Page 48 of Rewriting the Story

I can barely manage words, so I just put my head between my legs and wait for him to leave like I assume he’s going to.

Except he doesn't, because a few minutes of silence later, I feel him sit down next to me.

“Are you okay?” he asks me in a voice that seems like he really doesn't want to have this conversation with me. I’m sure he doesn't. I’m sure he’d rather leave me here or push me down the stairs or any other horrible thing I can think of, but that’s not who Henry is.

He’s nice. Thoughtful. Caring. Loving. He’s the best person I know.

Knew.

“You don’t have to do this,” I tell him, not sparing a glance at him. I’m not sure I could look at him right now without wanting to crawl into a hole and die. If I was smarter, I would apologize, but I know that isn't what he wants to hear, not after all this time, not after all I’ve done to him. My words mean nothing if it's not an explanation.

“It was only a question,” he says. “And you didn't even answer it.”

“I’m fine.”

He only sighs. “It always was difficult to pull the truth out of you, Amelia. I guess some things haven't changed.”

“Some things haven't changed, but a lot still has,” I say as I look over at him for the first time since dinner. Blue eyes look back at me, but instead of seeing them shine at me like they used to, all I see is a blank expression. He’s devoid of emotions as he looks at me, tired eyes and dark circles matching the ones on my face, I’m sure.

“Well, that’s life, I guess,” he says as he runs his hand through his hair. “Can you stand?”

I nod, feeling like my body has returned to itself.

“I’ll walk you back.”

“Henry, really, it’s fine. We don't have to do this,” I say as I stand and look down at him.

“Do what?”

“Pretend it doesn't hurt every time we look at one another. Pretend everything is fine, and we’re just two people who used to know one another.”

The next words out of his mouth crush me more than they should. “I don’t know if I ever knew you at all, Amelia.”

I don’t know if he gets up and leaves, or if I somehow get my legs to move myself up the stairs to my room. I don’t know if I fumble around with my room key or if I get it on the first try.

Because of all the things we’ve said to each other, of all the things I’ve done, that hurts the most. Henry was the one person who knew every piece of me. He was who I was most myself with, and him saying that just proves how much I took advantage of him and his kindness, of the love he gave to me.

And out of all the things the girls have said to me the past few days, after all the things my brain believes about myself in this moment, those words are the one thing to really cut into me and break me open.

Henry Hayes once knew me to the core, down to my bones. He knew my thoughts with just one glance. So, if he says something about me, then it’s true, and there’s nothing I can do to change that. No apology from me would fix what I broke.

Sometimes, things that get smashed can’t be fixed because the pieces are too small to be put back together, and Henry and I might be livingproof.

17

“He wasn't in the room any longer, but his presence still lingered over the rest of us. It’s like we were waiting for him to come back and tell us what to do, our family frozen in time and unsure of where to go without his instruction.” —In A Room With Death, Henry Hayes

HauntedeyesareallI can see when I wake up, the sun not even risen yet.

I would try to go back to sleep, but there’s no point. Once I’m up for the day, I usually can’t force myself back to sleep.

After my shower, I sit at my computer, fully prepared for nothing to come out when I set my sprint timer for twentyminutes. But to my surprise, the characters take over, and twenty minutes later, I’ve written a thousand words.

One thousand words. It’s probably been months since I was able to sit down and write that many at once. Before I can even think about it, I pick up my phone.

Henry: One thousand words this morning.

Mitch: Holy shit. Should I call your publisher?

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