Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
I face the mirror with a scowl. “Out you go.”
Hey, now, don’t get all sassy with me.
“Out.”
Griffin, buddy, c’mon.
I turn on the faucet and clench shut my eyes.
The white noise helps. So does closing my eyes. So does the aggression I feel right now in my thumping heart which, with each angry beat, pushes West more to the surface.
Griffin! Dude! Hear me out!
Despite my number one goal being to free myself from him, I can’t help but feel his emotions, too, just as if they’re my own. I feel his fear of being abandoned. His lonesomeness. His love. His sadness. His wishes.
Bro, look, I know I’ve been difficult …
We’ve got to stop with this “bro” thing.
But please don’t throw me away like trash. Our two years of friendship. You’re the only true friend I’ve ever had. You listen to me. You know me. You’ve seen inside of my soul and my memories. You can even see them now, can’t you? Everything I know? Everything I feel?
Of course I do. You think this is easy for me?
I see your memory of the bus. I can feel it now. I realize what you meant. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe no one experiences death the same. Maybe no one can truly grasp what it feels like to die, or to almost die, or to encounter death like a bus passing before our eyes.
Stop thinking about it. You’re making me relive it.
You aren’t telling Byron about it, are you? I can feel your hesitation, too. You don’t want to worry him and get a lecture about talking on the phone at the same time you’re walking the streets. You’re easily distracted.
It isn’t so simple. I have a life to live, too. What if that bus did hit me? What if I was dead right now? I’d never forgive myself for only living half of a life with Byron. I want the whole thing. I want everything.
Bro, don’t let the fear of death push us apart.
It isn’t. It’s only opening my eyes. Stop talking to me like you have any say over what I do with my life.
Don’t let Byron throw me aside like this. Don’t let him get between us.
I look at the mirror. “Then don’t get between me and my fiancé,” I tell my reflection—and West.
Chills race down my spine like ice. I shut my eyes.
My fingers curl up. My toes, too.
When I open my eyes, West is against the wall, his eyes wide and blinking, looking dazed as he comes to.
I have to step away from the mirror myself and sit on the toilet, equally winded, the room spinning.
There’s something about us separating that leaves us both feeling confused, emotionally all over the place, and unfathomably sleepy. It wears off after a moment, but it is truly the most disorienting thing I can imagine, like waking from an intense dream and for a brief while having no idea who you are as you float in the oblivion between two lifetimes, two souls, two hearts.
After a second to collect myself, I look up at West. “Stay in here until I can put out the candle,” I whisper to him through the noise of the faucet.
West is pouting like a child, lips drooped. Is that a tear in the corner of his eye? “You’re gonna leave me.”
“I won’t.”
“You’re gonna throw away our friendship and leave me. I could feel it when I was in you. I could see it.”
I get up and come to him. “We’ll talk about this later. Just … Just stay put and stay quiet.”
West says nothing else. I turn off the faucet, gather myself, then pull open the door to let myself out.
Byron is standing right there.
I slip out of the bathroom faster than a fart and slam the door shut behind me, eyes wide. “B-Babe?”
“I thought I heard you talking to yourself in there.” He gently brings a hand to my cheek, concern in his eyes. “Are you okay? You’re acting strange.”
The candle is still lit, sitting on an end table in the living room. West can’t fade away until I put it out. Just the thin door at my back separates Byron from West.
Separates Byron from the truth—from my lie.
“I-I’m fine,” I insist, my voice cracking, as I’m utterly incapable of acting normal when I most need to.
He lovingly caresses my cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “I know. We’ve both got so much on our minds. It’s okay if you’re having doubts or cold feet.”
That shakes me right out of my thoughts and into a whole pot of new ones. “Wait, what? N-No,” I state at once. “I don’t have any cold feet. Not even cool feet. My feet are very, very warm.”
Byron gives me one of his smoldering smiles that could break Antarctica in half. “You sure?”