Page 133 of Jace
Thirty of the worst seconds of my pathetic shitshow of a life.
Thirty seconds of the most pain I’veeverfelt.
I would gladly get beaten up again by those homophonic morons–byanyhomophobic moron, would welcome the knifein my gut, would embrace my dad ignoring me all over again at every turn he gets.
I would fucking relive all those twenty-two years of being so fucked-up lonely.
I would do it all, I would live it all, I would survive it all.
But I wouldn’t fucking survive this. I can’t. Oh shit, I can’t.
These thirty seconds are proof of that, because it feels like I’m ripping myself to pieces on the inside, like something inside of me just fucking died.
And the fucked up part? I inflicted those thirty seconds on myself.
So I run. I freakingrun.And hold on to that tiny sliver of hope that I maybe can salvage this.
When I burst out of the entrance of our building, I whip my head around, trying to find that familiar cap on that dark head of hair on that big body that I’m so utterly gone for.
Shit, shit, shit, I’m such an idiot.
I’m the idiot king of idiot land, making the most idiotic decisions ever.
I’m nearly choking on panic when Ican’t fucking find him, and I turn around again, looking like a moron probably. I don’t even have fucking shoes on.
Then my gaze snags on the road to the beach, toourbench. That same bench where we had our first heart-to-heart. That same bench that I went to almost every morning to meet up with him for our jogs. That same bench we still went to together after we started spending our nights in the same bed.
And I know, Iknowthat he went there. It’s what I would’ve done if he…
If he…
Oh, shit.
I’m so stupid.
So I run.
THIRTY-THREE
Of course I find him at the place where it all started. At the bench,ourbench. He’s sitting down, that big broad back of his hunched forwards. He’sshakingand I don’t know how to approach him, the guilt eating at me. I don’t want to break up with him. Of course I don’t.
So I stand there next to the bench like a tool, at a loss on what to do here, how to handle this, how to say that I’m sorry for fucking things up.
I didn’twantto fuck things up, turns out I did anyway.
“Ty?” I try, taking a step forward, and he goes rigid, staring at the sparkling ocean, not looking at me. “Tell me more about those video calls.”
It’s lame. I know it is. It’s nowhere near the apology he deserves, but for once in my damn life, the words won’t come out.
I wish I had a notebook on me right now, so I could pour on the paper what my mouth won’t say.
“Really? That’s the best you could come up with?” He lifts his head, and the pain in his red-rimmed eyes nearly guts me. “You promised you wouldn’tlieto me, Jace. You were leaving without telling me.Jesus.”
I shake my head, heart going haywire, stepping closer to him. To Ty. To my everyfucking thing. I'm so, so, so stupid. How the hell could I ever think I could do this without him in my life?
“I know,” I croak. “I’m so fucking sorry.” I take another step towards him, but he shakes his head and gets up, stalking off to the shore.
I nearly trip as I go after him, my bare feet digging into the sand. But when my foot hits something sharp, I go down with a yelp. Guess I deserved that.
