Chapter 29
chapter twenty-nine
Ten Years Ago
I hated my bed. I’d never realized it before, but I did.
After being in it alone for a few days, I realized just how big and uncomfortable and lumpy it was.
I guess I was just blinded by how good everything felt when Tobi was around.
We could be in a dumpster together, and it’d feel like a five-star luxury hotel.
As long as we were together, everything felt soft. Warm.
His absence made it feel big and cold. Like what I’d imagine space felt like.
When he left, he’d taken my space helmet with him, forcing me to choke on the air while my lungs seized and begged.
I’d realized now that he wasn’t coming back.
At least, I didn’t think so. He hadn’t left a reason to.
I definitely wasn’t reason enough, seeing as he’d left me, so what else could it possibly be?
The oversized, tattered shirts we’d both share interchangeably? The ones that had holes in them but had such a soft and stretchy material, we couldn’t get rid of them. They weren’t mine, they weren’t his—they were ours. We’d share them, just like we’d shared our bed.
I clutched the sheets in my fists, hating the color of them. He’d chosen the color this time. I’d never really cared, but apparently he did. Dark blue. Not too bright, not too dark, and could hide a stain if need be.
One side of the bed still smelled like him.
It’d been a while since we’d washed the bedding, but now I couldn’t bring myself to.
The pillowcase he used still smelled like his shampoo.
There was a line right down the middle of the bed where it’d stop smelling like me, and it started to smell like his deodorant and the scent of his skin right after a shower.
It was intoxicating. It always had been. It was comforting.
I loved how he smelled. When he was sad and could handle my arms wrapped around him, I’d sneak a sniff from the crook of his neck. I couldn’t help it. I’d become obsessed with him and everything about him, and I didn’t know whether that was healthy or not.
Crew and Price seemed obsessed with each other. Jesse, Isaac, and Liam seemed obsessed with each other. That had to mean it was okay, right?
Or was that why he’d left?
I fucking hated my bed.
Pushing off the mattress, I let my feet fall onto the cold apartment floor. I hadn’t turned the heat on in a few days. I felt dead on the inside, so why not leave it cold enough for my corpse? Maybe when they autopsied me, they’d find the pieces of my heart that’d gone into my bloodstream.
Was this the broken heart syndrome people talked about? I used to fear it. I’d never been in love before Tobi, so I never fully understood it. I was afraid of the thing that could be so powerful that it had the power to kill someone without making them sick.
Now I understood. I was sick. Sick with this never-ending ache in my chest where Tobi used to be, and I was just so sure it was fatal. I didn’t think I’d survive. How could I possibly survive without my Tobi?
The living room was no better. I hated my couch.
It was where we’d used to sit and watch TV and sometimes cuddle.
It was where we’d had our first date. It was where he’d lie on his back and put his feet in my lap, but I wouldn’t dare touch his legs.
Just in case he didn’t want me to. Just in case it’d be too much. Just in case it’d trigger him.
I hated my kitchen. I could still smell the last steak he’d made for us and the soup I’d somehow burned.
He’d laughed at me, asking how I could possibly burn soup when I worked in a restaurant.
The dining table was right there, and I hated it, too.
I hated how perfect we sat there. I hated how much I loved the memory of our first dinner.
I hated how easily I could daydream about the day I’d told him I loved him over a plate of salmon and asparagus.
I hated that I could remember the tears in his eyes and the smile on his face when he told me he loved me, too.
It was all written in the scratches on the surface.
I wanted to break it. Throw it away. Throw it in the dumpster I knew we’d feel so comfortable in because if we were together, we were okay.
No matter the circumstances. No matter how hard. How cold. How messy.
It didn’t matter that my apartment was falling apart because it was ours.
It was where we’d shared our most important memories.
It was where we’d found love, even though he was from Arkansas and I was from New York because fate worked so fucking funny sometimes.
It’d brought us together, bypassing all that distance and all the trauma in between.
Fate had shown us the other halves of our hearts, only to rip us apart.
I hated fate.
The bathroom. I laughed to myself, shaking my head as I realized the one place I thought maybe I’d be safe in wasn’t safe in the slightest. The shower was where I’d seen Tobi naked for the first time. He’d shyly asked me to come in, slowly dropping the towel that’d been around his waist.
I remembered swallowing nervously and keeping my gaze locked onto his eyes, trying to be respectful. He’d told me not to be respectful. He’d wanted me to see. He’d wanted to share that part of him with me.
Fuck, he was beautiful. I’d told him as much, too. I hadn’t moved any closer, I hadn’t said anything else, just told him he was beautiful because he was. So fucking beautiful. There were no other words to describe him or how honored I’d felt in that moment.
And that was it. He’d asked me to watch him shower, and I had never been so fucking turned on in my entire life, but that was all we’d done. When he was done showering, he’d given me a kiss and thanked me for letting him take control of the situation. As if I wasn’t always under his control.
There was no fucking room in this goddamn apartment that didn’t remind me of him. That didn’t feel like there was something missing. Like the color had been stripped from the walls and stripped from my eyes and stripped from my memories. That was all I had anymore. Memories.
There were holes in the floors. Big, gaping holes with a draft coming through, and spiders were crawling out of them because everything was so empty.
I was terrified of falling right through them, and even though Papa could show me how to fix holes in the floor, I wouldn’t be able to fix these.
They wouldn’t go away until Tobi came back.
I didn’t think Tobi was coming back.
So I went back to my stupid fucking bed, crawled under the awful blankets, and cried against the horrible pillowcase that still smelled like him. I missed him. I didn’t want to miss him. I wanted him here. With me. I wanted to feel his warmth around me.
But he’d left me. And nowhere was safe. Maybe that was how he’d felt, too. There was nothing else for me to do except smell him on my sheets and cry myself to sleep and pretend like I was a corpse waiting in the morgue.
When they cut me open, they’d find his name.
Every bone in my body would be etched with it.
When they buried me six feet under, I’d deteriorate.
I’d decompose and become food for tree roots and green grass and worms and bugs and flowers, and every single one of them would know his name.
They’d carry his legacy, even if I couldn’t.
The world would never forget Tobi because I’d never forget Tobi. At least I had that. At least I had my memories.