Paz
10:34 p.m.
I can’t believe Alano Rosa is inside my house—and that his bodyguard is searching for weapons.
Yeah, this is definitely not how I pictured bringing a boy home for the first time, but it is what it is.
Before inviting anyone in, I knocked on Mom’s bedroom door and alerted her and Rolando that we would be having guests. Mom
was pretty damn cute about Alano popping in, which I don’t take for granted because some parents would totally suck in this
situation, but they definitely have some uneasiness over Alano’s bodyguard wanting to rummage through our house. At the end
of the day, we have nothing to hide and make peace with it. Alano needs these precautions. Mom and Rolando are changing into
something more presentable than her nightgown and his tank top and boxers and then they’ll be out any minute. I can’t be more
embarrassed by anything they’ll say than I already am about what our house says about us.
Even though I cleaned the house today, I’m still so damn self-conscious. There’s no way I did as good a job as the housekeepers Alano’s family must employ. I’m also well aware that can’t be a one-person job in their mansion here or their penthouse in New York. Our house is so small that Dane is almost done inspecting our living room, since we only have space for a TV, three-seater couch, small dining table, smaller coffee table, and an arched cabinet with family pictures. He opens the cabinet and only finds our extra throw blankets.
More than anything, I feel stupid about inviting Alano inside. I was so desperate to keep hanging out that I thought we could
go straight to my bedroom, rebandage his arm and stomach, and maybe kiss in peace. I didn’t think we would have to watch his
bodyguard search for weapons that aren’t here, or scan for cameras with his infrared detector, all so we can have a few minutes
of privacy.
Alano isn’t hanging by the door as ordered. He’s conducting his own inspection of the framed family pictures on the cabinet’s
shelves. “May I?” he asks.
“Go for it.”
He examines a throwback photograph of me on Halloween where I was dressed up as Scorpius Hawthorne in his crimson robe with
the fiery emblem and the scar painted on my forehead. I was trick-or-treating with a skull-shaped bucket.
“This is so cute,” he says with the biggest smile that makes me forget about all my insecurities, even as Dane goes through
our drawers in the kitchen. “That robe is amazing. Did you get to take one home from set?”
“Nope, this was before I even got cast. My mom made my costume.”
Alano brings the photograph closer to his face. “It looks so real.”
“I bet you’ve had some kick-ass costumes made for you.”
He nods. “Sure, but nothing made by my mother. This is really special.”
I might not live in some multimillion-dollar mansion that probably has secret passageways, but I do have an amazing mom who
goes all out for me.
“Maybe your mother can make Halloween costumes for us this year,” Alano says.
I have to fight against every instinct that is screaming that I’ll be long dead before Halloween, but that’s easier than usual
when I imagine Alano and me in matching costumes—in a couple’s costume.
There are footsteps down the hall as Mom and Rolando approach in their bathrobes.
“Hi,” Mom sings. “Welcome to—”
Dane moves so quickly from the kitchen counter to the hall that he seems more like a threat than a protector. Rolando immediately
shields my startled mom.
“Slow down, Agent Dane,” Alano says—commands. “They’re greeting us.”
This doesn’t make Dane any warmer. He asks Mom and Rolando if they’ll agree to personal inspection, which honestly pisses
me off, but they both do it, and they’re doing it for me. I can’t believe they’re being patted down in their own home as if
they’re dangerous.
“I’m so sorry about all of this, Ms. Medina and Mr. Rubio,” Alano says, truly embarrassed. He mouths an apology to me too.
“Don’t be,” Mom says once cleared. “You need to take care of yourself and allow people to take care of you.” She opens her
arms. “It also means I’m safe to hug, if you’d like.”
Alano smiles as he steps into Mom’s arms. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Ms. Medina.”
“Call me Gloria, please,” Mom says.
“My parents would kill me,” Alano says.
“Your bodyguard will stop them,” Rolando says, shaking Alano’s hand. “Or scare them, at least,” he adds, looking back at Dane,
who is continuing his sweep of the kitchen. “Anyway, it’s good to see you. You won’t remember me, but we met briefly before
the first End Day. I was a herald—”
“I remember you, sir,” Alano says. “I’m sorry to interrupt. That was rude.”
