Here Comes the Sun | ✓

The End - Libby

I don't thank him until we're both outside in the freezing-my-ass-off cold on the balcony, my fuzzy-socked feet padding across the 200 blankets that are lying out on the concrete. The night is dark but the city lights reflect in the sky. Even with the heavy coat on a solid shiver courses through my body and Liam instructs from behind me to get under the pile.

"Sir, yes sir," I reply and he chuckles, our breath ghosts in the night.

He settles in beside me at a respectful distance, and the need for him to be closer becomes too strong. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Before I can think too much more about it, a hot-ish mug is held in front of me. I take the mug gratefully and take a sip immediately. Anything for that warm feeling I crave from him.

We're sitting quietly, lost in our own twirling thoughts. Two things were stuck in my head: My lie to Graham, and Jenny's three words. I love you. I didn't get to hear if he said the words back, but I didn't need to - his eyes said it all. I love you.

And my lie to Graham... I'm such a little shit. I've lied to my best friend; I've lied to my... is he a boyfriend? We've kissed, but... is it just assumed?

Liam saves me from my reverie when he asks, "Are you alright?" My face warms somehow in this freezing weather and I shrug in response. I refuse to look at him. I just....

He loves her.

And I don't know if I can deal with that.

"I don't believe you," he murmurs into the night and my lips roll into my mouth, tasting the coffee that lingers on them.

"You don't have to," I reply, begrudged. This inevitably shuts him up and I sigh out of guilt. "Sorry. I'm just..."

"Grumpy?" he finishes and we laugh soundlessly.

"Yeah, that's it."

I shake my head when I realize that he's made me smile. How?I huff and he just laughs more. "Your mood swings are even more out of control than last time."

Rolling my eyes, I try to ignore the jab. "Jenny was beautiful," I blurt out, and both of us hold our breath.

After a few moments of silence he sighs, "You remember her."

It wasn't a question. "Why wouldn't I?" I swallow the lump in my throat and it gets stuck in my chest, causing my heart to lurch. "She's a very memorable girl."

"I suppose," he answers, and I look over to him for the first time tonight. What is that supposed to mean?

"You suppose she's memorable?" I laugh humorlessly. "That's great, Liam."

"You didn't call," he says in a rush, and I wonder for a second how many times this boy is going to give me whiplash.

"I did," I say, my voice comes out wobbly. I think back to the night I lost my pictures from the summer; the night I met Graham; the night he convinced me to call Liam. "But you didn't pick up."

"You said you'd call back," he says, as if he didn't even hear my former words. He sounds defeated. "You said you'd be there." At his last words, he looks up from his coffee mug and into my eyes. My heart stops. His eyes are now ice and they're glistening, as if full of unshed tears. His shaved hair is sticking up haphazardly, and his clean face is crippled with anxiety. "You said...."

No, I think to myself. "You said," I whisper, "you loved me... and then...."

"Your dad called me." The words hang in the air and I'm left speechless. I remember faintly of Dad calling him once before, and how broken he was left afterwards. He was convinced that I should go back home.