Page 47 of Don’t Let Me Go
“This is the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen!” Riley whimpers, turning away from the TV, where a horde of zombies are
gleefully disemboweling the president of the United States in the Oval Office. I wrap my arms around him and let out a laugh
as he buries his face in my chest for protection.
When Riley and his friends asked how I wanted to spend my birthday do-over/coming-out party, I told them I wanted a simple,
quiet, low-key evening at home, no roller-skating, no karaoke, no carnivals. I just wanted to order pizza and watch one of
my favorite horror movies, Capitol Riot: Zombie Insurrection . Which, it turns out, is a lot bloodier than I remembered.
“Do you want me to turn it off?” I ask.
Riley shakes his head but nestles closer. “No, it’s okay, we can keep watching. But I think you might need to kiss some more
courage into me?”
“Again?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Not for me.” I tilt Riley’s face up to mine and press my lips against his—which earns us a collective groan from the room.
Then Duy, Tala, and Audrey pelt us with popcorn.
“Boo!”
“Gross!”
“Take it outside!”
I laugh and pick a salty kernel out of Riley’s hair.
“You guys seriously need to cool it,” Audrey chides us from the floor, where she and Tala are spread out on my aunt’s homemade
afghan and some cushions. “All the PDA was cute when we were having cake and opening presents, but this inability to keep
your hands off each other is almost as nauseating as that scene where the First Lady got pecked to death by that zombie bald
eagle.”
“Are we being a lot?” I ask.
Duy raises an eyebrow. “You’re being the most .”
“Don’t listen to them,” Riley scoffs, wrapping his arms around me and kissing my cheek. “They’re just jealous. They’ve never
seen true happiness before.”
This earns us another round of boos and an even more violent pelting of popcorn.
“Okay, okay, stop!” I laugh. “We’ll cool it.”
Duy and Audrey glare at us, but Tala lowers her fistful of popcorn and smiles. “Just for the record, we are genuinely happy
for you guys.”
“Obviously, we’re happy for you,” Duy grumbles as they lounge back in my aunt’s recliner and resume texting Caleb, who’s vacationing in Maine this
week. “We just don’t want you to be more happy than us.”
This earns Duy an eye-roll and a popcorn-pelting from Tala.
“Well, if it evens things out,” I tell them, “my parents still aren’t talking to me.”
The room goes silent (aside from the screams on the TV, where the zombies are now treating Congress like an all-you-can-eat
buffet). My self-deprecating joke, which I thought was funny, has instantly killed the party vibe.
“You still haven’t heard from them?” Tala asks, sitting up in concern.
“Oh. Uh, no,” I mumble. “Not yet. But it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Audrey huffs indignantly. “Your parents are assholes.”
“Babe, let’s maybe not call other people’s parents assholes,” Tala suggests.
“But they are! They’re assholes!” Audrey doubles down. “Seriously, if you’re a parent, you have one job—to love your child
unconditionally. That’s it. And if you can’t do that, if your love comes with conditions about who your kid can be or who
they can love, then you shouldn’t have kids in the first place.”
“I think what Audrey’s trying to say,” Tala adds diplomatically, “is that we’re sorry your parents are still struggling to
come to terms with the person you’re becoming. But like I said before, sometimes it takes time.”
Riley slides his hand into mine and squeezes. “And in the meantime, you’ve got me.”
“And me!” Tala adds, hopping up onto the sofa and pulling me into a hug.
“Me too!” Duy shouts, vaulting onto the sofa and into my lap.
“Come on, Audrey,” Riley calls as he wraps his arms around me. “Group hug!”
Audrey snorts. “You’re all ridiculous.” But a second later, she climbs onto the sofa and joins our popcorn-scented dogpile.
Someone’s knee is in my groin. Someone else’s elbow jabs my ribs. I don’t think I’ve ever been this physically uncomfortable
in my life. Or this happy.
“I am legitimately obsessed with your friends,” I tell Riley a few hours later when we’re cleaning up after the party. “You’re
really lucky to have them.”
“I think it’s safe to call them your friends too,” he says with a chuckle as he sweeps some stray popcorn into a dustpan.
“I didn’t want to assume.”
“You’re joking, right? At this point, I’m pretty sure my friends prefer you to me.”
“That makes sense.”
“Hey!” Riley barks as he swats me with his broom.
“What?” I laugh. “I’m being a supportive boyfriend. I’m agreeing with you!”
Riley scowls like an angry little hedgehog, so I set down the empty pizza boxes that I was about to carry out to the recycle
bin and pull him into a bear hug. “All jokes aside,” I say as he melts into my embrace, “tonight was just what I needed. So
thank you. And you’re right, I am lucky to have such incredible friends. Not to mention an even more incredible boyfriend who’s smart and funny and very, very kissable.”
