|CHAPTER TWENTY|

April 17th, 2013

She broke my heart.

I wish she would have told me what this relationship meant to her. I wish she would have told me this was a relationship made out of ice, floating in a sea of warm water, everyday growing closer to being nothing. She knew she wasn't going to stay—so why did she say it? Why did she announce she loved me? Why did she kiss me goodbye?

She must be a damn good actress. She can breathe "I love you" like the best of them.

But, I worry now—Does she understand what it means?

I love you does not mean I'm secretly planning to leave you after I've had my fun. I love you does not mean getting bored and keeping others close behind. I love you doesn't mean "you were just a placeholder."

I love you is an ache in your bones. It's the catch in your breath like you've run a marathon, and nervous laughter as you undress them for the first time. It's trust. It's loyalty. It's lipstick stains on necks, and your cologne on their clothes. It's jumping off a swing and swimming in the deep end. I love you is their hand in yours. It's falling down and then standing back up. It's hanging over a cliff knowing that if you can't pull yourself up, they'll be there to help you. It's intense. It's real. It's chemical.

And, it doesn't have to mean forever, but it sure as hell should mean I'm the only one you're thinking about.

I've never really been in love before. This was the first. She knew she was my first. She knew she was in control.

I shouldn't have given her control.

My head hurts. Everything feels like it's throbbing. And, I hate how this feels. I hate the salty taste of tears. I hate how she did this to me. But I don't hate one thing. 

I don't hate that I feel everything. I feel it all. This experience has opened my eyes.

Dear future Bash, if you are ever to fall in love again, fall in love with someone honest. Fall in love with someone who doesn't keep you guessing what their next step is going to be. Fall in love with a girl who tells you how it's going to end. And, when she breaks your heart, perhaps you will feel this all again. And maybe, just maybe, you can do something about it.

Signed,

Bash Daley

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I flipped the leather bound journal over in my hands, feeling the soft cover and breathing in the new book smell. Quinn had wrapped it in nothing but a bow for my birthday, and though that felt like ages ago, I hadn't really looked at it since. I didn't know what I was going to do with it yet, but something told me that I needed it, that it'd somehow become useful. I did bottle things up, after all. I might have suggested I have one because that needed to stop. Then again, maybe I was inspired by Bash and his grandfather.

It was sort of daunting, all of those blank pages. I didn't think I'd be able to fill them all. Bash had filled up stacks of composition notebooks with his thoughts, but, well, he was articulate.

I fell back onto my mattress, holding the journal above my face with a narrowed, calculating stare at the smooth, leather cover.

It'll come to you, I thought. You'll find something to do with it.

●════════●♥●════════●

Greg sat in the open window of his and Bash's apartment with a lit cigarette and a painfully old Leonard Cohen track playing from the stereo. Bash and I sat on the living room couch with his head in my lap as he quizzed me on enzyme inhibition for my upcoming biology test.

I rocked my head back boredly while Bash babbled on about an answer I gave that needed elaboration.

"Alright, so, moving on," he continued, not caring that I was barely paying attention to anything he'd been discussing. "What is the difference between competitive and non-competitive inhibition?"

I resisted a groan, but Greg didn't. Usually he was more aloof than Bash and smoked quietly, unperturbed. Today was not one of those days.

"Jesus Christ," Greg all but snapped. "This has been going on for the past hour. Don't you people ever do anything normal?"

"This is perfectly normal, Gregory," Bash hummed. He folded my answer sheet onto his chest and looked up at the ceiling. "You don't have to sit there and listen."

"Oh, but I do," Greg grumbled. "Every time she's here you two sit around mulling over books and papers and homework. God, if this is what dating a high schooler looks like—I feel sorry for you."

Bash sighed. "Put out your cigarette and take a walk, then."

"No!" Greg huffed stubbornly and dragged on his cigarette extra-long. "This is my house, too."

"You're being a child," I told him, patience running thin. My head hurt from breathing in second-hand smoke and studying all afternoon. Not to mention his music taste was absolutely god awful.

"I do not remember high school this way," Greg continued pointedly, preparing himself for a rant. "I remember getting my first girlfriend, my first job, having my first beer, attending parties, going to prom. What the hell. It hasn't been that long since I've been out and they've turned the place into an intellectual prison."

"No, you just didn't try," I guessed and tossed a glance over the couch. "Some of us are trying to get college credit while it doesn't break the bank."

He scoffed and hid behind his cigarette, but he didn't argue. He simply allowed himself to reblend into the background, muttering quietly under his breath.

Releasing my frustration with a heavy sigh, I glanced down at Bash's face, his lips curling up in a humorous grin.

"You're awful acrimonious today," he commented lightly, eyebrows lifting like he'd finally discovered the answer to a long, unanswered question.

And, well, maybe he was right. I was stressed and bitter from all the extra work I had been doing as an advanced student. It felt like I was constantly weighted down by school work these days. If it wasn't a project, it was a paper, and if it wasn't a paper, it was a four page assignment.

Most of my time with Bash was turning into study dates. That made me feel horrible because I didn't want to burden him with that. He graduated years ago. 