Rolando waves off the so-called rudeness. “You actually remember me?”
“It was after the first simulation training for all the heralds. There was supposed to be an entertainer to cheer everyone
up, but she no-showed, so my mother brought me into the rec room to color with all the heralds because she thought seeing
a kid having fun could be a good reminder about how life goes on after the distressing practice calls. You complimented the
ball gown and tuxedo I drew.”
Rolando smiles, beaming with pride. “I can’t believe I made such an impression. I definitely like you more than your old man.”
“Rolando,” Mom scolds. “Show some respect.”
“It’s okay,” Alano says. “I’ve heard far worse about my father. In your defense, Rolando, it is pretty common for heralds
to quit after their first shift. I had my own this week. I thought I knew what I was getting myself into after almost ten
years of secondhand stories, but it’s been impossible to recover from how difficult that was.” His eyes glaze over, and I’m
sure he’s reliving the moment that Decker shot himself. He shakes it off. “I commend you for enduring through the very first
End Day without knowing the true weight of that work.”
Rolando shakes Alano’s hand again and pats his back. “Maybe I’ll give Death-Cast another shot when you’re running that place,”
he says with a laugh.
“You would be welcome,” Alano says.
I hope Rolando isn’t holding his breath for a job at Death-Cast, since Alano won’t be inheriting the company anytime soon,
if ever.
“Can we get you something to drink?” Mom asks. “Tea? Water?”
I catch Alano as he looks past my mom and stepdad. Dane shakes his head slightly as if Mom and Rolando have eyes in the backs
of their heads.
“I’m not thirsty, but thank you,” Alano says, and pivots into a compliment about our pretty basic chandelier. I bet Alano
actually does want a drink, but his bodyguard won’t risk us poisoning him. It’s no shit why Alano is struggling with Death-Cast’s
interference with his life.
“Anyway, I’m gonna help Alano clean up his wound in my bedroom,” I say.
Dane blocks the hall. “I need to perform an inspection first.”
This is pretty ridiculous, but I throw Dane a thumbs-up. It wouldn’t have been a hard code to crack on which bedroom is mine,
but I point it out anyway.
“I’m sorry,” Alano says.
“Don’t sweat it.”
I’m gonna make this invasion of privacy worth it because once Alano and I are alone, I’m gonna confess that I like him. We
were gonna kiss in Santa Monica, that’s not in my head. Yeah, we got interrupted, but if I’m supposed to take that as a sign
that it shouldn’t have happened, then that means I gotta climb that Hollywood Sign again and kill myself like I was gonna
do before Alano intervened.
Right? I legit can’t tell if I’m talking myself into heartbreak or not. I also won’t know if I’m losing out on love if I don’t
take a leap.
A good leap.
“Congratulations, by the way,” Alano says to Mom and Rolando. “ told me the wonderful news that you’re expecting.”
Mom smiles through her surprise. “I suppose we aren’t keeping this a secret, ito,” she says.
“My bad, Mom. It just came up.”
Alano muffles an apology behind his hands. Mom calls him adorable and says that her pregnancy is only a secret right now because she’s nervous about the risks. I have Alano redeem himself by rattling off those stats he shared with me last night about women older than Mom who’ve had successful pregnancies. I watch as Mom and Rolando grow impressed with Alano and hopeful for their baby.
“Any chance you’re a psychic who can predict life?” Rolando asks, laying a hand on Mom’s stomach, which we all hope grows
and grows.
“Unfortunately not,” Alano says apologetically.
If Mom loses that baby, I don’t know how any of us will survive that. The fear has me thinking about self-harming and—
Oh shit.
My knife.
My knife that’s hidden in my nightstand.
My knife that’s hidden in my nightstand in my bedroom.
My knife that’s hidden in my nightstand in my bedroom where Dane is looking for weapons.
This is bad, this is so fucking bad. If Dane finds that knife he’ll mark me as a threat to Alano, and Mom and Rolando will
mark me as a threat to myself. I could lose Alano, and Dane could help detain me until I can be transported to a suicide prevention
facility.
