Chapter 64

Chilly air greetsus outside the diner.

Despite this having been my suggestion—to talk—I suddenly feel like I'm crawling out of my skin with nerves, making me hang back a bit as Jeremy powers ahead with quick, determined strides.

He finally comes to a stop when he hits the corner of the next intersection, just a block down, in front of the brick building that makes up some law practice I've never really given much attention to. The name's familiar, but there's a shit ton of O'Malley's in Shiloh, and not all are related, so who knows?

He doesn't immediately turn around to face me. He just…stands there, hands fisted at his sides, and I take advantage of this opportunity to get my first real good look of him in weeks.

His hair is a startling white against the blacks and grays of night. It looks recently touched up; the darker roots nowhere to be seen.

From neck to toe, he's dressed in practically all black.

A tight-fitted leather jacket I've never seen on him before.

Skinny jeans that sag the slightest bit, tucked loosely into his standard black and white high-tops.

When I saw him enter Chickie's, I swear my knees nearly gave out. I knew he'd been invited—of course he was, I made sure he was…but I honestly wasn't sure if he'd actually show. Will said he was coming, but I didn't miss the hard look in his eyes.

Will's pissed at me. I don't blame him. From what I can tell those two have really hit it off. And in the month I've been gone, it seems they've only grown closer. Hell, Will seems to be closer with everyone—even Shawn. Waylon too, and that's…surprising. He wanted nothing to do with him when he first moved back.

Guess Waylon finally got over his grudge.

While I don't remember Will being in my room the night I fucked everything up, Shawn filled me in that he was. He witnessed everything. And remembering what led him to pack up his life, and start over in a town he hadn't stepped foot in in years…

Well, I make a mental note to apologize to him too.

But right now, I focus on the more important matter at hand.

The most important…

Jeremy.

With a bolstering exhale, I stuff my hands in my jean pockets, and bunch my shoulders up by my ears, quickening my steps to go join him. A breeze blows through, tossing my hair about, and I hunker down even more, wishing I remembered to grab my jacket before heading out here. My gray waffle-knit Henley does jack shit to ward off the chill.

Chewing my lip ring, I slow to a stop just a foot away from Jeremy.

Sensing me, he finally turns, meeting my gaze with an arched, expectant look. He gestures at my chest, and says flatly, "Talk."

I stare at him, my heart pounding harder by the second.

Jeremy's gotten pissed with me over the years, sure, but it never lasted long. I could usually joke my way back into his good graces.

This is the first time in our lives that I actually feel… well, small in his eyes. Well and truly deserving of his wrath. His hurt. And it's a punch to the gut if there ever was one, reaffirming just how badly I screwed up this time.

I knew I did—obviously. But to know it and have it confirmed are two very different things. I didn't realize how much I've gaslit myself into thinking I could actually fix this with a simple apology until this very moment.

There's nothing simple about any of this.

"I don't know where to begin," I find myself whispering.

His jaw tightens, and he shakes his head, looking down and muttering something I can't make out.

"W-what was that?" I say quietly, my teeth starting to chatter.

His face scrunches up, and then he closes his eyes and unzips his jacket, mumbling a curse.

"What are y-you?—"

"This probably won't even fit, but…whatever."

And then Jeremy shoves his jacket at me, leaving him in nothing but a charcoal gray button-down, one that molds to his lean frame. I scramble to gather the jacket before it falls when he abruptly steps back, like even my mere proximity repulses him at this point.

"B-but aren't you cold?"

He glares at me. "I'm fine."

The second those bitten out words register, we both go still, our eyes widening against each other's. The memory seemingly dragging us both down at once.

"Yeah, you're always fucking fine. What else is new?"

We rip our gazes away at the same time, focusing on seemingly anything but each other's faces. My neck grows hot, and despite the cold, the shiver that runs through me feels different this time.

I force a hard swallow and shake out his jacket. I manage to slide it almost all the way up my arm, when I realize he was right. Definitely not going to fit. And yet he knew this, and still handed it to me…

Jeremy's still not looking at me. From this angle, I can make out the steady ticking pulse in his smooth jaw.

He's pissed. Hurt.

Rightfully so.

Easing the jacket off my arms, I wrap it around my shoulders instead, pinching the front flaps together over my neck. I dip my chin, half-burying my face in the soft material, inhaling?—

Cinnamon.

