Page 89 of First Verse

I’m nothing.

No one.

Emptiness. Silence.Peace.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-SIX

evangeline

Here is sucking empty

A slipping memory of your skin

Here are fingers curling inward

Seeking the source of sin

For the first time in my adult life, I lie my way out of Sunday brunch, texting my mom that I have food poisoning. When she immediately calls me, I don’t answer.

Can’t talk. Puking

Honey! do u need anything? Electrolytes? Saltine crackers?

I’m good.

Okay. I’m so sorry. Just say the word and I’ll be there

Thx momma. Love you

I put my phone on the nightstand and flop back on my bed, wishing I actuallyweresick and my mom could come over, rub my back, and tell me everything will be okay—and I was still young enough to believe her.

I wish, too, that I had the guts to tell her the truth. That I’m not the levelheaded, confident, responsible daughter she thinks I am. I’m an insecure mess who’s afraid of the dark. Afraid of everything, including love.

Turning my head on the pillow, I suck in Wilder’s fading scent.

Sometime during the night, while chugging tea and journaling with every light in the house on, the inferno of anger and betrayal in my chest cooled to embers of regret.

I can’t stop thinking about what my reaction blinded me to in the moment. The soft, adoring expression on Wilder’s face when he asked me to come with him. His boyish excitement at the idea of us performing together again. His confusion, horror, and impassioned apology after I flipped out.

He really did speak without thinking, the words coming straight from his heart. My reaction, on the other hand, came straight from the fear center of my brain. The part of me that refuses to let go of who he was and accept him for who he is now—again.

Wilder isn’t the same man he was three years ago or even six years ago. Every day of the last month and especially the last two weeks, he’s proven that fact. Despite his insane pre-launch schedule, I never once felt like an afterthought. He texted me constantly throughout the day: quick hellos, selfies and videos of him and the guys, annoyingly funny memes about Taurus women, unfinished song lyrics, X-rated promises… And every night, no matter how exhausted he was, he found his way into my arms.

He’s changed.

I’m the one who’s stayed the same.

How long will I make him suffer for my inability to let go of the past? How long before he decides he doesn’t want to walk on eggshells anymore or deal with my overthinking, insecure, moody self?

I owe him an explanation. An apology.

We were already planning to spend the afternoon together, his first in weeks with nothing on the schedule.

I’ll surprise him with coffee.

Or better yet, a burned bagel.

I’ll tell him the truth—open up to him about my insecurities like he’s opened up to me about his anxiety. We’ll get over this speed bump like we have others. And someday, we’ll have a smooth road to walk.

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