“I’m gonna check on Dane,” I say while rushing toward my bedroom. I don’t doubt that Alano will be fine with Mom and Rolando;
he can talk to anyone about anything, but I won’t be able to talk to him about everything and nothing if I get caught.
I stand outside my bedroom. The closet door is open, and my trunk where I hid my gun is closed. Dane is lifting my mattress, right next to my nightstand where Golden Heart is placed under my lamp.
“Hey, you need anything?” I nervously ask. I should be Play It Cool or Totally Innocent right now, but I’m sweating.
Dane drops my mattress back onto the frame. “Almost done, Mr. .”
He opens the nightstand, and I shut down my scream before it can blast out. This is where I gotta become Play It Cool .
I almost ask what he thinks about my room, but he’s smarter than that, he would see right through the Totally Innocent
act. Dane would take a closer look and find my knife and he wouldn’t believe my performance as I Only Have That Knife to Hurt
Myself even though it’s true.
“That’s my journal,” I say, hoping he respects my privacy. I don’t know if granting Dane access also allows him to read through
my journal to make sure I haven’t written down any master plans to assassinate Alano.
“My mom got it for me because I’m suicidal,” I say before Dane can pick up the journal and realize the weight doesn’t match
that of an ordinary book, since I tore out all the pages to store my knife because I knew my mom and stepdad would actually
respect my privacy.
“It has all these inspirational quotes. Most of them are pretty dumb, but some hit home,” I lie. Not only about there being
no pages in there but all the quotes actually pissed me off.
“I’m sorry to hear that you’re struggling,” Dane says as he closes the drawer.
I feel the intense relief that I only know from giving in to a self-harm urge. I hope I can find a healthier relief in a future Begin Day. Maybe even tonight when Alano and I kiss.
Dane inspects for hidden cameras before nodding. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. .”
“No problem.”
Once Dane steps out, I take a moment to compose myself with some deep breaths. I can’t believe how close that was.
There’s a knock at the door. I spin around, and my heart races again.
“Hi,” Alano says. He’s standing in the doorway and already looking around my bedroom. “Your parents are lovely.”
I always struggle with considering Rolando my parent. It has nothing to do with him because he’s an amazing stepdad and the
loving partner my mom deserves, but it’s this psychological hurdle I can’t get over. Almost like I don’t wanna mentally slot
Rolando into the same place Dad was in because of what I did to him—and what I would do again if Rolando ever became a threat
to my mom. I don’t get into this with Alano, I just say thanks.
“Are you going to invite me in?” Alano asks.
“Yeah—wait. How do I know you’re not a vampire needing an invitation?”
“Well, the lore is about vampires being invited to the house, not bedrooms. Though the Eden family in the Nightlight Saga don’t need an invitation. They’re also beautiful and wealthy. I could be one of them,” Alano says, stepping inside as if to prove his point. My heart is pounding because a boy has finally come into my bedroom, and, you know what, he might be a vampire like Edgar Eden. His human love interest, Zella Raven, sure as shit didn’t know that she lived among vampires and werewolves and faeries. She didn’t even have Death-Cast in her world, however the hell that works. For all I know Alano and his family are magical beings. “How much fun would we have if I turned you into a vampire?”
“Probably a lot, but immortality is my biggest nightmare.”
“Only because you don’t have someone who will stop you from stepping out into the sun.”
I don’t get into how the vampires in the Nightlight Saga glow like fireflies under sunlight instead of combusting in flames.
I’m too caught up thinking about my favorite fantasy world. The Immortal’s story in Golden Heart made me grateful that for as long as I have to be alive it won’t be forever, but watching him fall in love with Death showed
that eternity could be worth it as long as you have the right someone by your side—like Alano just said. I hope—no, I’m sure—that
Alano is suggesting that he could be that someone.
“Now that I’m here, can I have a tour?” Alano asks.
“Sure, but the tour will be over really fast.” I point out my dying Zebra plant and the camera I used for my self-tape and
my collection of novels, plays, and games. “There you go.”
