The Boy Across the Street

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven 

I sit with Bradbury and talk to him as he lies in his hospital bed. The bullet went clean through his shoulder. If his stepfather had been sober it would have went through his heart.

His mother also has a pretty bad concussion, but she was discharged a couple hours after receiving medical attention. She had been knocked around pretty bad, shot at, but was completely missed. However, that’s the sound that woke me up and made Bradbury go running. Apparently, his stepfather had gotten so angry because his mom was telling him that she was leaving him. Leaving him so that her son would come home.

I smile at Bradbury and hold his hand. He looks so tired, but content at the same time. Almost happy. With his stepfather locked away behind bars that he won’t be getting out of for a long time - and will never be permitted near his family again - I imagine a large weight has been lifted off his shoulders. 

“Thank you for all you did for me, Sarah,” he gives me a small smile and I squeeze his hand. “It meant a lot.”

“Well, I admit” I begin, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear nervously, heartbeat pounding so hard in my chest that I can barely think straight, “I kind of had an ulterior motive.” I look up just to see Bradbury draw his eyebrows in confusion.

“Oh?” He raises one eyebrow playfully.

I realized something after all of this happened. After he almost died. If he really had been shot in the heart, if he really had been gone, he would never have known how I felt about him. And I realized that, even though I may not want to, the only way that I could ever have a chance at what I always wanted is to tell him how I feel. Or else nothing will change. So even if he rejects me, which is what is most likely about to happen, at least he would know and I can say I tried. I can graduate high school in three months knowing that I won’t have left anything behind.

“I’ve kind of had a crush on you since, well, since forever,” my laugh is shaky and I stare down at where our hands are intertwined because this is the part, this silence, as he takes my words in, uncertainty hanging in the balance, this is the part where I can’t bear to look at his face because I’m so scared. 

“I know,” is his immediate response. No time. There was no time for him to think. To contemplate. To take my words in with a shaky breath. There was no moment of realization. He knew.

“Oh,” the word leaves my mouth in a rush of air. The word doesn’t portray the crushing weight of disappointment I feel inside my chest that he knew and he didn’t say anything and he didn’t make a move which means he didn’t feel the same way. A blush lights my cheeks and I feel a hellfire heat in my neck and I liked the way he was holding my hand in his but I’d rather have it down by my side because this skin contact makes me feel even smaller. 

“It’s been pretty obvious. Even my mom noticed,” he laughs. “I’ve always seen you looking at me from across the street.”

The way he said it. The way he laughed. It wasn’t mean, but it cut me to the core. There it is. The tone of rejection.

“I never said anything to you,” he continues and I’m frozen, wishing for nothing else that for my legs to stop being jelly so that I could run away, “because I never knew what to say.”

“It’s f-fine,” I stutter. “I m-mean I didn’t expect anything f-rom t-this. I just wanted to finally t-tell you because all of t-this,” I gesture around the hospital room, “m-made me realize t-that -,”I was too busy rambling on, nervous and embarrassed, to notice that Bradbury had started leaning up from his bed to stop my ramblings by pressing his lips to my own. 

My lips are still. I feel the warm pressure against my mouth but I don’t move. And he doesn’t either. When he pulls back, I keep my eyes closed. But I can feel him, his breath, against my face. He hasn’t leaned away, he’s millimeters away. 

“I never said anything to you,” he whispers against my lips, “because I didn’t know how to tell you that I felt the same way.”