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But Greyson stirred beside me, pulling me back into the warmth of his arms, and I split open. Everything I held bottled inside rushed free, spilling into my arms and onto the bed between us.

This was goodbye.I knew it with every bone in my body. It would’ve made sense, if I’d looked down at my hands and had found them bleeding. It hurt that badly.

I cried into his side, broken. I was gasping for air, but I still couldn’t get enough.

All the minutes in the world wouldn’t be enough, and I only had a handful of them left.

“Hey,” Greyson whispered, lifting my chin in his fingertips. His eyes glistened with the same sadness I felt in the core of my being, and I cried even harder, sobs wracking my body.

I wasn’t sure they’d ever stop.

“Baby,please,” he said, broken, too. “Come here.Come here.” He tugged the sheet up and over our heads, shielding us both from the world, and kissed me softly.

“I love you,” he whispered against my lips and kissed me again and again.

I love you. I love you; I love you; I love you,I said through my tears. Between each one of our kisses. As we slowly slid each piece of clothing from our bodies.

We hid there for a while, in our safe haven. Whispering goodbyes across our skin with soft kisses and light touches.

Careful, devoting…devastating.

Seventy-one Before

THERE ARE CERTAINmoments in life, certain images that burn themselves into your brain, and no matter how much later—a month, a year, ten years—you can still pull it up from the vault within your mind and see it with startling clarity.

This was one of those moments. One of those images I’d never be able to erase, to hit the delete button on.

The image of Greyson walking away from me for the last time.

He pulled away from the curb and disappeared down the street, and I fell to my ass in my driveway, throwing my face into my hands.

I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.

I hateyou, I wanted to scream at God.

“This isn’t goodbye. We’re going to see each other again. Tell me you understand that,” Greyson had said.Only minutes ago, though it felt like hours. I didn’t know how much he truly believed his own words, because it felt like he was trying to convince himself, too, as he’d said them.

“Yeah,” I’d whispered back, trying not to break again even though I’d already completely shattered.

I stood from my driveway, attempting to shake off the memory as my tears fell free. I felt the anger I’d let go of seep its way back into my bones, feeding into my bloodstream. I clenched my hands into two tight fists, nails biting into my palms.

Fuck this.

But when? I’d thought to myself. And who would we be then? In four years? I knew we would change. Things would change. We’d be different people then.

It’s not that I didn’t trust him. It’s just that people abandoned me. Time and time again. How could I be sure this time would be any different?

I couldn’t. I couldn’t be sure, and that was the point.

He could easily meet someone. Could make friends and decide to move somewhere else when he finally got out.

Time had a cruel way of helping you forget, and even though I knew I would never forget him, he could easily forget about me—and the promise he was trying to make me.

All these thoughts I’d kept buried had clawed their way to the surface, forcing me to acknowledge them. But one stood out above all the others:

I couldn’t spend the next handful of years of my life waiting around on a maybe. I owed myself a hell of a lot better than that.

I turned on my heel and stormed into my house, tearing my way up the stairs and slamming into my bedroom, chest heaving with hyperventilating breaths. I hated this. I hated everything about this.