so long, but he doesn't break our no talking rule.

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