t h i r t y - e i g h t : c o n f e s s i o n

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Birdie realized two things while she slept as if her dreams had brought to light the things her mind had kept in the dark.

The first thing she realized was her feelings for Wyatt Best.

She had done a good job of suppressing them over the past few months. Even last night, she could give the convincing sentence of, "I do not love Wyatt Best."

But when she awoke that morning, she found herself curled up against his side. His arms were lazily wrapped around her and, for the first time in days, she felt safe.

Birdie had never been more horrified in her life.

As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the gray clouds above, she sat, frozen, with her head against his chest.

Why does it have to be him? she wondered, then deftly ducked beneath his arms and scrambled to her feet.

Ophelia, always the hardest sleeper, was still passed out on the ground and Marshall was curled up into a ball, growing dim whenever he exhaled.

Birdie paced twice, shoving her fingers through her hair and shaking her hands out at her sides.

She told herself that it didn't matter. Even though a moment came when she knew her heart could never belong to anyone else, that wasn't to say that Wyatt's wouldn't. Just because she'd grow up to be a spinster for the rest of her life, what was so bad about that? She'd planned on it anyway.

Don't be stupid, she told herself. Was she really so weak to not accept what was standing in front of her?

I'm in love with Wyatt Best.

She was going to be sick. Not at the thought of loving Wyatt, but at the overwhelming emotions of it.

But did he feel the same?

Birdie always had a tendency toward the extreme, which was why she told herself that no one would ever be crazy enough to fall for her. She was "a little much", according to the girls at school. But the truth was that she never did, never felt, anything halfway. It was a strange sort of confidence. It might take her a while to decide to jump, but once she made up her mind to do so, it would be from the highest cliff and the furthest distance.

Birdie knew better than anyone that it was no small thing to be in love. And she'd found herself in the middle of it before she'd realized it began.

The subject in question stirred and opened his eyes. He drug his forearm across his face and blinked up at the trees. "Doesn't look so bad in the daytime."

"I'm fine," Birdie replied.

"...I'm glad?"

"You asked how I was, right?"

"No."

"Oh." Birdie tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Are you fine?"

"Yes," she said. "No. I don't know. I have lots of things to worry about."

It was true. Her sister was lost in a godforsaken forest and Birdie couldn't ignore the dull ache in her stomach that told her something was terribly wrong.

But as Birdie watched Wyatt get to his feet, dust off his trousers, and frown in dismay at a snag in his sweater vest, she realized that this could be her only chance to tell him.

Even so, she hesitated and realized that she was too scared to. What if Wyatt didn't feel the same way? Perhaps worse, what if he did?

Being loved meant being known and the thought of that was terrifying. She wrote about people falling in love, but she knew it was different in real life. She knew it wasn't just kissing under the moonlight and lovelorn gazes across the table. Love--real love--was crashing two souls together and forcing them to coexist in a world that wanted to tear them apart. But if the love was true, nothing could separate them.

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