Page 73 of Rewriting the Story

“What do you mean?” The two of us haven't interacted much since we’ve been here, at least not as much as everyone else. Most of the time, we’re separated in group settings.

“I can’t really explain it, but it’s something in your eyes when you look at Amelia. They almost sparkle in a way, as if you’ve just discovered a newgalaxy or something. She looks at you the exact same way, but her eyes are more downturned, full of sadness.”

“I didn't know you paid such close attention to anyone besides Paige,” I joke.

“Consider it a one-time thing then,” he says, looking at his feet.

The two of us are quiet for a few moments before the words come tumbling out. “Of course, I still love her. With the way things ended, I felt suspended in time, with nowhere to put my feelings for her, so they sort of festered. I have lots of confusing emotions about Amelia. I hate her, but I wish she would talk to me. I love her, but I wish she didn't end things how she did. I’ll never be able to forget her, but sometimes, I wish I could wipe my brain of knowing her. It’s the weirdest thing.”

“Do you think you could want what you two used to have, whatever it was?”

“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. Besides an actual answer as to why she did what she did, I’m not sure where the two of us go after we sort our shit out—if we even can. “I thought I knew how our story was going to unfold. I thought we were on the same page when it came to our collective future, but we weren't.”

“Then maybe just take it one step at a time. Maybe just get some answers while she’s here and go from there.” Oliver stands and comes over to me. “But be careful. I’m still not fully sure Amelia is here for the long haul. Just…protect yourself and that heart of yours. I don’t want a repeat of what happened last time when Amelia ran out on everyone.”

I nod. “Yeah, me neither.”

“Good. Now go write that damn book of yours and enjoy today by yourself.”

He’s about to leave my room before I speak up. “Thanks, Oliver.”

“For what?”

“The invitation,” I tell him. “And for everything, really.”

“You’re a good guy, Henry. Try not to forget that.” He shuts my door before I continue to pack my bag, hoping a change of scenery will help me chip away at my manuscript.

I can’t help that my mind floats back to Amelia. All of us around her are in the same boat. There are a few options in terms of what could happen after all of this is over, but the one thing I know for sure is, I’m not going to have any expectations.

26

I Met You Too Soon by asiris

Whileeveryoneelseisout doing date night, I’ve decided to grab my journal and take a walk on the beach. This week has been a mixed bag emotionally for me, and most nights, I’ve been far too exhausted to get my journal out. Which is good, actually. I’m sleeping well again, so that’s a good step in the right direction.

Though this trip has thrown my routine out of whack, I’ve been handling it pretty well. I think it's because my brain has been so distracted by a thousand other things, so my body just goes with whatever is happening.

I take a sip of my favorite tea before I set my beach towel down, throw my shoes to the side, and sit. The light from the hotel and themoon are all I need to see what I’m writing. Most of the time, my entries don't make much sense, at least to someone who picks up my journal randomly. To me, the chaotic scribblings are a direct reflection of what my brain feels like.

I don’t know how long I’m out here journaling, but the moment I feel another presence coming up behind me, I’m barely thinking before I turn around and throw my pen at them.

It knocks against Henry’s chest, falling to the sand with a small thump.

“I think we’ve been here before,” is all he says as he grabs my pen. “Here.”

“Thank you,” I say before I shake the grains off of it, tucking it into my journal as I shut it. My heart starts to race as I realize he’s not leaving. “Do you want to sit?”

He adjusts his bag on his shoulder, and I can’t tell if it's because he’s uncomfortable or if it's something else. “Uhm, sure,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“I mean, you don’t have to,” I say, stumbling to get the words out.

He stops as he’s almost sitting down. “D-do you not want me to sit?”

“No, you can sit if you want to. I just—” I cut myself off. “I can’t figure out what I’m trying to say.” I laugh myself off as I fiddle with the rings on my fingers.

“I didn't mean to throw you all out of whack,” he says as he makes himself comfortable on the beach towel. “I didn't even know it was you, actually. I came out here to get some fresh air after a small writing session.”

“Oh,” is all I can say. “How was writing?”

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