Page 45 of Hale
“Hey,” he murmurs. “I’ll still be here. As your brother. We just can’t…”
Touch. Kiss. Fuck.
“Okay.” It’s the answer he wants. The only answer I can give him apparently. But it is not okay. I’ve had a taste of him and I’m poisoned by the thought of more.
“We’ll still talk and share music,” he assures me. “But…” He sighs. “I’m going to try and make things right with Amy. It has to be this way.” His voice cracks and I want to reach through the phone to hug him. He deserves so much more than Amy. He deserves me.
“She’s going to be so happy,” I groan, jealousy already eating away at my heart.
He chuckles. “Yeah.”
“She’s going to cry.”
“That’s a given.”
We both grow quiet.
“Rylie?”
“Yeah, Huds?”
“In another life…I would want it.” He lets out a frustrated huff. “I would find a way to make it happen.”
Just notthislife.
A sniffle. “Night, Hudson.”
A sigh. “Night, heathen.”
I can’t breathe.
This sickness is slowly suffocating me.
Second by lonely second.
His voice on the phone isn’t enough.
For three days, I’ve spent my spring break curled up in my bed wearing a hoodie Hudson left as I sleep my woes away. In my bed—in the darkness—I’m free to imagine the other life. The life Hudson promised he’d find a way if there were one. In that life, we kiss and touch. In that life, we make love.
I’ve become obsessed with the idea of him and me.
Of his naked body pressed against mine, his hard cock rubbing between us. Our lips pressed together. Tongues tasting and tangling. His scent filling my lungs and never leaving.
I can’t cry anymore.
I did that for two days. Today, I’m numb. I miss him.
Hudson: How are you holding up today, heathen?
The screen blurs as tears well up in my eyes. Apparently I’m not all cried out. Knowing he hates the thumbs-up, I send him that emoji. I get the middle finger emoji back, which makes me laugh. The first laugh in days.
Me: I miss you.
He doesn’t reply and the tears silently leak from my eyes, wetting the pillowcase below. The nice thing about spring break is that my aunt and uncle are busy at work. I’m left alone to wallow in my despair. Nobody forces me to dress or shower or eat. I’m left alone.
Too alone.
I drift in and out of sleep, my dreams confusing me and teasing me.
