Page 42 of The Story of You

I wish I could feel safe in that declaration, but he’s left too many times. Every time before he’s stayed just long enough so I could get comfortable. Long enough the Band-Aid glue had solidified and ripping it off was all the more painful.

I have the major this time so it shouldn’t matter, but it does. I love Asher. I love him in a way no one will understand. It’s easy to understand why I love Wyatt. It’s nearly impossible to understand why I love Asher.

Know what? Fuck him and his stupid bullshit. I’m Darius fucking Randall.

“You’re not leaving me this time, Asher. Try and I will use every resource we have to bring you back. Fuck your free will.”

“I’m not leaving this time.”

“I know all your tells, all the signs. We’re at one.” He’s too quiet and that’s a sign. After being blind-sided by him enough times, I’ve analyzed his every move. My hope was to soothe him enough to prevent him from acting on his impulses the “next time”, but now I’m sure that’ll never happen. There is no soothing the ache that makes him leave.

He’s left us for the last time.

His face scrunches, not in a bad way, but like he’s having an epiphany. “That’s what I wanted. I didn’t know it until just now.”

Which only means his leaving is not an if but a when. He’ll have to test that I’ll come for him.

Oh fuck. That’s what I’ve never done. Even when I went back to get Simon and Shane, I wasn’t going back to get him. I abandoned him first.

It seems so obvious now—hindsight always does. When he leaves, I’m too consumed by my own hurt to have compassion for him.

Shit. There’s even a tear sliding down his face. Does he know it’s there? I wipe it away. He sniffles. “I’m getting back to this before the big guy busts my ass—he’s a hard ass.”

I waggle my eyebrows. “I know.”

My mind also wraps around a new idea. Maybe I found Wyatt not just for me, but for us—me and Asher.

“Are you distracting him, Darius?” the major bellows.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir. Just giving him lemonade.”

He swirls his empty glass. “Mine could use a refresh.”

“I better get my dick sucked for this!” I call across the lawn, hoping the neighbors hear.

But I gladly get Daddy his lemonade.

ChapterThirteen

Simon – September 1985

Isat near the edge and thought about jumping. My skinny legs dangled over the lip of the pedestrian bridge. The water rushed beneath me. I could jump, my body would be swept under by the current, and eventually, it would wash out to the sea. No one would miss me. There wasn’t anyone to miss me.

“Hey you! Hey you there!” The voice called from the mouth of the bridge where a tall fat rock sat, and the shadow of a boy fell across me. I peered up. The sun was bright, I could only see his outline at first. He was a thin boy with stick legs and stick arms; a fist planted firmly against his hip. He looked like a wonder boy superhero—all he needed was a cape. A cloud shifted to block some of the dazzling rays and he came into view.

Bright red shorts. A Duran Duran, Tour of ’84 concert crop top that left his midriff bare. He had blond hair that was long on top and shaved underneath. It paired with his alabaster skin. The greenest eyes I’d ever seen.

He hopped off the rock and walked over, analyzing me. “Boy, why the fuck are you crying?”

“My parents died,” I said.

He shrugged one shoulder. “So did my mom.”

“What about your dad?”

“He’s the asshole who dumped me in this place.”

“Why aren’t you more upset about it?” I asked.