Page 110 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories

“Maybe. But it’s been eight years. How much longer am I meant to wait?”

“Until he’s willing to let you peer inside.”

He blinks at me like I don’t make sense, but then recognition dawns on him. His long fingers come up to stroke my face. That’s the thing about he and I. Sometimes, we don’t need words to communicate. We just know. And that’s what’s happening right now. He knows. He understands what I mean. It took me over three years before I was willing to let him see me.

“You’re right,” he breathes.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

He shakes his head, lifting it so we can face each other. “I love you. I would’ve waited forever.”

“I know,” I say and then take a breath. “I want to say it back.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I really do,” I tell him and straddle him. “It’s always been on my mind. A nagging thought that I didn’t want to pay attention to because how was I ever supposed to love you the way you loved me when I hated everything about myself?”

He rubs my sides, staring through me. “Do you hate yourself still?”

“Less,” I admit. “I still hate how I’ve treated you, people, my life. There’s a lot to work on in here.” I pat my chest. “But I know I’ve cleared out a bigger space for you. There was always a reservation,” I smile, “but it was a seat for one.”

“And now?”

“Definitely two.”

His fingers tighten on my hips, eyes dancing over my face. “You and me?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Finally.”

“Then tell me, sweetheart.”

I swallow hard, finding my courage, knowing I just have to let it out.

I want to.

I feel it so strongly that it has to be true.

My love might be warped, but it’s the only kind I know. And if he’ll have it, I’ll give it to him.

“I love you.”

He leans in close, nuzzling me, and just before our lips touch, he whispers, “I know.”

Epilogue

Jorge

Earlier that day.

I have a secret.

A filthy, horrible, backstabbing secret that I’ll keep clutched to my chest for however long I need to. This is what I get for being a nice guy, honestly. I’m charming, friendly, and have a hero complex like a sonofabitch. It’s easier to save other people than yourself, after all. And I'll use all my talents to my advantage if it keeps up my facade.

It’s not that I’m secretly depressed or miserable. I’ve got it good, all things considered. But thereisthe monumental lie I can’t seem to own up to, even though I know without a shadow of a doubt that it’ll cost me the most important person in my life.

What’s worse is that it really started off so innocently. I was trying to be helpful. My best friend just had his heart broken, and I scrambled to findanythingto make it better—even minimally.

Like, I’m the bestest friend ever. It’s what I do.

---