57. Amelie
57
AMELIE
The night didn’t end as I expected it to, but I can’t say I’m mad about it.
I’m sitting on a roof in my pajamas, wrapped in a blanket, having a bonfire kindled with stacks of cash. Liz has burned more marshmallows than she’s eaten, and Meg keeps throwing them at a pigeon on the ledge.
This is not the most legal thing we’ve ever done, but it certainly isn’t the most illegal either.
It’s freezing up here, and my blanket is doing very little to warm me. The only chairs we could find were those metal fold-up ones, so I didn’t expect us to be camped out here for long. It’s been half an hour, though, and it doesn’t look like anyone has any intention of leaving soon.
“Marshmallow?” Liz asks, holding the burnt blob at arm’s length. “Anyone? They keep burning.”
I grin. We didn’t have anything to roast marshmallows on, so Liz dismantled one of my wire hangers in substitution. It’s not as inefficient as I thought it would be, though I guarantee it isn’t her preference. It’s short and flimsy and quite sharp on the end. “No, thank you.”
“Sure,” Jensen says, leaning forward so he can take it from Liz. She grins as he slips the marshmallow off the end, holding it awkwardly for a moment before taking a bite out of it. I’m waiting for his face to turn in disgust, given that the thing was literally charred, but his face remains straight.
Liz sighs and sticks another onto the hanger. “You know, I think this is a wonderful omen.”
“For what ?” Meg asks, shifting slightly in her seat. She’s directly next to Jensen, who dragged her chair closer to his the second they sat down. She didn’t elbow him. Didn’t even threaten it. Something definitely happened between the two of them while I was gone, but I’ll be on my deathbed before they offer up details. They like their secrets, and that’s okay.
“For what’s to come, obviously,” Liz says. “Think of it as a metaphor. We’re burning something bad—my dad’s ugly, fake money—and we’re gaining something good.”
“Burnt marshmallows?” Henry asks.
Liz shakes her head. “Treats. ”
“No offense, but this isn’t really a treat for anyone,” Meg says, gesturing to the flaming marshmallow on the end of the hanger. Liz gasps and whips the thing around, which results in the tiny ball of fire being flung off the roof.
Onto the sidewalk. Where there are people walking.
“Oops,” she says quietly, peering over the ledge. “It’s…fine. By the looks of it, it landed on an awning.”
“Is it still on fire ?” Henry asks.
Liz shrugs. “Doesn’t look it.”
“Fair enough,” I murmur, holding my palm out. “Give me one, please”
She complies. Within seconds, Liz hands me a completely torched marshmallow. I wince as I take it off the wire, and I practically hold my breath as I chew through the thick layer of char on the outside. This girl has every ounce of my adoration, but she cannot make a normally cooked marshmallow to save her life.
“You’re making a bad face,” Henry whispers to me.
I lick my lips. “I’m smiling.”
“I think grimacing is a more accurate term.”
I close my eyes and swallow the last of the bite. It manages to get stuck in my throat, but I persevere until my mouth is empty. “That was lovely.”
“It was burnt,” Liz says.
“It was,” I agree. “And it kind of tasted like lighter fluid.”
“That’s…not good.” She frowns and tosses the rest of the marshmallows into the smoldering fire. “Well, then. Shall we call it quits?”
Jensen leans forward. He stares into the fire pit and gives a bored shrug, clearly deeming the night over. With a sigh, he grabs the bucket of water we brought in case this went poorly and dumps it onto the fire, dousing any of the remaining flames. “Yep. Let’s go back inside.”
So we do. I stand and instantly shake my legs out. They’re cold and numb and asleep, and I prefer to not walk on pins and needles with each step. I stomp a few hundred times before even walking toward the door, blanket wrapped around my shoulders like a cape.
We all disperse once we’re inside the apartment. Liz goes to the bathroom, probably to examine my makeup counter. Meg and Jensen go directly to the couch, gathering all the blankets we discarded there and setting them aside. I pick them up and take them to my room, then snag a few extra pillows out of my closet.
I attempt to build some form of cot on the ground. It’s a very loose term for what I’ve got set up—really, it’s just a pile of blankets and a couple pillows, but it’s all I had.
Though it does sort of look like something you’d find in a prison cell.
“ That’s my bed?” Henry says from the doorway.
I grin and turn around. “I’m sorry. I tried.”
He crosses his arms. “I’ll survive.”
I look away from him, because even though Jensen gave him the rattiest, most worn clothes that he owns, Henry still manages to look good. I don’t even know how that’s possible.
To distract myself, I sit at the end of my bed and slip my feet under the comforter. My toes are still freezing, as is the rest of me, but I’m too lazy to grab a sweater from my closet. The duvet will have to do.
“How are you?” Henry asks quietly, coming to sit next to me.
“I smell like wood smoke, so not great,” I say, and he laughs. “But other than that…I don’t know. I really don’t want to talk about it.” I look at him, and he nods. “How are you?”
“Still stunned,” he admits. “I should’ve expected it long before any of this, but even after he told me, I still hoped it wasn’t true. It’s just…” He sighs. “I don’t know. It’s better to know the truth, though.”
“It’s okay to be hurt,” I tell him. “Even if you ‘should’ve known’, or you expected it, it’s still okay to feel that way.”
Henry looks at me, his brows drawn together. “You mean that.” He says it like a statement, not a question, but I know that he’s asking me.
I nod. “It’s the truth. You can feel whatever you want, Henry, and it will be valid in this situation. You don’t have to make sense of it all.”
“I feel like I need to,” he says. “For my mom and Liz.”
