Page 10 of Leave Before I Love You
She nods into my chest, and I pull her closer, smelling the remnants of her perfume or shampoo or something that still clings to her hair. It smells like roses.
“Come on. Let’s go to bed. Get some rest. Everything will feel better in the morning after we’ve had a chance to recharge and reset.”
“I don’t know if I can sleep out here in the open like this.”
“I built us a shelter.”
“You did?” she asks, her voice going up in unconcealed shock. Obviously, the silent time she spent by the fire while I was working was spent largely disassociating entirely.
“Yeah. Come on.”
Slowly and carefully, I help her to her feet, dusting the sand off myself and offering a hand for her to lead the way. She grabs her sweater from its spot beside the fire and shakes it out before slipping it on, and she then walks woodenly toward the palm tent I made. I follow behind, rubbing at my arms to ward off the growing chill since my clothes are still a little damp, and wait for her to climb inside before doing the same.
It’s a tight space, but that’s a boon as our body heat fills itquickly. We lie down on our backs, our eyes pointed to the fronds above us, and bask in silence. There’s the soft lull of the waves lapping at the beach and a keening cry from some kind of bird, but other than that, I can’t hear anything—not even Avery’s breath.
I chance a look toward her, finding silent tears cascading down her cheeks in rapid repetition. My chest squeezes at the sight of the most confident girl in the world at her literal rock bottom. “Hey. It’s okay, Ave.”
She nods, but the movement is jerky as she fights herself to find her bravado. “I know. I… Thank you for making this. My mind just won’t stop racing.”
I hum thoughtfully. “Do you think it would help to cuddle?” I ask, adding, “Respectfully, of course.”
Surprisingly, she doesn’t even pause for a beat before scooting to my space, burrowing her body into mine just like it was by the fire a few minutes ago. I stroke the strands of her hair, both for her and for me.
For some reason, it reminds me of the way I used to play with my mom’s hair as a little boy, and it’s soothing—which is fucked up for a whole reason of its own, but not for worrying about right now.
Born of the same memory, the song my mom used to sing to put me to sleep falls from my lips with ease. “Hush now, little bird with special wings. Rest your head and your mind, for now it’s time. Close your eyes, and hush now, little bird with special wings.”
Avery’s body feels heavier now, much like my own, and before I know it, I drift off to sleep, just as my mother’s song intended.
And isn’t irony a bitch? This song, right here, on a beach in the middle of nowhere, is the most comfort my mom’s given me in twenty fucking years.
Fuck it. Whatever works, right?
January 2nd
Avery
My limbs ache with stiffness, and my skin feels stretched tight as I pry my eyes open into the blinding assault of sunlight. A single beam cuts through the small gap in the makeshift tent Henry made us, but somehow, it’s aimed with sniper-like precision directly at my face. Wincing, I carefully shift, trying to slip free from the weight of Henry’s arm without waking him.
My body feels sore and abused, and I haven’t felt this dirty since the Kappa Kappa farewell party at the University of Miami right before Juniper and I graduated. There was foam and neon and a sordid amount of alcohol, and if I stretch my memory to the brink of its boundaries, I can almost remember attending it.
And while the feeling of this morning is similar, the experience is…remarkably less fun.
I thought waking up would come with a haze of confusion—that I’d blink at my surroundings, question how I got here, or wonder why Henry was letting me cling to him like some desperate, heat-seeking vine. But no. Instead, I’m painfully, almost comically aware.
Henry and I are stranded and alone on an indiscriminate island in the middle of seemingly infinite blue waters after self-ejectingfrom a plane destined for the bottom of them. His phone is MIA, my phone may as well be a potato for all the good it does, and there are no signs of life in sight. Not to mention, I spent last night sleeping on the fucking ground. The only reason I got any rest at all was because of Henry’s big, muscular frame cuddling mine, and his deep, raspy voice serenading me away from our terrifying reality until the sweet, numb silence of sleep consumed me.
Whether it’s because of the missing comfort of my sleep mask, the scratchy press of leaves beneath me, or the unfamiliar scent of man—something I never,everlet invade my bed at home—I can’t say. But if I’m anything this morning, it’s shockingly, almost painfully clearheaded.
And I’m also criminally lacking in caffeine. There’s not much strife in my regular life, but when there is, I handle it with coffee. And this situationmost definitelydeserves coffee.
Carefully climbing over Henry’s lax body and out into the sand, I stand and stretch my arms to the sky, looking out at the beauty of the water and white sand in front of me. It’s picturesque and serene and so at war with how I feel about it, I should be carrying a rifle or something.
Taking a deep sigh, I pull my poor, destroyed Ravella sweater off my body and walk toward the water, wading in to my knees and scooping up palmfuls to rinse my body. I know it’ll leave me feeling crusty later because of the salt, but for right now, it feels both invigorating and refreshing. I brush the water down my arms and scoop it up to rub it over my face, removing any and all remaining makeup from yesterday until my hands look clean.
Raccoon eyes and runny mascara aren’t a good look for anyone—even in these hellish conditions.
I consider dunking my hair but, for now, decide not to. I’m afraid it’ll only make it rattier, and the gel I used to make sure my slicked-back ponytail was crispy yesterday is bound to get even cakier without my Iles Formula clarifying shampoo and conditioner.