I did it to get warm, but now?—

My eyes slam closed, and all I see is Jeremy's blurred face the moment I grabbed his shocked face, and told him to shut up, and?—

"I kissed you," I whisper into his jacket.

If it wasn't so quiet out here, with nothing but the distant hum and rush of passing cars along the bypass leading into town…

He probably wouldn't have even heard me.

But it is that quiet.

And he did hear me.

"And you called me Izzy."

My eyes fly open, and I straighten, lifting my face from the collar of his jacket.

I search his drawn features—those glassy, reddened amber eyes with the gold flecks that gleam like jewels in the night casting shadows down on us. His pursed lips. Those hollowed cheeks, like he's sucking them in, chewing the insides. The soft, yet sharp angles that make up his smooth jawline. His narrow nose. The severe lines of his brow.

Beautiful. I'd found him beautiful that day.

I remember that now. Remember it vividly.

You were drunk, a voice reminds me.

And yet…

And yet.

"Jeremy," I whisper, shaking my head.

"Not when we kissed," he clarifies stiffly. "You didn't say it then. But soon enough after, that I—" He abruptly cuts himself off, with a little shake of his head. Expelling a sharp breath, he mutters,"I'm an idiot."

"What? No. That's not—it's not what you thin?—"

"What I think?" he growls with a surprising amount of venom, saving me from even more awkward stuttering. "You don't wanna know what I'm thinking."

Eyes stinging, I stare at him for a long moment. "I don't know why I kissed you. I…I don't know what happened."

Liar, liar, pants on fire…

Shutupshutupshutup.

"But it wasn't because I-I was so drunk, that I didn't know who you were. That I—that I thought you were her, or was pretending you were her."

Oh, God, does he really think that?

His face tells me that's exactly what believes.

Fuckkkkk.

I'm shaking my head faster now, face bunching as I try to make sense of it. "I don't know what happened, okay? Everything just got all intense, and?—"

He scoffs—a short, ugly sounding thing. "You were drunk, Mason," he grits out. "That's what happened. Just call it what it is. We've all been there. I've had my own fair share of drunken mistakes, so I get it. But don't lie and pretend it was something it wasn't. Don't make this worse than it already is."

Wincing, I nod.

Despite what he's saying though, there's something…something there…something not right with his tone. But I can't pinpoint what it is. And before I can dwell too much on it, a thought occurs to me.

Was that night he butt dialed me, moaning in my ear one of those drunk mistakes?

"You're right though," he keeps going, his voice getting harsher and more graveled by the second. "Things did get intense. I should've shoved you off. Should've never let you kiss me, let alone kiss you back. It was stupid. You were drunk, and you were emotional, and?—"

"You kissed me back," I murmur, my voice distant under the thundering roar in my ears.

A beat passes, then?—

"I'm gay, Mason," he says in a guttural voice. "And you're gorgeous, and you have a stupid lip ring that was digging into my lip." He flings a hand out. "Not to mention what else was fucking digging into me. What the fuck did you expect??"

And I go very, very still, my eyes wide and unblinking, lips parted.

For a moment, all I can hear is his heaving breaths.

His face darkens, and he seems to be fumbling for something to say. He shakes his head, and something akin to panic sparks in his eyes as he tries to take it back. "That's not—I just mean?—"

"You think I'm gorgeous?" The words tumble out before I even realize what I'm saying.

Jeremy's eyes widen, then harden, and he sneers. "That's what you're choosing to focus on?"

I blink a couple times, shake my head, and say, "I didn't…"

"Didn't what?" he says with a dangerous edge to his voice.

I gulp. Lick my lips. "Didn't think you saw me like that."

And for a solid, heavy beat he just stares at me.

Curling his lip, he barks out a short laugh. "Seriously?" Shaking his head, he says, "I can't tell if you're intentionally being that obtuse, or if you're actually just genuinely clueless."

Scowling, I say, "I mean, I know I'm not, like, bad looking. But..." I burrow deeper into the jacket wrapped around my shoulders. "Come on, J. We're friends. Why would I ever think?—"

"You have girls falling at your fucking feet, Mason," he says flatly.

Shaking my head, I say, "But that's…them. Not you. You've never looked at me like that."

Again, he just stares at me.

Blinks.

One second passes.

Two.

