Page 233 of Heresy

Maybe she’s thinking the same thing.

Girl’s act like this when they’re happy.

Right?

The word vomit comes faster, the script I’d practiced gone as everything I’m thinking comes out in a knotted jumble I’m begging her to understand.

“It’s just that everything happened so fast, Red. You know? We, I mean the three of us, it was just supposed to be for fun. And I know you’re leaving to travel the world and I’m supposed to be going to college, but maybe we can do them together. Take turns. We travel and then I finish school.”

I’m pleading with her. Begging her. Anything to get a simple reaction out of her other than a look of horror, or surprise? I don’t know. She doesn’t normally look at me this way and maybe I’m screwing everything up.

Like a balloon deflating, I’m running out of air, ideas…hope.

“Say something, Red.”

She attempts to speak but, like mine, the words are stuck her tongue. Maybe it’s just too much. Maybe she feels the same and wasn’t expecting this. Maybe she loves me too.

“We can’t…I mean…Ezra.”

Her eyes drop to the floor, long red hair falling forward to conceal her face. I reach out and brush it back because there is no way in hell, I’ll let anyone come between us.

Not Emily.

Not my home.

“Don’t tell Ezra. He’ll kick my ass for this. I don’t want him to feel like he’s being pushed out, and I need to decide how we can do this. But maybe after a few months of college, he’ll move on and then it can just be us.”

Reaching forward, Emily cups my face. It stops the words from tumbling out, halts every thought in my head that’s spinning and cycling like caught in a tornado. She’s silences me when she touches me because I can’t believe I’m good enough for her to touch.

“Damon…”

My name hangs there, a heavy weight between us, and when I finally see the tears that roll down her cheeks I’m desperate to wipe them away.

I never want to hurt her, so maybe they’re happy tears. Please, let them be happy.

Everything is okay when she touches me.

I’m okay.

The weekends don’t matter.

Not when I know she’ll be waiting for me when they’re done.

She’ll always be waiting for me.

It’s the only reason I can bear them.

“Damon, I’m sorry…”

For what?

She doesn’t finish the sentence, just leans forward and plants a soft kiss on my lips as if that answers every question, as if that is her response.

“Sorry for what?” I ask, but she’s already opened the closet door and is practically running from the classroom.

I’m left standing in the dark.

Alone.

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