Alano glares. “I’m giving you one star for that terrible tour.”
“What else do you need, a tour of the bed?”
He grins. “That would definitely increase the rating.”
I tell him to shut up when I really wanna say Let’s do it .
“Can I please have a proper tour? I need to do research for my Dario Encyclopedia.”
“It’s just a tiny bedroom.”
“Even the smallest exhibits in a museum contain worthwhile history. Your ‘tiny bedroom’ can say a lot about you. I’d love
for you to tell me what everything means.”
“Not all my history in here is good.”
“We all have history we’re not proud of,” Alano says. “It’s still worth telling.”
Most people’s bedrooms are their sanctuaries, and I guess my bedroom has been too, but instead of nights of face masks and
journaling and prayers, I spent mine waiting for Death-Cast to call and self-harming and desperate to die. Instead of depressing
Alano, I show him my Scorpius Hawthorne collection: my hardcover of Scorpius Hawthorne and the Immortal Deathlings signed by Poppy Iglesias; the Polaroids with the cast, especially my forever favorite one where Howie Maldonado and I are
holding the famous iron wand; and the framed pages of the sides I had on set.
Alano wants to know what’s up with the monochromatic decor. Bright colors were honestly pissing me off so I stuck to black
and white, especially after my therapist suggested that an absence of warm colors might be contributing to my bad moods. The
big Zebra plant was supposed to help, though that’s more brown than green these days, and we’ll see if it makes a comeback
as I keep tending to it during these Begin Days.
We go through my wardrobe, video games (his best friend Rio has been playing the Dark Vanishing sequel), plays, books, and I show him the binder on my desk of the short films I wrote and printed as if I would do something
with them one day. Maybe now I will.
And as we approach my bed, I almost point out the knife in my nightstand or the spot on the floor where Mom found me after
my first suicide attempt, but I hold back.
“That’s my weighted blanket,” I say instead. “It’s supposed to feel like a hug or something.”
“I take it you don’t feel that way.”
“It’s just not the same.”
“I fully agree. It’s nice, but nothing beats a real cuddle.”
I’ve had sex twice, but I wonder how many times Alano has—and with who. That’s a bridge we’re bound to cross as we discover
more and more about each other.
Alano picks up my hardcover of Golden Heart from the nightstand. “Can I see what Orion signed?” he asks, opening the book.
Two pieces of paper fall out. I rush and pick them up.
“What are those?” he asks.
I remind myself I don’t have to be ashamed of my history. I hand over the ripped autograph where Orion told me to keep living.
“I tore it out the night I met you.”
Alano studies the torn page like a historian. “I’m happy you’re following his advice.”
“I’m not living because of him.”
“Still. It’s really great advice. What if we taped it back inside? I’d love for you to have this reminder the next time you reread this book.”
I was torn on whether I would keep it, but something in me clearly couldn’t get myself to throw it away when I was cleaning.
I don’t know if I’ll ever have it in me to reread this book, especially whenever they announce the cast and set photos get
leaked and the actual movie starts hitting theaters, but this might be the reminder that saves my life. I grab tape from my
desk and stick Orion’s autograph on the inside cover.
“It looks scarred,” I say.
“Or like it’s healing,” Alano says. He points at the other page sticking out of my pocket. “What’s that?”
This I don’t hand over. “My suicide note.”
Alano’s overprotective mode comes alive. “Why are you keeping that? You’re not planning on needing it again, are you?”
“No, I’m not planning anything like that, but... I don’t know what the future holds. If nothing changes and I can’t survive,
then Mom will know that I loved her enough to not leave her in mystery over my struggles. Or maybe the Begin Days work out
and this suicide note will be a reminder of how far I’ve come.”
“I hope more than anything it’s the latter, .”
“Me too, Alano.”
He offers a sincere smile before looking around my bedroom. “Well, thank you for the five-star tour. I learned a lot about
you.”
“You gotta invite me over to check out yours.”
“My parents are currently not allowing guests, not even my best friend who flew out here, but you’re honestly not missing much. My bedroom back home is more representative of who I am whereas the one here needs more personal touches.”
