Page 109 of Icing Hearts

“What else do you need?” he kneels beside the bed, ready to re-cap the water bottle after I take a few swigs.

“Sleep.”

He nods and pulls the covers over my shoulders. I close my eyes, vaguely aware of Tory moving about the room. The mattress dips slightly as he sits on the other side of the bed. Pages flutter in a way that tickles my ears.

“What are you reading?” I ask the space in front of me.

“Uh,Caraval.” Normally, he would ask the follow-up question: have I read it? This time, the answer would be no.

“Can you read to me?”

“Of course.”

I roll over and rest my head in his lap. The tears are mostly dried up, but I have that bone-deep feeling of emotional and physical exhaustion that usually accompanies crying this hard for this long. Tory smooths back my hair, hands moving deftly.

And he reads.

So I drift away, lulled by the careful cadence of his voice, into a world where magic isn’t just possible, it’s real.

In the morning, I don’t wake until well after nine. Tory is up and waiting with breakfast. I take it with me, slide on my sneakers and make my way to the door. He doesn’t stop me but asks if I need a ride. I tell him I’ll walk. Judging by the warm light streaming in through his mini-blinds, it’s a beautiful day for a very long walk.

“This doesn’t change anything,” I tell him.

“Of course not.” He shakes his head and watches me from beside the bed. Tory stands there, swaying, and I feel his eyes on me.

Without turning back, I tell him, “I find myself looking for you even when you devastate me…because you used to be my source of comfort, not the source of my pain.”

Chapter 66

Clara

Periwinkle buds bloom on trees around a small, man-made pond. This park is one of the few green spaces in town. Given that it’s free entertainment and a manageable bike ride away from my house, I’ve found myself here many times. To escape. To ponder. To dream. But it took a year for me to work up the courage to come after my mom died. It was one of her favorite places.

Jack seems to sense the heaviness I feel. His slow, certain steps scrape along the paved path beside me. Mostly, he stares straight ahead and sips his iced mocha, but I catch him stealing glances at me from the corner of his eye. He knows I’m working up to something. Something big.

As a rule, May is better than April—though the May that just ended was one of the worst. September—with all its distractions—is better. One may think I love spring and summer. But I don’t. Spring for obvious reasons and summer because there’s too much time to think. During the school year, I have homework and activities to focus on. But during the summer, it’s all downtime. And it’s officially June.

Maybe it’s the impending sense of dread I feel, as summer draws near, that leads me to where I am today. Maybe I’ve grown, and I’m finally ready to admit that I need help. I’d like to think it’s the latter and that I’ve actually learned something this year about myself and who I want to be. Regardless of why, or how it happened, I know I don’t want to move through life like this anymore. I’m suffocating under the weight of…everything.

Secrets.

Unrequited love.

The abuse.

Loneliness.

So, I stopped drinking after Vince dumped me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss him. It seems foolish—to miss the silver medal when gold is dangling right in front of you. But when I called him that night after the tournament and told him I needed to talk, he came over immediately and picked me up. And then, when I told him I wanted to be with him, he saw the desperation in my eyes and didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question my true motivation. It’s not that I didn’t have romantic feelings for him. I did. But I needed him for reasons far beyond romance.

Vince might not be the person you spill your guts to, but he’s sure as hell the person you trust to call an ambulance when they’re already sprawled across the floor. The person who won’t push when you won’t tell him why you’re in such a state in the first place.

But Tory? Tory is the person bleeding out beside you.

The person who walks with you, hand in hand through the carnage. They try to shield you, but they don’t know how because they’re just as vulnerable and accruing their own wounds. But you don’t realize it until you look to the side and see that they’re just as beat up as you are. The person that tells the paramedics to treat you first and that it will be okay.

The person who loves you so fiercely that it feels like being caught in an undertow. The person you love back.

And Jack? I guess Jack is the person you debrief with. The person you share the emotions of the story with. The one who helps you process everything without judgment.

---