With my chest caving, I lift his face up and stroke his cheek. We stare at each other for a long time, a pain of silence stretching between us. His eyes are heavy. Stepping back, he takes deeper breaths, placing his hand on mine and kissing my fingertips the same way I did his when we were in the cafeteria. A deep pain spreads through my chest, temporarily paralyzing me when I realize what this is. He’s saying goodbye.
“No,” I scream without meaning to, holding him in place when he tries to pull away more. “No,” I say again, my throat closing up from being flooded with emotion. “Stay here with me.” I don’t just mean outside or in the rain either.
“I’m sorry. I can’t. I want to but I can’t. I’ll never know the real reason you keep coming back. Is it because of me or him?” His eyes shrink.
“Can’t it be both?” I loop my fingers around his chin, my eyes doing the begging my words can’t.
“I . . . It should be him here with you, not me. What if you look at me one day and resent me for not being more than I am? Not being enough?” His lips shake and he starts to shiver, wrapping his arms around himself.
“That will never happen.”
“Me sharing similarities with him is what brought you closer to me, isn’t it? You feel him inside me?”
“Yes, but it’s not why I stayed. It’s not why I want to stay,” I say with conviction.
“You can’t know that for sure. I can’t handle not being enough for the person I’m with again. Not after everything.” All the hurt in his eyes was palpable, causing my heart to crack. I understand what he’s saying and I don’t want him going through that again either, not when he deserves to have someone want him for exactly who he is. Is he right? Can I really not offer him what he needs?
He looks down at his feet and takes my hands in his, sniffling softly. “I think you need to properly grieve, and I need to know what it’s like to be my own strength. We can’t keep pushing everything to the side because it feels too hard to face. It’ll only make things harder in the long run when we can no longer distract each other from it.”
Is he right? I don’t want to question him long enough to discover the answer. I want him to be wrong. I want there to be another way. But I’m being selfish, aren’t I? For trying to make him be ready for something he isn’t, not knowing if I’m even ready myself.
I did cling to so many of Landon’s belongings, needing to feel him in all our rooms at home, in my car, and at work. Am I doing the same with his heart?
The sadness in his eyes grows heavier, wrecking me into the ground. Like broken rubble, I can’t piece myself back together to become whole again, not when what he’s saying is making more sense the longer his words play in my head.
We both have so much healing to do. I don’t want to walk away, but I’m worried if I keep forcing myself to stay, I’ll destroy what we have beyond return. If we part now, we still have a chance to find our way back if we’re meant to, and everything in the fiber of my being says we are. Not because I need to forget anything, or because of Landon’s heart, but because of the magic we can only create together.
I press a kiss to his temple. “Thanks for dancing with me today. I’m glad I stuck around for it.”
Lifting himself on his tiptoes, he presses his forehead to mine. “Me too. Maybe we’ll actually run into each other by accident someday.”
“Maybe.” I bite my tongue to stop myself from saying what I want to say. I hope you find me again when you’re ready and I’m more sure of everything I feel. Whatever lured him to all the places I was before, I want it to bring him back and keep him here, leaving no room for more goodbyes.
His lips press to mine and he lowers himself back into his chair. Once inside and out of the rain, his hand falls on mine and he presses his feet to the ground, stopping me from pushing him forward.
“You should go home and get dry before you catch one of those colds you once warned me about.” He forces a smile, lips shaking at the corners. They threaten to break along with my heart.
“I should help get you to your room first.”
“I can manage myself.”
I release the handles, hating the loss of his hand when he moves it off mine to grab one of the wheels.
“Yeah, you can.”
“Bye, Elijah.”
“Bye, Silas.”
He moves himself forward when the elevator doors part, looking back at me as they close. His face disappears behind the metal and my whole body feels too heavy to move. I stand here for too long, trying to remember who and what I’m supposed to be grieving. I shouldn’t be mourning two people, yet my heart tries to convince me otherwise when his last words to me replay loudly in my head.
“Bye, Elijah.”
And just like that, he slips away from me, and it feels more final than I thought it would.
Thirty-three
Elijah
