Page 14 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
She crashes into me and drops them.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I—” Helene cuts herself off when she sees that it’s me in front of her.
We stare at each other in silence, unmoving.
I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I know I should probably get as far away from here as possible. If I’m right—that falling in love with each other is what triggers the curse—then I still have a chance to save her.
Yet I stay, because I’m drawn to her like the tide to the moon’s pull, all of our history surging through me at once. And because we’re just standing here, I get to really look at Helene, better than when she caught me off guard at The Frosty Otter yesterday. Her butterscotch hair in messy waves around her shoulders. Eyes flecked with copper. The arc of her neck like the curve of a harp, yearning to be played. My fingers twitch.
And she likes to read…Not all Juliets are book lovers—they may be the same soul, but they’re never the same person—yet this one, Helene, does. I store that fact away, a fact I shouldn’t keep because I should be putting more space between us, not more yearning. But I can’t help it, because I want to know everything about Helene. I want to keep every scrap of Juliet I can. It’s a flaw that will hurt me later, but I can’t resist.
I have to stop looking at her.
I dive down for the books she dropped.
The Craft of Novel Writing,by A. Shinoda and S. Lee.
Wolf Hall,by Hilary Mantel.
And the very same Saramago book I came looking for.
I inhale sharply. What are the odds?
But then again, what are the odds for star-crossed lovers to keep meeting each other over and over, across centuries?
We defy probability, for better or for worse.
“Thanks,” Helene says, reaching for the books I’ve gathered as I rise from the floor.
But I don’t give them back. Instead, I hold the books against my chest, because she’d touched them only a moment ago. It’s a poor substitute to holding Helene herself, but it’s all I can allow myself.
She tilts her head at me quizzically. A second later, though, she smiles. “You know, I was hoping to run into you again. I, um, wanted to apologize for yesterday. And I swear, this right here”—she gestures to herself and me in the bookstore—“is pure coincidence. I promise I’m not stalking you.”
I swallow the dry patch in my throat. Her voice has the same cadence as all my past Juliets. And there’s a spark in Helene’s eyes, as if the entire sun has been captured inside them. It’s the same brightness that’s caught me so many times before.
Her soul tugs harder on mine.
Helene moves cautiously closer to me, like I’m a wild animal she doesn’t want to alarm. “Can we forget my crazy declarations at The Frosty Otter and start over?” she asks.
I take a deep breath. Clutch the books tighter. “I wish we could.” It comes out like a croak.
“Great!” She holds her hand out to shake mine. “Hi, I’m Helene, and I—”
“No.” I say, too curtly. Every word, every sentence between us, is a connection, and I need to stop them before they form.
Confusion flashes in her eyes, and I’m immediately remorseful, but I have to push on. “I mean, I wish we could start over, but we can’t. I don’t want to know you.”
“What? Why not?” Her entire body droops.
I hate that I’m causing her pain. I almost change my mind.
But I can’t give in to what I want. It’s better for Helene to live than to get involved with me and die. She’s already had a decade since I saw her at Pomona College. If I can keep her away from me again, hopefully she’ll be able to live for decades more.
So I just turn and walk away.
“Hey! Where are you going? Those are my books!”
I forgot I was clinging to them like a lifeline, but I can’t back down now. I have to get away from Helene. I want so badly what Adam and Dana have, but that part of my life isn’t mine to control. The curse has struck too many times. I won’t let it hurt Juliet again.