Still, he kept insisting we do it together because otherwise we would hardly see each other. If he wasn't quizzing or listening to me while we sat in his apartment, he was doing it while stacking books. And that wasn't right.

He was good to me. Too good. And, while I had known that all along, it was really sinking in, now.

"Sorry," I told him dismissively. "I'm just tired. It's fine. Keep going."

Bash sat up and tossed the answer sheet onto the messy coffee table. I could tell by his sudden burst of energy that continuing with the study prep wasn't going to happen.

"No, maybe Greg is right."

"—oh, really? No way. I'm so surprised by this, Sebastian. Me? Right about something?" Greg moved the cigarette from his face and caught my eye with his dull ones. "It's been known to happen. Quite often."

I tried to glare, but Bash started to speak, again.

"Come on, Jovial. I haven't seen that ethereal smile of yours in ages." He looked at me earnestly, and it became obvious to me that all of this studying really was taking a toll on him, too.

I could feel the tension in my own shoulders like an annoying pinch. And, as far as I could tell, I might have been sleepwalking these past weeks. While everyone else was perking up because of spring, I was losing my glow. I knew I needed a break, I was just afraid of taking one.

But, with Bash's eyes shining on me the way that they were, lighting me up like the sun, I knew that if he thought I needed a break, then now was the time to take one.

"Okay...fine," I conceded. "We're done for the day. What do you want to do?"

"I'm leaving!" Greg announced suddenly, jumping off the window sill and dropping his cigarette into its grave. Both Bash and I turned to watch as he placed the board on top of the flowerbox and pushed the window into place. "I don't want to be around when this gets weird."

And, with that, he powerwalked into his bedroom and shut the door. Bash and I glanced at each other with wide eyes. I knew my face was burning, but he just looked genuinely confused. It was after a few moments of silence that I realized that it wasn't, in fact, so silent.

"He left that shitty music on," I groaned in annoyance.

Bash's mouth dropped open in disgust of my comment. "Shitty music? Jovial, Leonard Cohen is a true artist."

"You like this stuff, too?" I asked and wrinkled my nose. "Really, Bash?"

Bash waved his hands, having none of it. "Jovial, this man writes of love and purpose in a poetic, compelling rhythm that speaks to the soul!"

"Well, that just sounded hopeless and cheesy," I told him dryly as I smoothed out the place on my jeans where he'd been lying, demonstrating my lack of interest.

He slapped his hands over his face in disbelief.

"No," he stated simply, standing up. "No girlfriend of mine lacks appreciation for Leonard Cohen."

With that, he grabbed my hands and pulled me off the couch, dragging me out to a bare piece of flooring that was just wide enough for both of us to stand with our arms out. I glanced around in confusion, but he took my hand and held it over my head, twisting so I spun before him.

"This is even my favorite song of his," Bash announced as the next track lined up, and if I thought his talking voice was sweet and rich in a way I couldn't describe, his singing voice was twice as wonderful.

"Well I've heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord, but you don't really care for music, do you?" His eyes gleamed as he sang along lowly, rocking me back and forth to the steady sing-talking that was Leonard Cohen's voice. "Well it goes like this: the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift, the baffled king composing Hallelujah..."

His arms circled my waist, pulling me close and singing into my hair. I smelled the fresh linen on his clothing, and leaned in closer while his mouth lowered to my ear to sing in a slightly husky, stomach churning voice that gave me second thoughts about what I'd said earlier.

And, I guess that was Bash's charm—always making me second guess myself.

"Well your faith was strong but you needed proof. You saw her bathing on the roof. Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya." Bash took one of my hands and guided it to his shoulder while he took my waist and held our other hands out to lead. We began to shuffle in a small circle while the song played on. "She tied you to her kitchen chair, she broke your throne, and she cut your hair, and from your lips she drew the Hallelujah..."

His eyes closed, and his body relaxed as he sunk into the song. I looked up, watching his lips move with the lyrics, skin tingling where he held my waist and goosebumps dancing down my spine. The background melted into nothingness. Heat built up beneath my skin.

In a way, I felt like Bash was singing about me--as silly as that was. It was just a song, but when he looked at me, it didn't feel that simple. My final wall went down.

His voice softened with the singer's, and I pressed myself closer against him. "I did my best, it wasn't much. I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch. I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you. And even though it all went wrong I'll stand before the Lord of Song with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah..."

And, on his intake of breath, I stopped our slow dancing and stood on my tiptoes to press my lips against his. He dropped my hand and gripped behind my neck, pulling me closer, kissing me deeper, and I felt all of the tension in my body, all the worries in my mind erase with every caress of his lips.

"Hallelujah," I breathed against his mouth.

He grinned and pushed the hair from my face, moving forward to kiss me again.

I love you is an ache in your bones. It's the catch in your breath like you've run a marathon, and nervous laughter as you undress them for the first time. It's trust. It's loyalty. It's lipstick stains on necks, and your cologne on their clothes. It's jumping off a swing and swimming in the deep end. I love you is their hand in yours. It's falling down and then standing back up. It's hanging over a cliff knowing that if you can't pull yourself up, they'll be there to help you. It's intense. It's real. It's chemical.

As our kiss broke, I said it again. "Hallelujah."

I'm not brave enough to say I love you.