swim past the shadows

I froze against the door, hand hovering against the door frame.  Don’t turn back, my conscience urged me, while my heart told it to go fuck itself and turned around.  I don’t remember ever seeing Sebastian Smythe look small – but he looked small right now.  This boy – no, this man – who always seemed so intimidating and untouchable, but he looked like if I touched him now, he would fall over.  I can’t be trusted with that type of power.

Swallowing the lump forming in my throat, I looked back at him.  If anything, he deserved that much.

“Through Kurt, through David, through the fucking one-night stands, through whatever the fuck was going on with Sam—” his voice caught on the name, “—until it dawned on me that your type was anybody-but-me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t fucking placate me, Blaine.  Please.” He did not give me a chance for a rebuttal.  He was alive, he had lightning pulsing through his veins, he was big, big, big. “But now?  You show up fucking now?  And what?  What did you think was going to happen here, Blaine?”

I am suddenly sixteen years old and getting a rock salt slushie thrown in my face.  I’m blown backwards across a parking lot and Sebastian is standing over me with horror in his eyes.  The room spins and I’m twenty-nine again, and Sebastian is right here and he’s saying his words like he’s spitting out shards of broken glass between his teeth.

The fact that I can’t argue with him is what makes my stomach churn.  I can’t counter his words.  I can’t tell him that it’s bullshit that he feels the way he does, that he’s clearly felt the way that he does.

My mouth moves faster than my mind.

“Don’t marry him.”

“Oh, my fucking god, just get out.”

I stumble backwards when it dawns on me that I’ve closed the gap between us, that my hands have found their way to his tie.  I am a monster in human skin.  I’m everything he said I am, and I am so much worse.

The words “Don’t tell Sam” die on my tongue, because I can’t say that to him.  Because he should tell Sam.  Because Sam should kick my head off my neck and let his family play tetherball with it at the reception.

“I’m sorry,” I hear myself saying the words, a whisper off my tongue.  “I’m so sorry, Sebastian.”

I’m tripping over myself to get back to the door, but the insult is added to the injury in the form of Sebastian.

“He saved me,” he murmured, like a secret he was afraid to share.  I turned back to look at him, but he wasn’t even looking at me. He was looking at the band around his finger, the one Sam shakily slid on his finger months ago, the one I helped him pick out.  “I was drowning.  And he saved me when I probably should’ve just been left where I was.  You know?”

I did.  Because Sebastian saved me.  Because Sam saved me.  

“And I don’t know if I deserve him, or anyone, really.  But I’m not going to fuck it up.  Not over this.”  He met my gaze, and there was love in his eyes.  Not for me, but for the boy down the hall, for the idea that the happy ever after he never thought he deserved was right there in front of him.  “I’m sorry, too.”

The lump in my throat had turned into a softball that refused to go down without a fight, so I let it take me.  Let the tears burn their way past my eyes.  “Break a leg out there, okay?”

Sebastian nodded faintly, his phone buzzing from where it sat on the windowsill. He reached for it, and the smile that lit up on his face was instantaneous.  A smile he only had for one person, and that person would never be again.

MONDAY, JUNE 3 - 11:33pm

Stevie,

You told me to leave you alone and I swear that I have tried.  I have tried so fucking hard it actually makes me feel like throwing up sometimes.  I’ve only actually thrown up once, that stays between me and you.

It’s weird and awful and shitty and sucky and so many other words that are just like that to think about where we were and where we are now, and I hate thinking that any of that is my fault.  That I did something.  I’m so fucking sorry if I did.

If I was too much, it’s okay.  Like, it’s not okay, but it’s okay if that’s what it was — you don’t need to worry about hurting my feelings or anything.  I can take it.  I don’t think I realized the gravity of leaving, of being in two different places, until the acceptance letter was looking at me and you were shrinking all the way across the kitchen until I almost didn’t even see you anymore.

“i don’t need to go,” i’d said.  “doesn’t even matter.”

but it did.

“yes it does,” had been all you said back to me, and you’d grabbed the letter from where I’d sat it down, and you were shoving it against my chest like a punch to the gut.  “it matters.”

But not without you, that’s the thing.  I’ve been trying and failing to write this letter for the past month.  I’ve been avoiding you in the halls because I know it’s easier for you, because I know it’s what you need.  But without you, nothing matters.

School lunches tastes like shit without you sitting next to me.  Preston’s jokes aren’t funny without you sitting across from him and rolling your eyes.  Everything looks and tastes and sounds and smells gray, and I think it’s really funny that you always say I was the color in your world or whatever.  Because Stevie, you’re the only reason there’s even a sun in the first place.

I don’t want anything or anyone or anywhere without you.  Do you get that?  Tell me you get that.  Please.

Tell me this isn’t over for you, because it’s not for me.  It can’t be.

Stevie.  It can’t be.

Ok?

pathetically yours —

Brady

PS: But if it is for you, that’s okay, too.  I mean, it’s not.  But it has to be.  Because nothing really matters to me if it’s not what you want.

PSS: Have a good summer. I hope I’m a part of it.  I want to know what July tastes like on you.

MONDAY, JUNE 3 — 9:23am

P—

Ok, so not to be THAT GIRL — which I am — but who the fuck does Little Miss Ireland think she is?  I mean, she practically had her claws drawing BLOOD on your arm.  Pathetic much?

Anyway, I need you to tell me which bra to wear under my cap and gown — since, like, that’s all I’ll be wearing under there anyway, and you’re the one who will be taking it off later.  Unless, like… Lucky Charms has something else in store for you, I suppose.  No judgement.  Who doesn’t love a good foray with a foreign exchange student, amirite?

—D

MONDAY, JUNE 3 — 12:00pm

ken,

three hours until the last bell.  three hours until we have a whole summer ahead of us of paris and london and eating my weight in pastries.  god, it’ll be glorious.  i can’t wait to lick the nutella off your lips (and various other regions).

love u 2 much.

—syd

MONDAY, JUNE 3 — 2:49pm

ALL RIGHT LOSERS.  tonight, house show with the greatest band that never was and never has been.  if you want to see your favorite supreme blonde lesbian goddess (that’s me, no shit) pull the greatest almost famous since kate hudson herself, you’ll be there.

—hana

MONDAY, JUNE 3 — 11:42am

Dear Silas,

I’m sorry if this seems like it’s coming out of nowhere.  I just wanted to know if you meant what you said at prom.  Ms. Keane said that she wanted us to write our thoughts down today, and this is all I have going through my brain.

When you pulled me away from Luca (who… I mean.  It’s LUCA, Silas) and said you wanted to be the one I was dancing with, and…

I can’t even write this without blushing, oh my gosh.

Did you mean it?  The kiss?  

Did you mean it?

This is such a silly assignment.  Nobody would ever want to read this.  ’m throwing this away before it makes it out the door, don’t worry.

(But for what it’s worth, if I weren’t to throw it away, just know that I mean it back.  If you mean it, or even if you didn’t mean it.  I meant it back.)

Sincerely,