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twenty-one.

‹ 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ›

Waking up shaking and covered in sweat was beginning to grow very old. Every night seemed to be the same, and especially with his anniversary having just passed, the nightmares were growing more vivid, more real.

I had developed a system, though. When I shot out of my bed, I'd change out of my sweat–soaked clothes and sneak into the living room. If the garage light was on, I'd accidentally drop something, and Piper would come inside.

We'd chat until the sun rose.

When she wasn't up, I'd smoke a cigarette—or three—and ride around the city until the day was bright and my bike was out of gas. It was an expensive alternative.

But, this morning, there was no sign of the redhead, and no soft, orange glow from the garage light. So, instead, I threw my hood over my head and headed to the driveway, climbing onto my bike and kicking it into life.

I drove the familiar route, letting the wind ripple through my clothes, and wash away the thoughts that clouded my mind. I felt free on the road, as if the wind could carry the weight on my shoulders, lessen me of my burden, if even just for a second.

It was the same effect I was beginning to realize that Piper had on me. The way my head was clear when I was with her, the way my body was light when I saw her smile. It was a fucking scary realization, and yet, I couldn't help but let the smile slip onto my face as the thought of her swam in my mind.

I knew that I was no good for her, that I would only fuck up her life and make everything a hundred times more complicated than it needed to be. I wasn't a good person, and I had no fucking clue how to be a good person, but when she was around, all of those things didn't seem to matter, because she didn't see me the way I saw myself.

Piper didn't see the broken, fucked up, asshole that everyone else saw. She saw something good, something worth fixing.

Something worth caring about.

I knew it was selfish, to want her so desperately, to crave the way her touch lit a fire inside of me. But, I couldn't find it in myself to push her away, to keep the distance that would inevitably tear me apart.

Instead, I was finding myself wanting more, wanting every part of her that I could get.

My bike slowed as the garage door came into view, and I couldn't help the disappointment that washed over me as the light was still out. I let out a small sigh as I made my way toward the house, stopping only as I noticed a small, beige envelope sitting on the front step.

Piper Amelia Walsh

728 Anson Street

New York, NY 10230

Columbia University, Housing Department.

I felt my heart stutter as I examined the envelope in my hands, turning it over as I debated ripping into it. Instead, I tucked it into my back pocket, stepping into the house and making my way into my room.

Shoving the envelope into my desk drawer and slamming it shut.

I knew I shouldn't—that this was overstepping at its finest, but I couldn't help myself.  She'd open that letter, and leave. The boys, me—we would be nothing but a memory to her.

I wasn't sure I was ready to deal with the disappointment that followed her opening that letter.

I wasn't sure I'd ever be.

✧

"I think we should let her come," Ryan's whiny voice threatened to drown me as I finished the last of my cigarette, snubbing it out beneath my boot. "She's proven that she can handle herself—or at least, not die."