Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Ori breathed deep. “So why’d you do it?”
I puffed out a laugh, shaking my head. “Ah, fuck.”
“Finn,” he said, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder.
Fuckin’ keep it together.
“I think it was for me,” I managed to spit out. “I needed to feel useful. Like I mattered.”
“Don’t know how you could ever doubt how much you mattered,” he said in a soft tone.
I swallowed. I really felt like I was watching this conversation from above now, like I was out of my own body.
When had it all gotten so real?
“You know,” I said, “I didn't even have my own home for a while in high school. Maybe I never felt like I had one at all. Mom high all the time, Dad gone. I never let that get to me back then. Kept my head down. But sometimes, if I think too hard about it, it makes me feel like I’m going to die, Ori. You know?”
It was more than I’d said on the topic in years.
More than ever, maybe.
How could I explain how empty my childhood had felt?
How empty it had been everywhere other than with Ori?
His arm came around my shoulders, pulling me in, like a hug from the side. “I can tell you that I never would have admitted it back then, but I was glad when you came to stay with us for a while.”
“Hah. Bullshit.”
“You were the worst. But you were the fuckin’ best, Finn.”
My heart felt too big for my chest. I couldn’t look at Ori right now, but the weight of his arm around me felt so good I couldn’t really make sense of it.
I squinted up at the sky. “You used to even make fun of the cereal I ate.”
Ori snorted. “Because what other teenagers actually like raisin bran?”
“I’m sure plenty of them do.”
He hummed. “No way. You’re special,” he said. “I did like walking out and seeing you eating it every morning. I liked knowing you’d be happier on days you had a football practice lined up. Fighting over the TV with you, too.”
I was lost in memory. “God, that one time. With the lemonade.”
“You had the fucking balls to pour a whole goddamn Big Gulp of icy lemonade on me,” he said. “Just because I changed the channel.”
“Your Mom screamed at me, but she was even laughing later on.”
“Yeah,” Ori said. “I even liked that. Fucker.”
We were silent for a bit, and I felt like something was thawing inside me, slowly and steadily. Like I was coming alive after the longest winter of my fucking life.
Ori was looking down when I glanced back over at him. He kicked a patch of the dirt with the toe of his shoe, his brow knit, lost in thought.
“You know,” he finally said, “there’s a very small art museum at the college in Sable Valley. Except, it’s not really that small anymore, because there was some rich-ass guy in their alumni who donated a million for the museum. They’ve done good things with it, apparently, and, well… I was thinking of checking it out, and I might even like working there for many years, if—”
“Ori,” I interjected. “Don’t do this.”
No, no, no.
“What?”
I gave him a serious look. “Don’t make your dreams smaller,” I said, my chest tightening. “For me or for anyone.”
He gazed at me, the wind blowing a piece of his hair to one side. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t like Tennessee. Period. You don’t have to lie to me about it.”
“I never thought I’d be saying this, but Tennessee really isn’t that bad.”
“Don’t,” said in a warning tone.
“Finn, what’s your problem? I thought you’d be happy to hear I was thinking about it.”
“I don’t want to be the reason you regret something for the rest of your life,” I said quickly, my voice rising more than I wanted it to.
I stood up quickly, my boot slipping on the dirt. I steadied myself on the tree trunk, my hand resting just above our little carving.
I felt like the world was crumbling all around me.
It was too much. Too overwhelming. Being here, hearing Ori say that stuff, all of it.
I turned and started walking back toward the car.
Before I could make it to the passenger side door Ori had come up, standing between me and the car, blocking me.
“I can do whatever I want, and you know it,” he said. “Maybe I do want to stay here.”
My heart was pounding. I shook my head, unable to make eye contact with him. “Don’t pity me.”
“Fuck you. It isn’t pity.”
“I’ll never be able to live in a world where you don’t get to follow what you really want,” I told him.
When I looked back at him, his gaze was steadfast. “Maybe I was wrong about what I wanted. For once in my life, maybe I can accept that.”