Page 115 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot
“Do you remember that bracelet you made me when we were twelve?”
She sits up, shifting to look at me. “Of course, you wore it all the time.”
“Yeah, I did.” I reach over to my nightstand, rummaging around until I find what I’m looking for. “I found it in one of my drawers the other day. It’s a little beat-up, but I think it’s still wearable.”
She takes the bracelet from my hand and examines it closely, running her fingers over the worn threads. “I can’t believe you kept it.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t throw away things that are important to me.”
She winces, fingers pressed to her cherry-red lips. “Was that a dig at me?”
“Of course not.”
She blows out a long breath, shifting to face me. “Well, for what it’s worth, I should tell you that I’m sorry, anyway. Really sorry. I know we’ve been avoiding the subject. That we haven’t really talked about the reasons . . . but we both know I’m the one who pulled away.”
“Lila, I swear I didn’t mean?—”
“Let me finish, okay?” She wraps a hand around my bicep, gently squeezing. “I shouldn’t have done that. I was confused, and I pushed you away when I didn’t know what else to do. It was immature. Childish, even.”
“I knew what you were doing, Li. I may not have known why, but I let you get away with it. I felt you drifting, and I allowed it to happen because I didn’t know how much it would break me.”
“Break you?”
I give her a sheepish smile. “Just a little.”
“And now?”
“Now.” I hold out my wrist. “Tie it on for me. Will you, Li?”
She gives me a hesitant smile, slipping the bracelet over my hand and deftly knotting it in place. “There. Good as new.”
“Thanks.” I admire the faded bracelet for a moment, a sense of comfort blanketing me. “You know, it’s funny. I used to wear this thing to remind me of you when we were apart. But after a while, I couldn’t bear to look at it.”
Her face softens. “Oh?”
“I missed you too much. It was a painful reminder. But now, it just feels like a little piece of home.”
She rests her head back on my chest, snuggling closer. “You know, I still have mine, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s in my jewelry box back at the apartment. I don’t wear it anymore, but I could never bring myself to get rid of it.”
“I’m glad,” I say. And there’s that godforsaken dirt again, threatening to fill me up. “I always wondered if you kept it, too.”
“Of course I did. We’ve held on to each other in our own little ways.”
“We never really let go.” I breathe through it this time, gravel collecting in my throat. It’s painstaking, awkward, and rushed, but I somehow push myself back out of the hole I’ve dug. I tried my best to bury it these last few weeks, I truly did. But some things just can’t be held in.
“I’m gonna tell you something now,” I say, “and it’s probably the wrong thing to do. It’s probably gonna screw everything up between us.”
She visibly stiffens. “Then maybe you shouldn’t.”
“I think I have to. It just . . . there’s this suffocating feeling inside me, like I’ve been physically buried alive, and I think this is the only way to fix it.”
“Oh God, what is it?”
“You know I love you, right?” I ask her, the words rough as they spill from my throat. “I’ve loved you since we were kids, and I still love you now.”