“Are you doing anything tomorrow? We have this dope flea market every Sunday that has lots of cool antiques, jewelry, clothes.”
“I’d love that. Does it open early by any chance? I’m supposed to go with Rio to Universal Studios tomorrow.”
I’m bummed that his Sunday is booked with a best friend he’ll see back home considering he goes back to New York on Wednesday,
but I just have to take what I can get—again. “The market opens at ten, it’s on Melrose. Maybe you can pull some Death-Cast
heir strings and get in earlier.”
Alano laughs. “I don’t want to abuse any privileges if I’m not embracing the role. I’ll make ten work and can head to Universal
at eleven. Do you think an hour is enough?”
I don’t think it is, but I can’t risk Alano backing out completely. “Yeah, we’ll move fast.”
There’s a knock at the door. It’s Dane. “It’s twenty-three hundred, Mr. Alano. We need to be leaving.”
“Ten more minutes,” Alano says, showing off his old bandage. “ still needs to wrap me up.”
“Ten minutes,” Dane says as he returns to the living room.
“Only ten minutes?” I ask Alano. Suddenly an hour doesn’t seem so bad.
“I’m sorry. It’s only so I can keep the peace with my parents. Believe me, I wish I could stay over. I could talk to you all night.”
“You can if you want,” I say so fast it’s like I’m talking over another actor’s line. “I mean, you could hang here with me,
and we can make the couch nice and cozy for Dane.”
Alano laughs. “That’s a very tempting offer, but my father would probably fire Dane for allowing that in a house that didn’t
get to undergo a full inspection. Maybe another night?”
“Maybe another night,” I say hopefully.
I go into my closet, where I hide my bandages, gauze, wipes, and petroleum jelly so that Mom and Rolando can’t question why
we’re going through the supply so quickly. Alano and I sit on the edge of my bed. I wish I had time to lie down with him,
to tell him how much I like him, but that’s gonna have to wait until tomorrow morning at the market, I guess. For now I carefully
unwrap the bandage from his arm and I fight back a gasp. There’s dry, crusty blood and bluish-purple bruising around his stitched-up
wound. It’s one thing to inflict this kinda damage on myself and sickening to know someone caused this on the boy I care about.
“Let me know if this hurts,” I say as I carefully wipe down his wound’s perimeter before lathering on the petroleum jelly.
“You have a gentle touch, Nurse .”
My thighs would disagree.
I press down on his wound with gauze and rebandage his forearm.
“Is it disgusting to offer you my old bandage?” Alano asks.
“I mean, yeah, but it’s a legally binding contract. We can’t throw it away.”
“Maybe you can store it somewhere safe with your suicide note.”
I think I know just the place.
I’m about to put all my supplies away when Alano calls me back.
“? You missed a spot.” Alano gets up from the bed and lifts his shirt high enough to show me the bandage wrapped around
his abdomen. “It’s okay if you don’t want to help—”
I’m back at his side so fast it’s like I teleported. “What’s the best way to do this? Do you wanna hold your shirt up?”
“It’ll bother my arm. Do you mind if I just take it off?”
“All good,” I say.
Alano takes his shirt off, and seeing his bare chest again makes me wish he was staying the night even more. I would close
my door if I weren’t scared of Dane kicking it down, but I’m gonna need it up for the next time Alano comes through.
I circle Alano as I unwrap the bandage around his abdomen, like a little dance. It requires more delicacy this time since
the tape is clinging to his skin for dear life. Alano winces in pain, especially around his stab wound. He lets out little
breaths, telling me he’s fine, but I know it hurts like hell to remove tiny Band-Aids from knee scrapes and scabs, and it
hurts even more to peel off bandages from bigger cuts like the ones on my thighs. I can only imagine the pain from being stabbed.
I rest a hand on his shoulder, steadying myself before I remove the final patch. “This is gonna suck,” I warn.
“Just rip it off. I don’t want to drag this out.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s going to suck either way. I’d rather it be quick.”