“But that isn’t your job,” I tell him. “However they handle it is their thing, just like this is yours. You can’t take care of them unless you sort through your own thoughts first.”
Instead of responding, Henry cracks his knuckles and stares at the wall. He chews on his lip mindlessly, and I know he’s thinking of what to do next, but not knowing where to start.
And then, I realize that somewhere along the way, I’ve learned how to read him again.
The revelation shocks me, because it wasn’t a sudden thing. It wasn’t even a choice I made. It was simply putting the pieces back together. Re-assembling the puzzle that was broken years ago.
Now, I remember that the corner of his mouth tugs down when he’s aggravated. That he’s fighting a smile when he looks at the ground, right between his shoes. I remember that he avoids eye contact when he’s trying not to laugh, that he clenches his jaw when he’s mulling over his words. I know that he glares at me when he’s amused but wishes he weren’t.
I know him .
He knows me.
And for once, I don’t feel scared of it.
I want it. I want him to know everything about me.
Henry suddenly touches my arm, a soft brush of his skin over mine. He holds my eyes as he says, “I want to paint you.”
I just stare at him for a moment, because the words almost don’t register in my mind.
“A portrait,” he clarifies, smiling faintly at the look on my face. “Would you let me do that?”
I swallow, my throat feeling tight. His words from what seems like ages ago burrow into my mind.
I’ve always painted the same things. The things I care about. The things I want to preserve forever.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice monotone. There’s got to be a better answer, but I don’t know it. “You can.”
Henry laughs, the sound light. Easy. But instead of laughing along, I lean forward and take his face in my hands. He goes silent as I kiss across his face, across the bridge of his nose. His jaw. His neck. His mouth, just once, and when I pull away from him, he sighs and takes me into his arms. I go slack against his chest, feeling lighter than I have in years. His presence, his words, his touch—they bring me back to myself. They make me feel whole.
I never wanted someone to define me. To make me feel anything so overwhelming. Being seen as a counterpart of someone was a great fear of mine. I started to believe that loving someone like this would ruin me , but I’m finding that that isn’t the case.
I am not defined by him, and he is not defined by me. But I feel at home with him, and that isn’t wrong. Feeling safe with him isn’t something to be scared of.
Henry pulls away from me and holds me at arm’s length. He studies my face, and I think he’s about to say something, but I talk first.
I talk before my brain can fully catch up to my mouth.
“I love you,” I tell him. “A lot.”
Once the words are out in the open, I don’t understand how I kept them inside for so long.
Henry’s face is so shocked that I actually laugh. It’s probably the most poorly timed laugh of my life, but I don’t care to try and stop it. “What?” He whispers.
“I love you,” I say again. “And now, I realize that no matter what happens, I will always grow to love you. I will always find my way to you, Henry. I promise.”
He takes a shaky breath, and I grin at the blush that crawls across his skin. “I love you, Ames,” he tells me. “More than I know what to do with.”
“I can’t believe I found you again,” I say, toying with a thread on my comforter. “Though we could’ve gotten off to a better start this time, hm?”
He shakes his head once. “No.”
“ No ?”
“No.” His voice grows quieter, almost a whisper as he says, “I never told you, did I?”
I shake my head once when his eyes find mine. “Tell me what?”
“That I hated it at first.” The statement makes my stomach drop, but the subtle smile on his lips tells me that I don’t need to be worried. “I hated that I was the one to catch you in the museum. That I had the responsibility of knowing what you were doing. It ate away at me. Tormented me. Conned me out of many nights of sleep, but I realize it now—it was a reminder.”
I frown. “A reminder for what?”
He grins, just barely. “That if anyone is going to ruin me, if anyone is going to consume me this way, I want it to be you.”
I swallow, my eyes darting between his. “I want it to be you, too.”
His smile grows brighter, and I realize that he’s right.
We’ve ruined each other for anyone else. Any thing else. And we’ve done so willingly.
I have no doubt it’s the best thing I’ve ever chosen.
Henry leans forward then, his hands going to either side of me, but before I can even react, the bedroom door swings open.
“ Okay , geez. Sorry.” Liz covers her eyes, and I laugh at the sight of her. She’s wearing a headband with alien eyes, a jelly patch under each eye, and a hot pink lip mask. “I should’ve knocked, but I didn’t think?—”
“It’s fine,” I say, pushing my hair behind my ears. “You’re fine.”
“I mean, if you need , I can sleep in the living room, but?—”
“No, Liz.” Henry sighs and stands up, then gracefully throws a pillow at Liz’s head. She ducks out of the way before it can make contact, but the movement manages to rid her of one eye patch. “I’ll be right back.”
“Toothbrushes are under the counter,” I call, and he throws a wave over his shoulder before leaving the room.
“He’s so shy,” Liz says, rolling her eyes. “He got what tact I was supposed to have.”
“Your lack of tact is my favorite thing about you, Liz.” I grin as I burrow into my bed. Lizzy does the same, removing the headband and setting it nicely on the side table. She removes all the sticky things from her face and puts them in my waste bin, then looks at me.
“I’m tired,” she says solemnly. “I thought I’d be talkative, but really, I don’t see myself lasting another moment.”
I sigh heavily. “Thank God. I’m exhausted.”
“We’ll just have to do this properly soon.”
“We will.” I pull the sheets a little higher over myself. “Sleep well, Liz.”
“Night, Ames.”
I’m almost fully asleep by the time Henry comes back in and presses a kiss to my forehead, then turns the lamp off, cloaking the room in darkness.