Page 57 of Rewriting the Story

She locks eyes with me. “When I feel anxious. It helps me, Henry, because you bought it for me, and it’s the nicest gift I’ve ever received from someone.”

Why the hell does she still wear it after all this time? A thought enters my mind and lingers, but there’s no way it can be true. Amelia is not still in love with me. You don’t treat the people you love how she has, but then why keep the necklace I bought her?

Suddenly, I’m jolted back to when I first put it around her neck, her eyes shining at me in the mirror as I latched it on. Amelia isn't one for many emotions, but her eyes always told me all I needed to know. I thought buying her jewelry at first was a bad idea because of how specific she is. She wears the same rings every single day, and she doesn't have herears pierced, so earrings were out. She also hates the way bracelets feel on her wrists, so I decided on a necklace with some special meaning—a windmill because of my nickname for her. Mills.

The first time I called her that, it sort of slipped out, and it stuck. Then, I got her the necklace, and she never took it off, a constant reminder of the two of us hanging around her neck.

“A necklace? Is this to show everyone I’m yours?”

“No, Mills. This is just between us, like a secret that hangs around your neck. Nobody else needs to know what it means except us.”

“I love it, Hen. And I love you.”

God, it felt so easy back then—loving her.

Before I can stop myself, I kiss her. Because in the moonlight, here on this beach, she’s wearing my necklace, and we’re finally talking about all our shit. As soon as our lips touch, it’s a shock, but eventually, we both give in, and I’m catapulted back to when I could kiss her simply because she was mine.

It feels just how it used to—her soft skin beneath my touch, goosebumps all over her neck as I cup my hand around her neck and pull her closer. I need to be closer. I need to be able to reach into her mind and somehow figure out why she killed us back then.

Because her lips were always meant to be on mine, and this is proof of it. But she’s not mine, not anymore, and the two of us should not be doing this.

I pull back just as she starts to melt into me, and the breeze flows between us as I take a few steps back.

Why the fuck did I just do that? It’s going to make everything so much more complicated. I didn't even get the answers I was hoping for tonight. We talked, but we didn't really discuss everything. The two of us aren't going to fix our shit in one night.

Why did I do that? Why did I fucking kiss the girl who destroyed me?

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn't have done that.”

She says nothing as she simply looks at me, shock and confusion written across her features.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say as I walk away.

I don’t bother looking back.

Henryjustkissedme.

Henry Hayes—the boy I used to know and love—just kissed me on the beach as we talked about our past.

I’m not sure where we go from here. I’m not sure what he wants from me. Hell, I’m not sure what I want from him. All I want to do is clear the air and apologize, but there’s some part of me that feels uneasy, knowing after we talk about all this, we’ll both go our separate ways.

I didn't lie when I told him he was the only person I ever loved. That’s still the truth. He was the only guy I let in enough to love me, to see who I really was beneath my harsh exterior. I used to be really good at keeping people out, but now, after all I’ve done and been through, it’s harder to build my walls back up. I don’t want to. I want people to see me. I’m tired of hiding.

When I used to let Henry see the real me, he never judged me. He got my weird, dry sense of humor, and not once did he try to change who I was.

He was the first person to truly understand me besides the girls. Sometimes, I didn't even let them all the way in. Henry truly smashed my reinforcements to pieces as I tried to keep us strictly in the friend zone.

But one night, it all changed. When the break-in happened back in college and I realized he was the only person I needed beside me, something shifted between us.

Tonight, I felt that same shift when he touched his lips to mine.

My hand moves up to my lips, still feeling the ghost of him there, wishing I took more time to savor the feeling, because it might be the last time I feel that with someone—with him.

By some miracle, could Henry and I actually work things out and be together? Could we get back to where we once were? Is that something I want? Is that somethinghewants?

I have more questions than answers, and I know for sure I’m going to have to think about what all of this means. For now, I’m going to sit down, listen to the waves, and think about what it would feel like to love someone again.

Is that delusional of me? Probably. But if I can imagine loving someone again, maybe that means I’m not totally unlovable. Maybe I’m not going to end up alone forever like my parents thought. Maybe that means I deserve to be happy, even if I’m still working through my own shit.

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