Page 144 of Until the Ribbon Breaks

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

I don’t bother trying to respond.

Dipping his head, his eyes catch mine. “I’m worried I did something wrong.”

“You didn’t.” I rest my hand over his heart because I like the way it beats against my palm. “You did everything right. You always do.”

HARLOW

My name is a wisp of air, featherlight as it sweeps against my cheek and stirs me awake.

“Harlow.”

The closer I inch toward consciousness, the heavier I become. Peace dissolves, and the massive anchor of despair plummets down on top of me.

I open my eyes to Sebastian sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” he whispers as he pushes a lock of hair behind my ear.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m going to head out before your mom gets up, but I didn’t want to leave without telling you.”

“Don’t go.” The words come without thought, but that’s often where the meaningful things come from—out of organic instinct with no questions, with no whys—only need.

“I have to,” he tells me. “I don’t want us to get caught.”

Our eyes lock, and as I stare up at him, I think about what happened last night. The fear that, somehow, I messed us up remains. “Are we okay?”

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

When I sit up, he scoots closer.

There’s so much I want to say, so much I want to tell him, but whatever wire was cut last night severed something inside me that I can’t describe. It’s hard to talk when the energy needed to do so is incalculable.

So, I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him tightly, the way a scared little girl would hug her father, as if the touch alone could heal.

His arms band around me, and I just want him to stay. It’s as if he’s the invisible thread holding me together when the entire world is ripping me apart.

The weight of despair is unbelievable today when there’s no reason for it. I’m safe in this room with him, and yet, I’m sad. I’ve been awake for only a few minutes, and already, I’m done.

Sebastian draws back slightly and rests his head against mine. “I’ll come back later, okay?”

“When?”

“In a few hours.” He lifts his head and tells me, “Brent texted and wants to talk, so I’m going to hang out with him this morning.”

“Oh.”

“It’s better if I talk to him now before we go back to school on Monday.”

“What are you going to say?”

“That you’re my friend and nothing is going to change that so he needs to cut the shit.”

It’s a bad idea, but the effort to care enough to tell him isn’t present.

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