And then he cocks his head, eyeing me in a way I can't quite define, other than to say he has never looked at me like this. Like he suddenly has something over me, and it's a mindfuck if there ever was one. One that has the blood rushing from my head, and the ground beneath us tilting.

"Sure about that?"

And everything just sort of grinds to a halt.

Pretty sure my heart is failing.

All I can think is… Who is this guy?

And fuck if it doesn't scare me a little bit.

Narrowing his eyes, Jeremy takes one step toward me, then another, and another, putting himself right in front of me. A sliver of space is all that keeps our chests from brushing.

My chest tightens, trapping my next breath in my lungs.

He searches between my eyes. "Out of everything that happened that day—that night…me kissing you back should be the least shocking thing. That I…I liked it." His voice cracks, the first outward sign that he's not as unaffected by this as he's trying to be.

A short, rusty sound chokes out of him. Taking a small step back, he hangs his hand. "Why we're even discussing that of all things, is?—"

"You did?" I murmur almost soundlessly. And yet he must hear it, because his words drop off immediately.

My chin quivers, and this time it has nothing to do with the cold.

His face scrunches up when he lifts it, and he shakes his head, drilling his gaze right into me. "Of course I did."

Oh.

My throat works with a heavy swallow, and his attention flits down, homing in on my throat, like maybe he sensed it—heard it. And he lingers on it, mirroring my gulp with one of his own.

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

Pain alights his eyes when they land back on mine.

"It shouldn't have happened. Not like that. Not?—"

His brows crease. "It shouldn't have happened at all."

I press my lips together and give a short, jerky nod.

Right…

"You're straight, Mason, for one. And?—"

"Am I?" I whisper before I can stop it.

At that, his eyes widen.

"You said it yourself," I say with a shrug, feeling my neck burn. A short laugh escapes me, edged with a hint of hysteria. "I was hard. I got…I got turned on."

And that wasn't even the first time I got hard over a dude…

Over Jeremy.

My heart races at the reminder. It's been years since I actually let myself think about that time…

And now it's all I've been able to think about these last few weeks.

Tell him, a voice whispers.

"When's the last time you had sex?" he throws out suddenly, putting a sickening halt to that idea.

Images from that same day I'd just been thinking about flash in my head. Black and pink bedding. Brown hair splayed over a pillow. Breathy moans, and soft fingers, and messy kisses.

And then we're on the porch.

Izzy's got her arms looped around my neck, and she's pushing up on her toes to kiss me. It's easy. It's simple. We've done it a million times before.

Just like we've said goodbye a million times before…

Not knowing this one would be the last.

Blink, and there's Jeremy pulling up in his car.

Blink, and he's bent over in nothing but surprisingly tight boxer briefs, jeans pooled around his ankles. The knobs of his spine poke out through his pale, dusk-lit skin, and my fingers are flexing at my side, itching to brush over them.

Blink, and I'm back home, in the bathroom, clutching the edge of the sink, ravaged by the sudden, blazing need to get off—to just get off.

It was her, and then it was him, and?—

A rushing sound fills my ears. The edges of my vision blur.

My fault…all my fault.

What did I do, what the fuck did I do?

I love her, I love her, I love her.

A frown tugs at my features. And it's no longer my voice in my head, pleading desperately to an uncaring universe—I take it back. Please, please, I'll never take her for granted again—but my therapist's voice.

"I have no doubt you love Izzy very much… but is that why you're holding on?"

"Two things can be true at once… But something will always come along and tip the scales eventually."

"Exactly," Jeremy murmurs when I take too long to respond, pulling me free of my circling thoughts. "It's been years. You're hard up. You know as well as I do that a little bit of friction can go a long way."

There's a stoic sort of edge to his voice—almost clinical, like he's reciting facts from a textbook. Makes me… makes me almost believe it's true. Except?—

I wasn't hard up for it when we were seventeen.

My brow knits, and I lower my gaze to some spot on his chest, running through what happened then, what he's saying now…

"Not to mention how-how emotional you were. Drunk and emotional. Tensions were high. And given who I am to you…how close we are…" He shakes his head, his voice turning quiet. "It was a perfect storm for-for something like that to happen."

My throat closes up.

I wasn't drunk back then either…

"It was purely chemical," he goes on stiffly. "Biological. Nothing else."

