Page 6 of Last First Kiss
“Sorry,” she says, softer this time. “I was trying to make it less heavy.”
“I know,” I say weakly, watching my mascara-stained tears bleed into her white shirt.
Clara takes a deep breath. “There’s nothing broken about you, Ale.”
I hear her, but I don’t believe her, because something must be. All I do is cling to her tighter, willing my brain to listen to her.
“You’re perfect. And you will get the fairy-tale ending you want because you deserve it.” Clara says, leaning in to kiss the tip of my nose. A kiss so sweet and so tender, I swear I feel her pour all her love into it. And that sweet flutter of comfort in my stomach blooms.
“You’re just saying that.” I offer a tiny smile. The kind only my best friend could draw out of me in a moment like this.
“I mean it.” Clara pulls me into her chest and wraps her leg around me so tightly there’s not even a tenth of an inch between us. “I hate seeing you this way, I hate that you feel like this, and more than anything, I hate Mia for leaving the one good thing that’ll ever happen to her. Not that I thought she deserved you. Mianeverdeserved you, so it makes me extra hate that she, of all people, still affects you. Fuck Mia, and everyone else that’s made you feel this way. You’re not hard to love, Ale. You’re the easiest person to love.”
I hold her tighter, letting the tears fall from my face. Letting myself break a little, because nothing feels safer than Clara. She’s my home, my person—her arms are a sanctuary where the world can’t reach me. I never want her to let go.
I want a love like this—this big and this pure, and this unwavering. The type of love I only know exists because of Clara. Why can’t everyone love me the way she loves me? Why am I not enough for anyone but her?
The thought gnaws at me all night as Clara holds me, only leaving my side to grab the food she ordered for us. I don’t eat much. I don’t talk much, either. But she doesn’t push. She just exists beside me, and it’s all I need.
At some point, with Clara’s unwavering support and encouragement through the night, I realize I don’t need the constant validation, the swipes, the almosts that never turn into anything real. Maybe I already have the kind of love that holds me through the darkest of nights and never asks for anything in return.
So I reach for my phone, open the app that’s been feeding my loneliness more than fixing it, and thumb through the settings.
“Delete,” I whisper as I type the word on the deletion page of the dating app I’ve been using for the past few months. The screen asks me one last time if I’m sure, the bold letters almost taunting me. I take a deep breath and press the confirmation button, erasing my profile, my matches, and every conversation that once felt full of possibility, gone, along with any hope I had.
The chaotic journey I started a few months ago has finally come to an end, and has only led me to the conclusion that I should stop dating altogether.
Tonight, Clara reminded me that I’m already loved. I’m already enough, and not having a partner doesn’t take away from that.
CHAPTER TWO
CLARA
I’ve never been interested in relationships. Not the way most of my friends are, anyway. I enjoy having company for a night—or longer, on the rare occasions it lasts for months at a time. But I prefer no strings, no complications, andnofeelings.
It’s not that I’m against dating; I love it. It’s the commitment part that I don’t seem to have a good grasp on. I’ve had girlfriends here and there, but nothing serious. I think my longest relationship has been half a year, maybe less. I wasn’t paying too much attention.
It’s nothing against the women I’ve dated; they were okay, great even. But I’ve never felt this overwhelming desire to be with them forever.
Plus, Alejandra and I have been planning our lives together for as long as I can remember, so there was never much space for anyone else. Not to mention the tiny, inconvenient detail that I’ve been hopelessly in love with her for, well, pretty much my entire life. Something I hoped I’d outgrow at some point, but haven’t.
Which makes nights like tonight extra hard.
I love our date postmortems, partly because the petty side of me enjoys knowing I’m not the only one love keeps avoiding, and because the masochist in me is hoping she’ll say she’s falling for someone else. Maybe then I’ll finally be able to let go of this ridiculous fantasy that one day Alejandra will suddenly realize she’s been in love with me all along. And that, somehow, I’ll be brave enough to try with her—even if it means risking everything.
But Alejandra’s been going on so many dates lately, it’s getting harder for me to handle. So, I’m glad she’s putting things on pause—at least for a few months. Seeing Alejandra this sad about not finding her special someone is tearing me apart.
“I’m sorry, I’m such a mess,” Alejandra says through a thick, nasally voice, her words barely holding together between sobs.
I pull her in tighter.
“Don’t be sorry.” I plant a kiss on her temple. “You’re a cute mess.”
Alejandra chuckles weakly before nuzzling into my chest, and my heart clenches into a fist as she lets out a tired sigh. An ache settles deep in my bones, the same ache that settles into my body anytime Alejandra is sad or frustrated—a physical response to my inability to take away all the pain from her life.
I’ve had feelings for Alejandra since before I understood what attraction meant. There’ve been so many times I thought I’d gotten over them, but as of the last few years, I’ve realized I’d only convinced myself I had. I got so good at hiding my feelings from everyone that I even tricked myself. But it became a lot harder to ignore when Alejandra and I got to college. We were inches from each other at any given time. Even more so than before.
Sure, I moved into her house after my mom passed, but at least there I had my own room. In college, I barely had my own bed, since Alejandra insisted on squeezing into my single and sleeping with me almost every night.
