Page 84 of Pieces Of You

“I’ll see you around.” She holds the dahlia to my chest, and I take it from her. And then she’s gone, leaving me grasping onto one final piece of her.

39

Holden

“Doyou mind if I cut out early?” Jamie asks, already removing her gloves. It isn’t the first time she’s spoken to me today, but since we’re at Esme’s, she kind of doesn’t have a choice. So far, we’ve kept the chatter to a bare minimum. And kept our distance.

I check the time on my watch. It’s only five minutes until we’re supposed to be leaving.

She says, “It’s just—if I leave now, I can make the bus. Otherwise, I’d have to wait another forty-five minutes until the next one.

“Right.” Because being in a car with me is too much for her even though we drove here together. She needs time and space—all things I’ve given her since she asked for it almost a week ago. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Thanks,” she says, handing me her gloves. “They’re yours. I’ll have a pair of my own for next time.” I want to roll my eyes. I don’t. Instead, I watch her haul both her messenger bag and her backpack with her change of clothes over her shoulders. “Say bye to Esme for me?”

I nod.

She leaves.

And by the time I finish up and drive away, Jamie’s still walking to the bus stop. I slow down beside her—an instant reaction—and then I remember…

Time.

Space.

I keep driving.

And driving.

And driving.

I’ve been doing that a lot lately—driving around aimlessly. It’s the only thing that seems to clear my head. It doesn’t help much, but it’s enough to make me reset and refocus.

When I get home, I go straight into studying. I dohomeworkfor the first time in my life, which—I’ve now come to realize—is too little too late. Then I research colleges in New York City, where Mia will be. I check admission criteria and enrolment costs, and the general cost of living there. And then I look up who I might need to screw to get me there in the place. When all that fails, I check how much I could earn from selling my organs on the black market. Not enough, apparently.

I call Mia.

I call my mom, who’s still with Mia.

I call my dad.

And then, when my eyes fall heavy, and I have no one left to call, I crawl into bed and stare at the picture of a bright-eyed girl with windburned cheeks and a daisy chain for a crown.

It’s the only picture I have of her face. Every other one I’d taken of her was of her legs or hands or other body parts, all covered in art.

I told her it suited her—being out in that field. But in my mind, in my heart,theremeant back home...

Back to sunshine and solace.

I imagined surprising her with her own field of daisies one day. I would’ve planted the seeds myself.

It would’ve been perfect.

Wecould’ve been perfect.

In another time.

Another world.

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