Lydia
The last couple of weeks, being around Bash, have made me feel closer to him, connected in a way I’ve never felt connected with anyone before.
Even when ‘getting close’ was off limits…
it still seemed to happen without our permission.
But tonight reminded me why I don’t get my hopes up, don’t get close to people anymore.
It hurts when you get rejected…in any small or big way.
It hurt when he threw the ethical walls back up, right when I thought something was happening, something healing.
Fuck it, I don’t need to grow feelings for him.
I tell myself that like it’ll be a guardrail for my heart. Like I was stupid for thinking there was a reason I felt different around him…a good reason.
It makes me hate that he keeps doing things like…seeing me. Catching the tiny flinches and not making a show of it, and leaving space for me when I need to breathe and not be smothered with questions. It’s like he understands my tells I didn’t even have to teach him.
I don’t like that he can see through me, but doesn’t want to stay there and see the rest.
I cut across the quad, toward my dorm. The campus is a softer place at night, a place that lets you quietly sort out your thoughts without being overwhelmed by the constant chaos around.
I smell smoke before I see him.
Atlas is leaning up against the side of the humanities building with one of his friends, a cigarette cupped between his fingers, face leaning up, looking toward the sky. My heart trips over itself and then sprints towards him, old habits and knowing what an easy place to hide looks like.
He looks the same, but somehow better. A face I’ve traced the outline of too many times, probably more times than I can actually remember sober. He looks over and sees me, immediately passing the cigarette off to the guy he’s with and pushing off the wall, walking towards me.
My fight or flight kicks in.
Run, the old instinct says.
Stay, the newer part of me insists.
You can do this.
He stops a few feet away, and we just stand there, taking each other in. Two ghosts who know each other from a fucked up past.
“Hey,” he says quietly, like he’s walking up on something delicate.
“Hey.”
“Can we talk?” he asks.
I nod. No point in avoiding it.
We end up at one of the outdoor tables. The metal is cold through my jeans. For a minute, it’s just the sound of nothing but the quiet campus and…us.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” he says, breaking the silence. His voice is rougher than I remember.
I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry…for putting all of that on you…for doing the one thing you always told me you were afraid of happening.”
“I hate that I ever put it in your hands to begin with. I hate being that guy. I didn’t want to be that guy to you. You know? It—” He swallows, jaw ticking with emotions. “It killed me…to see you on that stretcher that night. Knowing I had a hand in putting you there.”
I look up at him, into eyes that have always been kind to me, and see all three versions I knew at once—the friend who made me laugh over pizza and getting high at 2 a.m., the dealer who always had what I asked for and sometimes more, and the boy who looked terrified when he realized how far I’d fallen.
I pick my words carefully. “I’m sorry I used you.
I took advantage of how close we got. I always knew the right things to say or do to get you to give in.
You were there in some of my darkest moments, and yes, maybe you helped me escape in ways that weren’t ideal, but you also held me in a lot of those moments, too.
I’m grateful for those moments. And trust me, At, if I hadn’t gotten it from you, I would’ve gotten it from someone worse.
That doesn’t erase anything, but…” I shrug a shoulder.
“You don’t have to hold all of that guilt.
I was gonna do what I was gonna do. None of that’s on you. ”
He stares at the table. “I wish things could’ve been different,” he says. “Part of me still wishes they could be…But I know that’s not…what you need. Or what I need to be.”
He drags a hand over his face and sighs. “I wasn’t safe for you,” he says finally. “I didn’t keep you safe.”
“I wasn’t safe for you either,” I echo, because that’s the truth. “I led you on. I took what I wanted and threw the rest back at you like it was your fault it didn’t fix me. I’m sorry for hurting you. For not being able to be…that. For you, for anyone.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t owe me that kind of apology.
” He clears his throat, working away the emotions.
“I’m proud of you, you know? For going away.
For coming back. I’ve been telling everyone you’re the one who’s gonna do something big one day with all this fucked up shit that was handed to you.
They think I’m bullshitting, but I mean it. ”
Something in my chest loosens at his faith in me. “Thank you,” I say, not being able to say anything without looking stupid and crying.
He glances up, meets my eyes, and there’s that look, the one I used to ignore because it complicated things I didn’t want to name.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, voice suddenly small, “I loved you. In some weird, fucked up way, I know I loved you. You made me want to be better. You still do…and I’m glad I met you…
even if our paths won’t be going in the same direction anymore. ”
The words hit hard. I don’t know what to do with them except hold them and fully feel them. In another world, in better weather, I could have loved him, too. But here, in this world, that love could never exist without drowning us both, and we knew that.
It’s silent for a few minutes. Just us accepting what was and what will never be, and understanding there was both beauty and destruction that came from our messed-up relationship. And I wouldn’t change any of it.
“Can I walk you home?” he asks, standing up and putting his hands in his hooded sweatshirt pockets so he won’t reach for me, “to your apartment?”
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
We barely speak as we walk side by side, closer than we probably should. The silence feels comforting, though, like the closing of a chapter doesn’t have to be some big, ugly thing between us.
When we get to my building, I stop at the base of the stairs and turn toward him.
He doesn’t ask to come up, and he doesn’t ask to see me again, which is both a relief and makes my heart sad.
Instead, he just slightly opens his arms and waits for me.
I step into the hug, and it’s long in that way goodbyes are when you both know it has to be this way, even if you wish it didn’t.
He smells like smoke and laundry detergent and a lot of memories I’ll be holding onto.
I let myself feel it. All of it. And I let myself say goodbye to that version of me while my cheek is pressed against his hoodie.
It stings a bit to let go of. To let go of him. The security he was for so long. The comfort he provided me. The attention I craved but wasn’t able to give back to him.
After holding me for long enough, he finally speaks.
“Take care of yourself,” he says into my hair.
“You too,” I whisper back into his chest.
He lets go first and takes a step backward. Then another.
“Goodbye, Lyd.”
“Goodbye, Atlas.”
When I step into the elevator, the rougher emotions and anxiety finally catch up to me. Yet I also feel oddly at peace with everything. It feels new and scary, but promising. Like I officially said my goodbyes to that life.
Our dorm door is cracked, and I push it open.
Lani and Simone are lying on one of the beds covered in blankets.
Lani’s hair is tied in a messy bun, and Simone is wearing a large college T-shirt and mismatched socks.
They look so happy and cozy…until they look up and see the whirlwind of emotions written all over my face.
“Are you okay?” Lani asks as she stands.
I open my mouth to respond, but end up crying instead. Neither of them asks any questions; they just come over to me and pull me into a hug. It’s probably the kindest thing they could do—just let me feel and not make me talk about it.
Eventually, the tears slow down, and the tightness in my chest eases. My eyes feel heavy and puffy, and I am completely drained. But it doesn’t feel like a bad kind of drained. It feels good; it feels like starting over. It feels like I’ve finally made more room for the future.