40 - Milo
Milo
OUTSIDE MY BEDROOM window, snow fell from the muddy sky. The kind that wouldn’t stick and would melt away by morning, the weather struggling to choose a lane. I glanced down at my phone every few minutes, feeling horribly unprepared for the evening ahead.
Time kept moving, no matter how much I pleaded with it to slow down.
“Are you ready to go?” Jasper wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling my back against his chest. He rested his chin on my shoulder, his breath tickling my neck.
“No.” I pouted.
I had spent the last hour hyper-fixating on cataloging my photography equipment, responding to emails I’d been avoiding, and addressing everything else I needed to do to get back on my feet.
Jasper had taken care of everything all month long, and the longer I sat around, the more unbalanced our relationship felt.
The more he poured into me, the more I worried about not being enough. I needed to do more, to be more.
What did I have to contribute? What did I really have to offer him?
The idea of it just being me was preposterous.
“You don’t have to do everything all at once,” he muttered.
“Yes, I do,” I insisted. It was an excellent distraction from what felt like the moment my life was going to implode. This dinner was going to kill me.
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
“Unreliable source, as usual.” He gave me a tight squeeze and then released me.
I turned to him and placed my hands on his chest. The way he was dressed only made me more anxious—a well-fitting sweatshirt, the collar of a dress shirt peeking out, and a nice pair of jeans.
I couldn’t manage to find a pair of jeans that weren’t riddled with holes, and the most acceptable thing I’d found in my entire wardrobe was a plain black t-shirt.
Was it really okay for me to stand next to someone who had their shit together and call them mine?
“Breathe,” he reminded me, thumb brushing a gentle circle into my side.
I wasn’t breathing at all. My attention was squarely focused on the chain hanging from his neck and the unforgettable vial dangling at the bottom, my blood still there, dark and coagulated inside.
It was only on the surface that Jasper was perfect.
Underneath, he was all twisted up just like me.
I finally exhaled. “What happens if she disowns us?”
It felt stupid to say out loud. Mom had been nothing but good to me over the years, but I still worried that things would go sideways. Maybe she’d seen us as her sons—as brothers—for too long, and the shift in our relationship would be too weird for her.
Maybe she thought I wasn’t a good candidate for loving her son.
And she’d be right.
I’d always been a bad influence. I’d skipped school so much that I’d eventually dropped out altogether.
I smoked, I drank, and I was always partying.
It was a miracle she’d never tossed me back out on the curb after taking me in, and yet, she always gave me more than I ever deserved.
Now, it felt like I was stealing something from her.
“What do you want to happen?”
I blinked slowly, the question yanking me out of my spiral.
“You can’t leave me.” I stared up at him with quiet resolution.
“Is that so?”
“I’d kill you before you could.”
He pinched my cheek. “You’re so scary.”
“I mean it.”
“Then you’d have to kill yourself after,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Because you can’t live without me.”
A shiver ran down my spine.
Every time I tested how much of my dark mind he could take, he matched it effortlessly.
“You think I wouldn’t do it?”
“Oh, no. I definitely think you would.” He chuckled.
He brought my hand to his lips, his nose brushing over my knuckles reverently.
“But I would never leave you,” he sighed, kissing the back of my hand. “So I guess you’ll never get to live out your murder-suicide fantasy.”
“Tragic.” I grinned.
“What will we do, then?” Jasper smirked. “Run away together?”
I nodded definitively.
He hummed in thought, reached for the matching necklace around my neck, and let the vial slip through his fingers.
“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed.
That was it. He didn’t overthink it the way I did. He’d abandon everything and everyone if it meant being with me, and it was a devotion I wasn’t worthy of. We hadn’t left the apartment yet, and I was already fighting back tears.
His hands cupped my face, thumbs rubbing at the damp skin beneath my eyes.
It was too hard not to cry. I felt everything all at once, and it was unbearable every time.
The guilt for trying to kill myself, the overwhelming joy that came with being seen at my worst and still wanted—it was too much. Too fucking much.
“Stop that,” he scolded.
“Yeah, cause I’m doing it on purpose, asshole.” I choked on a sob.
“Always so dramatic.” He leaned in, nudging my nose with his before I felt the slide of his lips over mine. My eyes fluttered closed, a few stray tears streaking down my cheeks and pooling on his fingers.
I kissed him back desperately because I was desperate. His hands moved to my waist, and I draped my arms over his shoulders, wishing we could meld together so he could never be free of me.
“We don’t have that much time.” His voice was muffled against my lips, his stubble scraping against my skin.
There would never be enough time. I’d spent years of my life wasting time on girls who weren’t for me, when my endgame had always been right in front of me. I didn’t know how long I had to make up the difference.
“Is it too late to cancel?” My bottom lip quivered.
“Yes.”
“What if I throw myself down the stairs and break my ankles?”
“Milo.”
I heaved a heavy sigh and rested my head against his shoulder.
“I’ve got us,” he promised. “I always do.”