Together, we take deep breaths while staring into each other’s eyes. My hand squeezes his shoulder, and I love the feel of
his skin so much that I almost pull him closer. Instead, I put him out of his misery and rip the bandage off, his body tensing
under my grip. He bites down on his lip while stomping in pain. I almost angry-cry looking at his horrific wound, but I quickly
clean the blood and apply the jelly to provide some relief.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I keep repeating.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I just hate hurting you.”
“You’re only hurting me to heal me.”
Those words echo in my head as I do three laps around Alano with the new bandage so it’s nice and snug. I end right in front
of him. Everything changes in an instant. Alano’s brown eye and green eye look between my eyes and lips. He rests a hand on
my hip and pulls me closer. This is all I want, and I should be smiling or pressing my lips against his but instead I blurt
out, “I self-harm.”
Alano straightens as I back up. “You what?”
“I’m not some healer, I hurt myself. A lot. It’s how I get through the Not-End Days—how I’ve been getting through them this
year before meeting you,” I say quietly. “No one knows.”
Alano stands there, not moving a muscle until he puts his shirt back on. I wonder if he’s about to leave because it’s one thing to hang out with a suicidal boy with borderline personality disorder and another to hang out with one who’s also self-harming. But Alano isn’t a piece of shit. He climbed the Hollywood Sign to save a suicidal stranger. And now he walks right up to me and gives me a hug that makes me feel so safe from myself.
“Thank you for trusting me,” Alano whispers. “I’m sorry you’ve been alone with this.”
I half expect Alano to confess that he’s self-harmed too, since he’s also attempted suicide, but that never comes. I feel
relief and guilt. “I’m sorry for putting this on you, I just don’t wanna lie to you and I wanna put an end to it.”
“Your history is worth telling, and I asked for all of it,” Alano says, relaxing his hold to meet my eyes again. “The next
time you’re tempted to prove Death-Cast wrong, I’m here for you. Even if I’m on the other side of the world, I’m here for
you.”
“I believe you,” I say, which is maybe the most powerful thing I’ve ever felt in my life. Even though Alano won’t physically
be in LA, I trust that I can call him at any time, almost like he’s my personal suicide prevention hotline but even better
because the other person on the line cares about me more than any stranger will. “I promise I’m done with self-harming. Tonight
I’m gonna put my knife back in the kitchen.”
“Where is it now?”
“In my nightstand.”
“Didn’t Dane check...?”
“I turned my journal into a secret compartment.”
Alano stares at the nightstand like there’s a great evil inside. “First phones hide blades and now books. Dangerous world we live in.”
“Sorry. I’d put it back now, but Dane would probably shoot me if I go out there wielding a knife.”
Alano flinches at the thought. He grabs my hand. “I’m really proud of you, . This is the best way to end our first Begin
Day.”
I’m not sure it’s the best way, but it’s pretty damn promising. I just have to follow through, day by day, night by night.
“Are you going to be okay tonight?” Alano asks.
“Yeah, I think so.” I believe myself for once. “If something changes—”
“You call me.”
“I’ll call you.”
We hug for a long time, but not long enough because Alano’s bodyguard is back to guard me from Alano’s body again. To be fair,
it would never be long enough. Not even if we were vampires.
Alano and I walk out into the living room, where Mom and Rolando welcome him back anytime before saying good night. I watch
Alano as he walks to his car, waves one last time, and drives off. I don’t realize that I’m doing exactly what my mom does
whenever I leave until she teases me about it. That’s when I realize that this is her way of showing she cares about me and
my way of showing I care—really, really care—about Alano.
Last night, Alano stared up at the night sky and suggested that our story was written in the stars, and I didn’t see it take shape then, but the constellation is glowing bright as fuck now.
Before midnight, when I’m the only one awake, I honor my promise to Alano and remove the knife from my nightstand and put
it straight into the dishwasher. If I’m ever tempted to hurt myself again, I’ll open up my journal to find my suicide note
and the Begin Day bandage instead of the knife. And I can call Alano, obviously, which is more than enough reason to keep
breathing.
For now, I hug the journal to my chest as I fall asleep, not waiting up for Death-Cast to call.