Page 46 of Your Echo
“I have something to say.”
His chest heaves. A glass smashes behind the apartment wall. A few people scream. I don’t move.
“I want you in my life. I don’t care how. I don’t care if I only see you once a week for an hour in Parc Lafontaine. I don’t care if you can only give me a drop of yourself when I amdyingto have your whole storm. I’ll leave now if you want me to and you won’t ever have to see me again, butplease, Stéphanie, please tell me I can have something. Anything. I don’t want to give this up.”
Something is breaking inside me. Whatever is splitting apart at the core of me should not be ripping itself to pieces like this.
I bury my face in my hands.
“What is happening to me? What the fuck is happening?”
“Stéphanie...”
He’s closer now. I stare through my fingers at the carpet on the floor.
“Nothing has made sense since I met you.Nothing. I had it all worked out. I had it under control.J’ai travaillé pour—”
I stumble over the French words spilling out of my mouth and realize that I’m crying. Hot tears seep into the creases of my palms. I continue speaking anyway.
“And then you came along, and suddenly it just all seemed so fragile, so ready to explode, and I just felt so stupid because I realized all along I was just pretending. It’s still there, inside me. All the anger. All the rage. All those bad,baddecisions.Sacrement!” I let out a sob. “I sound like a crazy person. You must be thinking I’m crazy.”
Two firm hands wrap themselves around mine. I expect him to pry them away from my face, but he just holds them there. I can see the tips of his shoes just a few inches from mine.
“Stéphanie, breathe. Just breathe.”
So I do what I’ve toldhimto do countless times. I breathe. What feels like several minutes pass before I’m ready to talk again.
“You...You stir things up, Ace.” My voice is thick and trembling. “You’re the kind of person who sets fire wherever they go.”
His fingers grip mine even harder. “And you’re—what? Afraid I’m going to burn you up?”
I pull our hands away from my cheeks just enough that I can tilt my chin up to look at him. “I’m afraid you’re going to ignite me.”
Right now, he looks like he could do it so easily. He could trail fire across my skin with his fingertips until I burned for him like gasoline kissed by a match.
He doesn’t, though. When he pulls me close and wraps his arms around me, there’s only tenderness in his touch. I collapse into him like I’m nothing more than a doll.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says quietly, as my face rubs against his t-shirt. “This party is bullshit. Let’s just go somewhere.”
I nod, and we break apart. I don’t know whose hand reaches for whose first, but by the time we get into the elevator, his calloused palm is gripping mine.
“Your hands are rough,” I tell him, suddenly feeling the need to fill the silence.
“Blame the guitar.”
I tell him that I should probably text my friend before pulling my phone out, typing out a message to Jacinthe with one hand while the other stays wrapped in Ace’s. I tell her I’m fine and I’m safe, but that I decided to leave the party. I’m sure now that she’s made her entrance she’ll be okay on her own.
When we get out to ground level, Ace and I just start moving without stopping to decide where we’re headed. I feel like we’re poised on the edge of something, like the street we’re walking on is a scale that could tip either way.
We head up Rue Peel, walking past rows of empty office buildings and into the heart of downtown. When we get to Place Bonaventure, Ace steers us toward the entrance to the metro station.
“I’m not making you walk any farther in those heels,” he explains. “By the way, you look very pretty.”
He says the word ‘pretty’ like it’s part of a foreign language, a strange sound he can’t quite figure out how to pronounce. The compliment is so unlike anything I’d expect from him that I laugh.
He grins. “Hey, don’t laugh. I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
That makes me laugh even harder.
