Chapter 19 Bastian
BASTIAN
heard /h?rd/: interjection
We climb out and go inside in a shell-shocked silence. Yasmin hasn’t stopped chewing her nails. The elevator hauls us up to the fourth floor, but the mood inside is strained. I keep looking over at Eliana, but she aims her face down toward the floor.
I’ve got my own shit to dwell on, though. I haven’t seen Zeke since before I died. That’s yet another bundle of guilt I have yet to explore. I let my best friend think I’d been executed mobland-style in a grungy warehouse and left him to grieve.
He’s gonna be fucking pissed at me, too.
Join the club, bud. It’s a packed house.
The elevator dings. We step out into the hallway. I can see Zeke’s door at the end, waiting for us, beckoning, but my feet feel like they’re encased in cement.
I have no choice but to drag them forward, though. I’m an irreparable sinner and a son of a bitch, but I’m no coward. So I walk down to #1303 and I knock on the door with scarred knuckles.
Footsteps shuffle inside. A chain jangles. The door swings open.
Zeke stands there in a faded Bulls jersey and sweatpants, a half-eaten protein bar in his hand. When he sees who’s waiting for him, his jaw drops. The protein bar hits the floor.
“What… the… fuck…”
I raise my hand in a wave. “Hey, man.”
“What the actual fuck.”
“I can explain—”
“You’re dead,” accuses Zeke. “I went to your funeral, Bash. I gave a fucking eulogy.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? You’re fucking sorry?! You think that’s—”
Then Yasmin steps out from behind Eliana, and everything else becomes irrelevant.
Zeke’s words die on his lips. His face goes pale.
For a long moment, neither one of them moves.
Yasmin stands frozen in the hallway, her fingers still pressed to her lips where she’d been gnawing her nails.
Zeke stares at her like she’s a ghost—which, fair enough, given the circumstances.
Guess we’re running a whole resurrection convention tonight.
“Yas…” he whispers.
Then he’s moving, crossing the threshold and shouldering me aside. Yasmin meets him halfway. They collide in the doorway with enough force that I hear the breath leave both of them. Zeke’s arms wrap around her and she buries her face in his neck, her shoulders shaking.
“I thought—” He pulls back just enough to cup her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones like he’s checking to make sure she’s real.
“I woke up in the ambulance and you were gone. No one would tell me where you went. The cops kept asking questions and I couldn’t—I didn’t know if you were hurt or dead or—”
“I’m sorry,” Yasmin chokes out. “I’m so sorry, we had to run, we couldn’t—”
He kisses her. Hard. Desperate. I thought I lost you, it says. I thought I’d never see you again.
“You’re here,” he chokes out, burying his face in her hair. “You’re actually here.”
“I’m here,” Yasmin whispers back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—”
“Shut up.” Zeke’s arms tighten around her. “Just shut up. You’re here.”
She’s crying, he’s crying, and I have to look away because watching them is like staring directly at the sun. The protein bar lies forgotten on the floor, slowly getting crushed under their shuffling feet as they sway together in the doorway.
That’s what Eliana and I could have been, in some other timeline. In a world where I didn’t pick up that knife.
I glance at her. She’s standing beside me, her head tilted toward the sounds of reunion. I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing.
I wish it mattered.
Fuck, how I wish it mattered.