Page 120 of Bring You Back

I didn’t want to speak when I saw them standing here, but now I couldn’t speak if I tried. Caleb’s birthday was a week after he died. I celebrated for him, alone, sprawled on the kitchen floor of our apartment, eating his favorite fruit. It was the hardest food I’ve ever had to swallow. My friends don’t know this story, and yet. . .

A heavy sting builds in the backs of my eyes, blurring my vision. My pulse pounds loud in my ears.No.I can’t stop the welling, and a fat tear falls down my cheek as soon as I blink. A second. A third. I squeeze my eyes shut against more, but they won’t stop. I can’t breathe, I can’t swallow. My chest is too tight, the lump in my throat too painful, too much.

Arms wrap around my shoulders and squeeze, a face burying itself in my neck. The fresh baked cookies scent of Reyna’s soap filters through the stuffiness in my nose. I don’t hug her back or push her away—I can’t move. A second touch rests against my left arm and squeezes. Tommy. That’s the squeeze that opens my eyes. Julian stands across from me, so he’s where my stare lands. I blink through soaked lashes to clear my vision. His head is down like he can’t bear to see me like this, can’t bear to see whathehas started. His jaw is clenched, hands in fists at the sides of his plate. He wants to touch me, but he’s letting Reyna and Tommy do that for him. And right now, I hate myself for still wanting his touch.

“We’re here,” Reyna says at my ear, and the crack in her voice makes me cry harder. Tommy’s hand on my arm squeezes tighter. They’ve never had to behere. Not in this way. This isn’t normal.We’re all pretty fucking far from that right now.

Things need to go back to normal.

I inhale deep breaths, let them out slowly. I reach up against Reyna’s hold to wipe my face. My body stops shaking as I stiffen, come down. She and Tommy both feel it, and they let me go—him dropping his hand, her loosening her arms until she’s wiping her own face, then rests her hands at her plate. I still can’t speak, but they don’t need my words.

Tommy holds a silver lighter out to me, and I stare at the reflection of my puffy eyes as I take it, my fingers shaking around the metal case. I pop the top and light my candle. When the tip catches fire, I pass the lighter to Reyna. A small chuckle escapes Julian, as I expect everyone to take care of themselves and light their own candles. Once they’re all lit, they wait for my cue. I watch the swaying flame a moment, then blow it out, the smoke curling into the air. Light breaths gust around me as they blow out theirs.

Tommy takes the first bite, trying not to look sour. The honey isn’t working for him. I laugh and it sounds clogged, so I stop, taking a bite of my own. This leads to Reyna taking her bite, then to Julian taking his. He’s the only one of the three to not make a face at the taste.

I’m overwhelmed again. I feel … thankful. A closeness with my friends that I haven’t felt. A deeper warmth.

But I know that I can’t rein in these emotions for long. Once night falls, after Tommy and Reyna are gone, after Julian and Naomi are asleep, I’ll be awake, waiting for the worst.

27

It’s Me

Julian

I’m wide awake, my eyes stuck on the ceiling of my bedroom as I listen for Camille.

We made her cry. And while it was unbearable to see, to beright thereand unable to comfort her, I could tell she needed it. I doubt she feels that way right now, though, and I can almost guarantee she hates me. But I’ll do the same thing again and again if it means she’ll come out on the other side without sleeping pills, without pain pills, without a porch light, without guilt for being alive, without all of the unfair bullshit that’s weighing her down.

On the thought of guilt, I should’ve done something more. But I couldn’t touch her. I couldn’t even look at her. Not right then. Not with Tommy and Reyna watching. The moment I open my arms to Camille,reallyopen my arms, the moment I have her wrapped against me instead of just holding her hand. . .

There’s no coming back from that.

I was there for her,I tell myself in an attempt to ease the shame. I stood at that damn island, and I ate the grapefruit—which is actually not bad with the honey. Camille deserves some credit for that one.

She doesn’t deserve my distance.Fuck.Distance isn’t what she needs from me now, and it’s not something I want to give her anymore. She broke down because of me, she’s locked away in the guest room because of me. She has me, and she knows what having me means. I open her up. She bares her pieces, and I love and appreciate every single one. This—this new territory—will be no different. I’ll do whatever it takes to repair all the broken pieces of her heart. Whatever it takes to help her through this.

But I guess I won’t be starting tonight. She’s not coming out.

Fuck it.

Right as I reach to shut off the lamp on the nightstand, I see a flash of dark hair dart past the crack of my door. I wait, my hand frozen in mid-air, to see if she comes back. A minute of empty hallway passes before I push out of bed and step out of the room.

Camille stands at the porch light, in the same position I’d seen her that first night. Her body shakes. She’s saying something, but I can’t make it out from where I’m standing. My ears pick up whispers, the same phrase repeated, but I’m nearly at the kitchen before I can put together the words. Three more words, said through her strained breathing, that stalls my breathing, spreading that now familiar cold burn through my chest.

“Please come back.”

My head falls against the wall as my eyes close, my ears listening to her plea, her small gasps in between, her sniffling. The sounds of her breaking breaks me, and I stay at this wall until I can’t take it anymore, and I move, stepping up behind her and pulling her into me. She stiffens almost immediately, but I hold steady. She needs a body to lean on.Mybody. If she’s going to break, she’s going to break in my arms.

Her hands glide across my skin until she finds my wrists, her fingers digging in as she leans forward. My hold tightens, too, both of us trying to keep her standing. My nose is buried in her hair, her tears are falling onto my arms.

“Let me in,” I plead.

She draws in a deep, ragged breath, then jerks from my hold and stalks back down the hall.

I’m right behind her, inside the guest room before she can close me out. She stops at the foot of the bed, facing the wall, and I waste no time meeting her, reaching for her. “It’s me,” I say, my racing heart trailing the words, but as soon as they’re out of my mouth, I believe them. In this moment, I am me.

Camille shoves away, whips around. “Why?” Her face is soaked with tears, her eyes red and wild. “Why would you do this to me?”

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