Chemicals…

Hormones…

That's what I chalked it up to over the years, anytime something would remind me of what happened. It's the excuse I always used to slam the door on that line of thinking.

I was a hormonal teenager.

A stiff wind could turn me on.

Hell, once I popped a woody in the movie theater over watching Captain America use his bare hands to stop a helicopter from flying off. Like, come on, that?—

My brain just sort of… glitches out.

Oh.

Ohhhhh.

"It wasn't real."

At that, all thoughts of Chris Evans' arms scatter, and I snap my head up. Our gazes collide in a rush of some undefinable force. It holds us hostage for several long beats.

And then I'm taking a step forward, then another one, and I'm backing Jeremy against the building.

His warm amber eyes are impossibly wide, and he's shaking his head. "What are you doing?"

I plant my hands against the gritty brick siding, right next to his head, boxing him in, and I bow my forehead to his, sucking in a sharp, unsteady breath at the same time his hitches. I'm vaguely aware of his jacket shrugging off me, falling to the sidewalk in a heap.

"Mason," he murmurs shakily, and I trace the way his lips move with each syllable, inches from mine. Lips I kissed.

In some ways, I remember it vividly.

The rain. The bite of vodka, the bite of teeth. The warmth.

In others, it feels like a dream.

A foggy, vodka-induced fantasy come to life, one I'd buried deep into the recesses of my mind before I was even really aware of what I was doing.

How do I shove it back?

Can I?

Do I even want to at this point?

"Are you sure it wasn't real?" I whisper, my breaths coasting along his face.

There's a distant sort of scratching sound, and a glance down shows him digging his nails into the brick.

His eyes fall shut, and the tip of a tongue pokes out, dampening the plush pink flesh of his lips. "It c-can't be."

I frown, rocking my forehead against his. "Then why…why am I sober right now, and I still want this?" My voice cracks, betraying me. "Why?"

His eyes open, and my gaze bores into his, pleading for something I can't name.

"Jeremy," I whisper.

He blinks rapidly. "I…"

"Jeremy."

Pinching his chin, I tip his head back.

He gulps—loudly—just as I swoop down, dancing my lips off his in a featherlight kiss. A thing of nerves really.

A small whimper crawls out from the back of his throat, and I feel my lip tilt with a smile.

There's a vice around my chest, and a fluttery sensation in my stomach. It's familiar…but foreign too. Like a forgotten memory, just out of grasp, one I want to touch. Squeeze. Rip apart and dissect.

"Mason," he croaks, mouth parting right against mine.

There's the hot, slick glance of a tongue, and it's all cinnamon heaven, combined with something richer. Something heady and distinctly his.

Chills explode across my skin, and I swear all the blood rushes to my head at once, leaving me dizzy. He shudders, and I shiver, and it feels like what I imagine it's like when a star collapses in on itself.

Like an unbearable pressure just about to pop. Particles fusing together too fucking fast, too fucking right, until something just… gives.

Hands smack against my pecs, punching a gasp out of me. And just when I feel our kiss deepen, and his fingers curl into me, just like they were curled against the wall behind him a second ago?—

He shoves me.

Forcibly tearing our mouths apart.

I stumble back, caught off guard by the power behind it—the unexpectedness of it.

Blinking, I stutter, "Wh-what?—"

Jeremy's face is flushed and pulled so taut with anger, it kills whatever I was about to say.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" he says, voice quivering, his lips hardly moving.

I open my mouth. Close it. And shake my head, not sure what to tell him—how to describe it. He was saying all these things—logical things—and yet…

His eyes redden, and he roughly wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, dropping his gaze. He mutters something into his knuckles, too muffled and quiet for me to make out.

My chest rises and falls rapidly, like I just ran a mile. "Jeremy."

Is that my voice sounding so small?

I lick my lips, my tongue flicking my lip ring. I can still taste him. Clinging to my lips.

He sniffs. "I shouldn't have come tonight." His throat dips with a hard swallow, and he cracks his knuckles against his chest. I don't miss the tremble in his slim fingers. "This was a mistake. I don't… fuck, I don't?—"

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I just—I wanted—I thought?—"

"You wanted what?" he utters tightly, gaze delving back into mine.

"I wanted to see if you were right."

Because I knew you weren't…

A beat passes, where he holds itself impossibly still. So still I can't even be certain he's breathing.

