Page 117 of The Story of You

I knew that was Silas.

It was time. He’d come for me soon.

Asher was the maddest he’d ever been, and I knew it had nothing to do with the TV we broke and the resulting hell we caught for it. He knew I was gonna abandon him. He could sense it in the air.

I didn’t want to leave things on a poor note. I was sure Silas was coming, but I didn’t know when.

I crept into his room and tried to slip into bed with him like I had many times before.

“No. Not this time. We’re done this time for good.”

“Don’t be stupid. We’re not done. We’re never done, Asher.”

“But we are.”

“Can you two shut up?” Jennings whisper-yelled from across the room.

“I’ll do yah better. He was just leavin’.”

“I’m not. Can you just let me in your fucking bed so we can talk?”

“No.”

I squatted by the bed. “I’ll come back for you, Asher. Promise.”

“Sure, Ari. Now get the fuck out.”

“You’re an impossible dick.”

He had to though. It was textbook. Our steadfast certainty had flipped to unbearable uncertainty. The only sanity he could offer himself was to get rid of me before I had the chance to get rid of him.

“Happy trails, Randall.”

“I hope you rot in hell, Kerr.”

I finally stormed out with what was left of my pride and cried on Simon’s shoulder about Asher for what I was sure was the last time.

ChapterThirty-Five

Silas ~ May 25th, 1988

Long car rides with children aren’t advisable. Especially not with one who has developed severe attachment issues. I was already a wreck. I figured out quickly why they called it heartache—my heart literally ached. It felt hollow. My limbs were numb. Panic attacks threatened to take me, and I had to focus my breathing and drive with the window down to stave them off.

I wanted to turn around and head back. Show up at his work. Tell him my plan so he could stop me. I wanted his hands. I wanted his kisses on my neck. His whispers in my ear.

Come kiss me like you belong to me, butterfly.

I wanted the overwhelming grief to stop. I thought of his laugh. His smile he smiled just for me. Him slipping his hand into mine when he knew I needed to hold onto him. His solidness. His warmth. I already couldn’t remember his smell and I panicked. What about the gruffness of his cheek against mine when he hadn’t shaved and our quiet early morning hours before I’d leave to be with Oliver?

I would have nothing to fill me. Nothing to hold onto. Nothing to keep me grounded.

How would I breathe again?

Oliver’s cries were killing me too, sending my mind places it was hard to pull it back from. At least they reminded me why I had to keep moving forward.

“Soon, Eaglet. Soon. We’re almost there. We’re going to pick up Darry.”

I pulled up and he was there on the hill dressed in the same Duran Duran crop top I was happy to leave behind. I cringed and then chastised myself. It was just a stupid shirt. I hadn’t even worn them in a while.