Because You're Different ✔

78. Undone

June

When I fell back into the couch, I realized that wasn't the only thing I'd fallen back into.

He sat down next to me, closer than before, still breathing fast through his laughter, remains of our struggle in the kitchen. His hair was messed up, sticking up in some places, ocean blue eyes smiling at the world as if it'd never caused him pain. My heart slowed down, glowing hot and comfortable, and my gaze found his hands, strong, relaxed fingers calming me. Oh, why did I come back? It ached, pleasant and numbing. To be here, again knowing what wasn't mine.

"Where did they go?"

Only when he mentioned it, I noticed they had gone, that it was just him and me now. If Hayley hadn't refilled my wine glass one more time, I would've panicked, making up some lousy excuse about being tired while my fist pressed into my side. She had, though, and instead, I smiled. "I don't think we want to know."

He chuckled. "You're probably right, like always."

I wasn't always right. Who could determine who was right anyway? And when? When was the moment you could analyze past choices, and be sure, absolutely sure, you made the best one? It seemed impossible, and I longed back to the time I didn't doubt myself, fully convinced of my words and opinions. Convinced that my pirate story was wonderful, unique, fit for publishing. That it was totally not weird to base the captain's character on Nathan and have him pursue the mysterious female pirate from Spain. Ten years from now, would I look back on nineteen-year-old me and think the same things? Shake my head at myself?

Likely. I was still here, after all, in this living room where I'd spent half of my teen years, at the moment unrecognizable due to the efforts Hayley had put into it. All around, candles flickered, orange flames lighting up just enough to see clearly. The smell of melted candle wax mixed with the earthy one of the red wine was suddenly making me drowsy. In the background, my Latin dinner music compilation was ever playing, lulling me to a sleepy state with the feeling of family, of the good days.

And then there was Nathan, turning his head to me, saying nothing as he watched my face, all the lighthearted joy from earlier vanished. I did nothing as well, not even breathe, only stared back, unable to move. Seconds passed, maybe ten, maybe twenty, maybe a hundred, both of us like that, everything awake again.

He moved his hand a little, in my direction, leaving it open between us, like an invitation.

Did he want me to take it? Or was I again reading too much into the situation? Was he capable of such subtlety?

My chest rose up and down, and I was almost painstakingly aware of it, of my breasts pressed into this black shirt, too tight and too small — I was not fifteen anymore, after all. Most of the clothes in the closet in my room upstairs were unfit to wear nowadays. Yet, something in me had figured the evening wouldn't be complete if I didn't dress up in them.

Slowly, I reached out for him, stopping only inches from his fingers, so close I could feel the warmth of them.

He smiled. His fingertips grazed mine, and I tensed, my heartbeat speeding up this time.

"It feels right," he said quietly, "you, me, Sam, Hayley."

I smiled too, tension leaving me again. "It does. It feels like I've... like I've returned to my real life, after a very, very long holiday."

Yes, June. Pour your heart out. Be desperate. Make sure that when you get hurt again, it will hurt like a knife slicing you in two, bleeding from the inside.

"Next time you leave, will you send me a postcard?"

"I don't have to leave," I wanted to say, but only laughed, drinking in the sight of his sincere eyes. "I'll try to remember," I said instead. He nodded slowly, lost in thought, and I was scared I'd ruined something, that maybe, I should've just told the truth, no matter how afraid I was of it now.