"I don't know what's going on here, but-but I'm sober. And?—"

"Izzy."

The second her name spills out, quiet yet powerful and caked with grief—with remorse—everything in me stills. My heart pounds. Whatever I was going to say is just…

Gone.

Pain etches around his eyes. "Exactly."

And it's enough.

Enough to remind me why this is all sorts of wrong.

Enough to remind me this isn't just about me, and my impulsive need to… to what, prove something?

"You couldn't even admit she was dead until a month ago," Jeremy reminds me.

I wince. "Yeah. I know."

"You didn't want me," he says thickly, eyes shining back at me. "That day, that night… You wanted her. I saw your face when you were reminded where we were. And then you vomited all over the pavement."

"Jer, no, that's not—no?—"

"And then not even twenty minutes after your lips were on mine, you…you touched my cheek, and you begged her to come back."

At his words, my stomach drops. My brain whites out. Images surge forward—a room and eyes that aren't quite right. Izzy… drawing. A lucky scrunchie she never had.

I was dreaming…

I'm shaking my head. "I was out of my mind. That had nothing…nothing to do with the kiss, J. I-I didn't know what I was saying. I just… I felt warm, and—and safe. And tired, so tired. That's what I remember."

He screws up his face, his eyes brightening even more.

"I know how that sounds. But I was just—I knew when I woke up, that everything would be different. That…that would be it. There would be no going back, and I was just… I just needed one last second to-to feel her and miss her. Not just as my girlfriend, but as…as Izzy." My voice breaks. "I thought it was in my head. I thought I was dreaming. I didn't know I actually—I didn't know I touched you. Said that to you. Not until it was too late."

He sucks his cheeks in, working his jaw side to side like he's fighting to keep himself calm. "You were looking right at me," he whispers tightly. "Right into my eyes. You'd never looked at me like that before." His voice grows louder, cracking painfully into the night. "No one's ever looked at me like that."

My eyes fall shut.

"It fucked me up."

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

Several seconds pass. "You know, my own parents even struggle to look at me sometimes," he goes on. "Same with Waylon. And I know… I know it's hard for you too?—"

"Jeremy—"

"Don't deny it. It's true and we both know it. I'm a constant fucking reminder of what we all lost. Hell, I can barely look at myself in the mirror sometimes, because it'll be her I find staring back at me."

At that, my eyes fly open, locking on his. Emotion wells in my throat, and I shake my head. Remembering what he said so long ago, about his eyes…

"Of course you do. They're hers."

It caught me off guard.

I should've said something…anything…

I should've went after him.

But I didn't. Because he's not totally wrong. When I look into his eyes, I am reminded of what I lost. Not just Izzy, but who I was before everything went to shit.

"That's how I know this isn't real," he goes on thickly, tightly, his voice on the verge of breaking once more. "It's just a-a symptom of our grief. Because of how much you've come to depend on me, and how much I've enabled it."

And I shake my head harder, tears clogging my throat, stinging my eyes. "No. No."

It's not true. It's not.

"Because…because you and I both know that if she were here, I wouldn't even be an option."

And with those damning words, my shoulders slump.

"Jeremy…"

"I can't do this anymore," he tells me.

Blinking against the tears rapidly forming, I say, "Do what?"

He gestures roughly between us. "This. Us. I'm done."

"Wha-what? Wait. We're still friends. We?—"

"You called me by her name!" he shouts, his ragged voice bouncing off the building.

Eyes wide, I rear back.

A horrible, bitter laugh fills the air. "It's always about her. Even when she's dead, it's all about her. Always has been, always will be with you," he spits.

I flinch.

"Mason and Izzy," he growls. "A tragic love story for the ages. I'm so fucking sick of being in the middle of it. I didn't ask for this!"

If he notices the effect his words are having on me, he doesn't let it stop him.

Lip curling, he sneers. "Sometimes, I really fucking hate her. You know that?" His voice trembles. "I hate her. And I love her. And I miss her. And I want to grieve her. I want to let her rest, but you won't let me!"

The sheer devastation that barrels through me at his words…

It rips me apart.

Tear-filled amber eyes sear into mine. "And that makes me hate you. So much." His words squeeze out from his teeth.

I nod. He should hate me. Not her. Me. I'm the cause of this.

Shoulders hunched, all I can do is keep nodding, and take the verbal beating I suddenly realize has been a long time coming.

