"There's a word I found recently. Evanescence. It made me think of you. It made me think of us. Were we just a dream, Sebastian?"
TW : Key themes of suicide and trauma.
WARNING: This is Book Two. Please read "affluenza" first to avoid any spoilers...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
IT TAKES ME three days to snap.
You'd think it was Devin blowing up my phone, demanding me to call him back, trying to convince me to talk about ANON's latest post about Sebastian.
Or maybe it would be Sebastian, who seems to have loads to say since I went to the club and spent the rest of the weekend lying in bed.
It could be the constant meals being brought up by Oba, who seems concerned I'm depressed again and keeps on saying sentences like "Wouldn't it just be so cool to see Dr. Fritz just one extra time this week?"
But it wasn't any of that. It was a stupid, flimsy piece of paper in the mail that had me shrugging into my jacket and grabbing my keys to head out of the door.
I'd told them no. When the Suicide Awareness Organization invited me to speak, I'd said no. How could I go up there and speak about the boy I loved, the boy who left? How could they expect that? And now they were sending their stupid fliers to my house?
I'd had enough. I couldn't breathe in that house anymore. I couldn't breathe in any of Malibu, really, so I go to the one place I know I'll find oxygen again. I don't care that it's late. I'll bang on the door until he wakes up if I have to.
Roman's apartment door looks stagnant from the outside like it's sleeping. I wonder if he's in there sleeping as well, or is he up baking something? Maybe he's adding more graffiti to his walls. Maybe he's jacking off.
I shake my head and bang on the door. It didn't matter what he was doing. I just needed to see him.
Fifty-six seconds. It takes him fifty-six seconds to open the door and when he does, he has a sweater thrown on haphazardly, like he'd been ready to answer the door shirtless before thinking better of it. His eyes were wide but still heavy with sleep and guilt crashes through me. So he was sleeping. Damn it.
"Sorry, this was a—I should go," I say, turning on my heel. A hand grabs my wrist and I turn back around, eyes wide.
"B, wait," Roman says. I look at him, at the concern in his eyes. I want to slap the expression off of his face. I also want to kiss him for caring. "Come inside, yeah?"
Our eyes stay locked on each other for a long moment. I can see two futures. One where I go inside with him and finally breathe again. One where I turn around and run away from him. I don't like running away. But isn't it easier?
Roman lowers his grip on my wrist and locks his fingers with mine instead, pulling me inside. He made the decision for me. I was staying.
"Did I wake you up?" I ask, the guilt seeping into my tone again. "I'm sorry. I should've considered that. You're probably doing extra hours and you must be exhausted and I show up at two in the morning like some thief in the night and—"