“Good save.” Riley gives me a quick peck on the lips, then rests his head against my shoulder.
I love seeing him so relaxed. I wish I could claim some of the credit for that, but so far, my attempt to put his fears about
our past lives to rest hasn’t yielded much success. I was hoping by now to have poked enough holes in the historical accuracy
of our Viking dream to make him realize we’d made it all up. But from what I read about Erik the Red and Greenland, our dreams
were surprisingly accurate. Even the witch’s predictions about the future turned out to be spot-on. Erik’s son did come home
safely from America. And the settlement at Brattahlid did collapse after Erik’s death.
Not that that proves anything. It just means I need to do more research.
Next week I’ll start looking into London during the Blitz.
If that doesn’t turn up anything I can use to debunk Riley’s theory, I’ll move on to Pompeii.
I know there’s got to be something I’m missing, some obvious anachronism or detail that’s just plain wrong and that’ll prove without a shadow of a doubt that our dreams really are just that: dreams.
Then again, if Riley stays as happy and relaxed as he is right now in my arms, maybe I won’t need to convince him of anything.
Maybe he’ll forget his crazy theory on his own. And we can just enjoy being together without anything hanging over our heads
to spoil it.
Well, anything other than my parents.
“I’m sorry your mom and dad still aren’t talking to you,” Riley says as if reading my mind.
“Don’t be,” I tell him, gently pulling back so he can look into my eyes and see just how okay I am. “At this point, I’m with
Audrey. They’re assholes. And until they get their shit together and stop being assholes, I’m not gonna waste my time on them.”
“Still, they’re your parents. I feel like if they could just see how happy you are, they might change their minds.”
“Maybe I should text them some photos,” I joke.
But a second later, the idea of sending my parents proof of my happiness—of the amazing life that I’ve built for myself—doesn’t
seem so laughable. I plop down on the sofa and pull out my phone.
“You’re not seriously going to do it?” Riley asks, sitting beside me.
“Why not? The whole reason my parents aren’t talking to me is because they want to punish me, right? They want me to feel
bad so that I’ll come crawling back to them and apologize for daring to defy them. But if I show them that I’m doing just
fine without them, maybe they’ll realize that I’m not the one who needs to change.”
“Or it might piss them off even more.”
I shrug. “So it’s win-win.”
I start scrolling through my photos, trying to find the perfect pic to send them.
There’s a group shot of Duy, Tala, Audrey, Riley, and me eating pizza that Aunt Rachel took before she cleared out for the night so we could have the house to ourselves.
Then there’s a photo of Duy presenting me with the rainbow cake they baked.
There are also a bunch of selfies of Riley and me kissing and snuggling on the sofa.
In almost every photo, I’m smiling harder than I’ve ever smiled in my entire life, and I want my parents to see that happiness. I want them to see me.
“Fuck it,” I say with a laugh. I select every photo from tonight as well as the unedited photo of Riley and me from Rink-O-Rama
and send the entire batch to my parents.
Riley gasps in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“Believe it. Your boyfriend has zero fucks to give.”
Riley leans forward and nuzzles his face against mine. “Have I ever told you how hot it is when you refer to yourself as my
boyfriend?”
“No. Tell me.”
“How about I show you instead?”
Riley takes my face in his hands and pulls me into a kiss. Not to be outdone, I bury my face in his neck and kiss his throat,
which I’ve recently discovered is his favorite place to be kissed.
Sure enough, he lets out a little moan, and his breath comes out in hot, quick gasps against my ear. I feel the heat rising
off his skin as he wraps his arms around me and runs his fingers through my hair.
I’m about to suggest we continue things in my bedroom when Riley goes stiff in my arms. I feel a shiver run down his spine
and his shoulders tense, and I pull back to see what’s wrong.
Riley is staring at the TV. We left it on while we were cleaning up but neither of us were paying much attention to it. Now,
though, Riley can’t take his eyes off it.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
Riley grabs the remote and turns up the volume. A commercial is playing, some low-rent ad for a cheesy psychic named Jocasta Devereaux. Apparently, she’s gonna be in town tomorrow at the Hilton offering some sort of seminar on “how to unlock the power of your past lives.”
That gets my attention, but I’m still not sure why Riley is so mesmerized. Not until I take a closer look at the psychic.
With her bright red hair, pale skin, and high cheekbones, Jocasta Devereaux looks oddly familiar. Then it hits me.
“It’s her.” I gasp, the blood running cold in my veins. “It’s Ulfhild.”