Page 82 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
“Wait.” Azaire steps forward, frantic. His hand twitches at his side, as though he wants to reach for me but thinks better of it.
I’m waiting again, and he’s trying to steady himself.
“I have something to say.”
My—his—hands are shaking. Trembling.
I nod.
“I don’t know what this is between us,” he starts, his voice catching as he continues, “but it’d take more than a loss of sight to deny it.” His lips pull into an uncertain smile. “Iseeyou—everything you don’t show. And I wantyou, Wendy Estridon. I want your hesitancy. I want your caution. I want your heart. I even want your fear. I think I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”
I stand still, uncertain how to continue. How to move forward, now that this boy before me has articulated exactly how I feel.
Now that he’s taken the words from my tongue and wrapped them in a bow.
“But why now?” I ask. “Why all of a sudden?”
“It isn’t all of a sudden, Wendy,” Azaire breathes. “You know that.” He swallows hard, the words fighting to escape, his vulnerability so pure it’s almost painful. “I’m not asking for anything you’re not ready for. But I want you to know this: I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you, no matter what. But you should know, every part of me is already yours. I’ve been yours, this entire time. Since before the night in the woods. Since before the day you healed me in class. It’s been since the day I met you eight years ago.This”—he steps closer—“this was never sudden.”
Tears sting my eyes. “That’s the truth?” I ask. I know it is.
“The truth, truth.” He laughs, and his entire face goes red. Blood red. He looks down at the ground for a moment, then back up at me.
“I think I want you, too.” My gaze drops, unable to meet his. “It just doesn’t work like that for me.”
“Good,”the boy interrupts—condoning.
“What if I promise you, right now, that I will be the one who is hurt by you?” Azaire says it with such optimism. He says it, and he means it. “Whatever happens, I take the blunt end. Wherever this goes, I swallow the worst of it.”
My frown is heavy to hold as I say, “That’s actually what I’m afraid of.”
“Then how about I promise no one gets hurt?”
“We both know that’s not possible…”
Azaire takes a step closer, the air shifting with his anticipation. His hand brushes against mine, uncertain before he picks it up. And oh gods, do I feel it. His warmth, his certainty, his heartbeat echoing in my own.
I feel it all.
“Then how about we swim the lake when we get to it?”
He really means it, really cares. Reallywantsthis. Wants me, for whatever reason. The feeling overtakes me while he stands a foot away from me, blushing like arose,not blood.
“All I want is for us to get to it,” he mutters.
I step towards him, without meaning to.
I pull his lips to mine, without meaning to.
And I enjoy his kiss, without ever meaning to.
“Bad,”the boy says.“Lips on lips on happiness, that can all be taken away with one, small, fragile moment of pain.”
Part 2:
The Fissure
Chapter 17
