And itâs guilt that sits between them now, that sticks to the moment like syrup; all their softness coagulated to a mess that makes her teeth ache. But Oz is soft. His tenderness is a gift and since they were small, unencumbered by the world and its wide weight, itâs only his opinion that matters to Joey. âYou really think so?â She sighs and rests her forehead against his.Â
You canât change who you love or how you feel. Kissing Ro tasted of regret; her tears and his trauma, and all that theyâd left unsaid, unspooled between them. But you canât rebuild on remorse; their future is salted earth and itâs the memory of how, like flowers, they once bloomed together that Joey holds close. âYeah. But itâs different now,â she says, but she doesnât elaborate. She wraps her arms around him and thinks of how lately, days with Oz feel like creation; like a house on a summer night, with all the doors and windows wide open, inviting something new in.
Now, dusk falls to dark; the night kisses Ozâs shoulders and she pulls him down onto the bed. âLetâs not talk about them anymore.â They lie the same way they always have; her head on his pillow, their limbs indistinguishable. âThank you,â she whispers, as open and warm as a child. âYou always know how to make me feel better, even when I donât deserve to.â Joey holds his hand to her chest; she kisses him, her heart a steady pulse of want beneath his palm.
Different how, he wants to ask, both hope and despair hand-in-hand as he abandons the weed and the treats, and slides beside her. Fear lodges his way into his throat, gripping the words and dragging them down, to the hallow hole of his stomach. Instead he kisses her back, rising on top of her. He pulls off his shirt, soft cotton pooling onto the floor beside hers. With limbs intertwined and fleeting kisses exchanged between the pair, he thinks that he could make her his. But when he's deep inside of her, and she is a golden moon that eclipses the room around him, he wonders if she's even thinking of him. He fucks her harder then, as if he could ground her to reality with his hands and lips pulling her closer and calling her name. "You're mine," he tells her, teeth grazing her collarbone, taking his bite of tender flesh.
When it's over, they're lying in bed. She is fast asleep beside him, but he can't dream, can't shut heavy eyes. His head is a maze and he's found himself stuck in the labyrinth. When the light from the window is no longer pitch dark, he's given up entirely, grabbing shorts and a shirt, a cigarette and the lighter he's abandoned on the nightstand. The world is quiet at this time in the morning. Seagulls and the open water greet him as he steps a foot onto the sandy plain. He plops himself down and presses the cigarette to his lips. He flicks at the lighter, a repetitive try to light the other end. A curse calls from his lips, a shout in frustration as he abandons both the cigarette and the light. He can't even do this right. His feet are kicking before he knows what he's doing.Â
His arms push forward, propelling him away from the girl he wants and the house that's built around love. His feet kick against the pavement, until his lungs are burning and the pain in his chest has amplified enough to where if there's tears in his eyes, heâd mask it for sweat. Oz keeps running until his only thoughts are of the pain in his chest and when Joey awakes, she is alone.
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