Because with each agonized, forced out word from Jeremy's snarled mouth?—

Jeremy, who's always struggled to fight back, to let himself feel angry and hurt.

Jeremy,who has never once looked at me like he's looking at me now, like he really does mean it when he says he hates me.

Jeremy, who's always looked at me like I was his hero, like someone worthy of his admiration, of his friendship, of his time…

The gravity of my mistakes—of what I've put him through for years now—is no longer able to be denied.

It's fucking crushing.

And it's everything I deserve and then some.

"I just want to forget," he wrenches out. "I just want a fucking break from all this shit. Just when I think I'm finally free of you—you pull me back in, and without a fucking care in the world.

"I'm done being dragged down by you." He throws a hand out. "I'm done living in this ghost town. And I'm done being a stand in for her," he says, looking right into me, for once letting me see it all.

His pain.

His anger.

Years of agony and spite stored up…

It's all laid out for me to see.

"I'm done letting you use me to fill some void."

My eyes fall shut, and I shake my head. No…

It's not true.

It's not.

"Hang onto her—hang onto the memories all you want. But I want out. I can't do it anymore. I don't want to feel like this anymore."

I nod some more. "Okay," I whisper, so quiet it carries hardly any volume.

"I don't want to feel like I'm not supposed to be here."

I suck in a breath, and my eyes open. "Jer."

His face bunches and he shakes his head. "Do you know what it's like, realizing the universe fucked up?" His eyes are thick with tears he still can't seem to let fall, despite bleeding out for me.

"Do you know what it's like to know that deep down, it has to have crossed people's minds, my parents' minds, yours?"

"It should've been me."

I shake my head, his words tumbling around my head. "I told you?—"

"And you lied!" he shouts over me. Nostrils flaring, chest heaving. "Whether you want to admit it or not."

He won't believe me.

No matter what I say…

"You're supposed to be here, Jeremy," I whisper instead. "You're supposed to be here."

A world without him in it…

Is no world I want to live in.

Maybe you should tell him that, a voice pipes up, and I go still… because it sounds like Izzy. And it's been so long since I could remember her voice so clearly.

Jeremy stares at me, jaw ticking. The cords down his neck jump under his skin with how rigid he holds himself.

"Jeremy, please?—"

"Don't," he says simply, stiffly. He gives his head a little shake. "Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it. Nothing you can possibly say right now will make this better. So just…don't."

My heart thumps painfully. Lips pressed tightly together, I give him a nod.

Fight for him!

I frown.

This time, the voice in my head is all mine.

Jeremy finally breaks my gaze, and steps back, running a hand across his face.

"How can I fix this? What can I do?" I say.

He steps around me, reaching down for his forgotten jacket, shaking it out.

"I don't know," he says, straightening. He runs his fingers through his white, windswept hair. "Maybe there is no fixing this."

"I don't believe that," I murmur, the softness in my voice a sharp contrast to the blades shredding me up inside.

His gaze flits to mine as he slowly lowers his hand. He tosses his jacket over his shoulder, and tilts his head, mouth pressed into a hard line.

It hits me all over then that I kissed him. Again.

Sober this time.

It's only been minutes…and yet the distance between that version of me—of us—and who we are now, is greater than it's ever been.

"Sometimes people grow apart because they have to." His throat dips. "It can't always be about you, Mason."

I frown.

"Now, if you care about me at all," he says in an emotionless voice, "you won't stop me when I walk away."

My mouth parts on a sharp intake of air…

And then nothing.

I say nothing.

I do nothing.

I let him put his back to me, and hold my breath, utterly unmoving, as I watch his figure grow smaller the farther he gets.

It's only when the door to Chickie's closes behind him, and I'm left alone on the street, that I let out the agonized breath I've been caging.

It breeches from my lips on a sob as I turn and pound the side of my knuckles on the building so hard pieces of brick crumble to the ground.

Bowing my head, I bury my face in the space between my white-knuckled fists, and scream through my clenched teeth.

Blood roars in my ears.

My lungs are on fire.

My anger is a living thing—a live wire whipping through my veins, snaking toward my heart.

Throwing myself back a step, I tip my head back, and glare up at the twinkling night sky.

And to God.

To the universe.

To the stars and angels.

To my dad.

To Izzy…

And to me, most of all.

I scream, "Fuck you!"