Page 71 of Partnering with the Artist

“Yeah. I just fell out of bed. It’s fine. Talk to me. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I just need to leave Morana a note and get the keys.”

I stand. “You don’t have to do that. It’s—” I choke. “—so late. I would never ask that of you. I— I shouldn’t even have called. It’s just. My head. I’mscared.”

“Shh,” she murmurs. “Tell me what’s going on, and I’ll be there soon.”

What’s going on? “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“What are five things you can see?”

Five…things? My gaze darts around my room as a car door opens and shuts in my ear. An engine starts. She’s on her way.

She’s on her way.

I can see…her daybed. Where she sits while I draw her. Her picture. On my wall. Sketches of her. On my drawing tablet.

“Zakery?” she murmurs. “What do you see?”

“You,” I whisper. “Just…you.”

By the time she shows up, letting herself in and meeting me at my room, I’ve squished myself into the corner beside my bed, and I’m crying.

For a thousand reasons I cannot begin to explain, I amcrying.

Chapter 26

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Let’s make one thing clear. Zakery > Harry. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

Maelin

Heavy breaths flow through Zakery’s chest while he lies on his back in bed, arm surrendered to me. It’s been thirty minutes since I barely caught myself from face-planting at the top of the stairs and rushed down the hall to his room.

He has just stopped crying. He hasn’t made much headway where words are concerned, but he has stopped crying, and he let me coax him up into bed with me, so…that’s something.

His fingers clutch my right hand while I etch over the lines of ink on his arm with my left fingertips, painting the pictures again and again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

I still, for just a moment.

When I heard those words after my ringtone woke me, I was certain that was it. He was breaking up with me over the phone. He’d come to his senses.

Now I know better.

Even though he’s done nothing but let me exist as freely as I wish, when he needs help,hisfirst instinct is to apologize for existing.

Tilting my head, I rest against his shoulder and go back to tracing the space in his skin. So much pure black with scarce a star or two coming through.

“I’m so sorry.” His eyes close. A lone tear streaks down his cheek. “I don’t mean to be like this.”

Angling my face, I kiss the trail, lick salt off my lips, and whisper, “I like who you are, Zakery. You don’t need to apologize for any part.”

He squeezes my hand, turns toward me, pulls me into the cocoon of his body, tucking our joined hands up under his chin. “I’m scared I won’t be good enough for you. I’m scared to lose you. I don’t want your parents to decide whether or not I can keep you. How do I make myself good enough for them?”

Oh, Zakery… “I’d be very surprised if you’re not good enough for them.”

“How do I make sure?”

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