Chapter 14 #2
He snorts a laugh and nods. "Agreed. This isn't a pinky swear, though. This one is for the sunset."
I pause, squinting at him, and my heart does a weird, lurching calm when it beats faster while somehow slowing down.
"You... you remember?" It's a story I told him years ago, and only once, that shaped everything after.
His jaw tightens and he pulls me closer by our joined pinkies. "I'll never forget it. I saw it across the sky and knew it was going to hurt you. I hate that I can't stop it, but at least I can be here for you. You're not alone."
Oh god. I almost fall forward and tuck myself under his ribs and fade into him.
Then I notice the sun sinking behind him, oranges softening him into a burned outline.
"Wow. This might be the most beautiful sunset I've ever seen," I say, smitten.
He gently covers my eyes with his hand. "Then stop looking, jump on my back and I'll take you wherever you want to go."
I brush it away softly and sniffle again. "No, I love this sunset. I want to see it."
He frowns, confused. "You love this sunset?"
"Yeah. Half your pinky and all those years of misery go on pause. I think you're better than any therapist. Thank you, Ben."
I give him a broken smile, both of us frozen, too close and too far from each other, and then, like the universe can't handle silence when it starts meaning something, two guys zoom past on bikes, and the moment's gone.
"Yo! Everyone's at the tree!" one guy yells. "Wanna hop on?"
Ben waves, trying to smile, but I can tell he's slightly annoyed. "No. We'll walk there. Thanks!"
"Let's go." I nudge him forward with my pinky before letting go of him. "Mara's been hyping it up all day."
We both inhale at the same time, holding on to a myriad of unspoken things, and start walking side by side. The air between us is charged but quiet until I break it.
"What you said earlier at the fire—"
"I shouldn't have said it. You know how I get. I talk before I think," he cuts in.
I squint at him, surprised at how fast he deflected. "Not true. And that one marinated. I saw it on you," I counter.
A beat when he's silent.
"So you didn't mean it?"
"No. I meant it, but I shouldn't have said it. It was selfish. To Lisa. To you. I'm an asshole. I know it. But—" He drags in a breath and shakes his head. "I'm not playing with you, Emma. I swear, I'm not."
"Then why?" I frown at him. "What was the point of all that?"
His eyes turn to the horizon, but it's like he's not seeing it, just weighing whether to tell me. Then he looks back, tone dry. "Does it even matter now?" And he walks away, like the distance might undo the question.
"It matters to me!" I call after him.
He slows, half-turns, the soft orange light hitting his face just so. "But why?"
I look at him, and it's so painfully clear:
Because you were my scary and my safe.
Because some treacherous part of me wonders if I married the wrong man, too.
Because I need you to tell me there's a world in which you and I are together.
Because I need you to tell me everything's going to be fine.
Because...
"Because of what you said at the fire and even before. You sounded like you were hurting and I hate that," I call instead, stopping about thirty feet from him. "I want to know that you're okay. I know I shouldn't. I promised myself I wouldn't, but I care. I care about you."
He snorts like I actually insulted him. "You care about me."
"I do! I care about you!" I yell and take a desperate step toward him. "I mean what I said before. At least let me be your friend again. Talk to me. I want to know you got everything you wanted—"
"Nobody gets everything they want. The sooner you accept that, the easier it is to live," he says dryly and walks faster toward the tree glowing in strobe neon pink like it's been plugged into someone's broken heartbeat.
"You're stalling!" I yell, running after him. "That's my move!"
"Then don't take it personally," he calls over his shoulder, then turns, and walks backward, hands half-raised like he's surrendering and defending at the same time. "If I tell you everything I want to say, what I meant at the fire, what I want to do now, what will you do about it?"
I halt because truth is probably nothing. I just frown and sigh.
He smirks bitterly. "Exactly. That's what I thought. See? I know you too well. So forget it."
I snort, jog to catch up, but it's useless because I can't match him even if he's not speeding. I get there a moment after him.
Hundreds of bodies twist beneath the tree in a living tide of limbs, the air around smelling of sweat and dust and the sweet fog machine.
Mara and Paul are lounging on a sofa under the thick metallic trunk.
"There they are!" Paul calls, pointing when he spots us.
"Ah! What's up, lovers? Or friends with exceptional eye contact?" Mara winks, eyes dilated like the moon kissed her.
Ben and I both roll our eyes, but she doesn't notice, too distracted by the music, dancing while half-seated.
She's changed into a tight leopard-print jacket, purple velvet shorts, shimmering with every tiny movement.
"Here—got you this one," Paul says, tugging a blanket across and nodding his chin at Ben. "Those two have their own thermostat under their skin."
I can't help the smile nudging its way in when I look at Ben whose chest is glazed despite the desert drop. Meanwhile, I'm one shiver away from hypothermia.
"Thanks, temperature twin," I tell Paul, wrapping myself in the blanket. He's zipped into his zig-zag windbreaker, but his arms are glowing with the UV ink we traced earlier.
Ben drops onto the cushion beside them, leans in to sniff Mara's cup, then jerks back as if someone had pinched his nose.
"What the hell is that? Battery acid?"
"Nothing for you," she says dryly and slides it toward me. "Babe, want some? You'll fly."
She lets it hang there and yanks Paul into a kiss that doesn't belong in public.
I wrinkle my nose. "What is this? A rematch with the couple from earlier?"
"For fuck's sake!" Ben vaults upright, shaking his head indignantly. "Put a freaking warning label on your PDA, Mara! Disgusting."
Mara pulls back long enough to smirk. "Please. You wish your marriage had this much heat."
I blink. Hope she's right—that his bed is Arctic cold.
Ben levels her with a deadly look. "You're my little sister. I'll give you a thousand dollars to never remind me you're doing any of that. Ever."
Before Mara can double down or announce what's in that cup, I snatch it and pivot away.
Ben shadows me instantly, eyebrow raised. "Hey, careful. You don't even know what that is," he says.
"And you do?"
He nods toward Mara and Paul. "All I know is that whatever's in there made that happen."
"Then you'd want some, no?" I lift it to my lips, teasing him.
His eyes drop to my mouth, linger there, then rise again. "I don't need to alter my reality. I'm perfectly capable of misbehaving without it. Plus, I'm content with what I feel."
"Aww!" I coo, but he rolls his eyes and takes a step back.
"I'm also sure I'll be the guy stuck monitoring your vitals when you faceplant."
I roll my eyes.
The thing is, I absolutely shouldn't, since substances and I don't have happy endings, and Ben knows it. But it's been many, many years since something foreign touched my lips and I'm tempted.
"Come on. You're a doctor," I say, batting my eyes. "Rational one, for the most part."
Ben takes a deep breath and steers me to a cushion, then puts his arm over my shoulder. "You want it? Fine. But you stay here with me. No moving out of my sight."
I give him a smile, loving that he lets me choose despite it all, and take a sip.
Mara whoops, mid-kiss, her and Paul probably swirling in Saturn's rings and they both get up, disappearing in the crowd.
Ben and I lie down next to each other, head to head.
"See? I'm still here. No drama."
"Mmm. Give it a minute."
"So far it's meh." I shrug. "Your doomsday predictions are off."
But just as I say it, the stars tilt, the time starts turning rubbery, a slow dissolve as the walls in my chest start to crumble, and suddenly, Ben isn't just next to me—he's there. In Technicolor.
The rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers drum against his thigh, the crease in his forehead that says he's overthinking even when he swears he doesn't.
Whatever he's made of is pouring through his skin, bleeding into me, and I can't look away. I don't want to.