It's sunny when we wake up, which just seems like an insult to everything.
It's not a funeral but I still wear the darkest of the clothes Theo brought me: a dark blue button-down and the matching beanie, my black leather jacket, black jeans and dark blue trainers.
Georgia and I wait for him by the front door in our usual silence. He comes down the stairs at ten, dressed in black jeans and a matching hoodie and a soft brown t-shirt that brings out the touches of dark gold in his eyes. Georgia heads out silently after giving him a quick, sad smile, and I wait for Theo to put on his shoes.
The landline starts to ring as we step onto the porch, but Theo just slams the door and locks it behind him. It is at least an hour-long walk through the town and out the other side. Georgia strides ahead, her heels tapping on the pavement,
while Theo and I walk behind her sharing earphones and almost-but-not-quite holding hands.
As soon as I see the church steeple, I realize that I've been here before. And after that, it's a struggle to continue walking. But I do it or him.
(And a little bit for me, too, because it's never let me here before.)
Theo weaves through the graves like he's walked the path a thousand times - which he probably has - and I stick close to him in case I go wondering towards a part of my history.
We come to a stop in front of a row of near-identical pale grey gravestones. Theo gives us a look. I nod, turn my back on him and start to walk away with Georgia at my side, making sure to stay away from the left side of the graveyard. When I glance back at him, he's sitting with his back resting against what I assume is his mother's headstone, even though the name is obscured. (It only just occurs to me that I don't know Theo's surname.)
His dark eyes are pinned up to the sky and even from here I can see him blinking heavily. The urge to return to him is almost painful but I respect his wishes.
"I'm glad you're here," Georgia says suddenly, snapping me out of my stupor.
I glance over at her. She's standing just behind me, staring at one of the stained glass windows of the church. I look at her.
"Theo," Georgia continues, still not looking at me. I expect her to sound distant, confused, but her voice is strong. She seems determined to say her bit. "He was miserable before you came. He could barely get out of bed, his grades were low - hell, he barely even ate." She rubs her palms violently under her eyes and her sun-kissed skin comes back blackened with smudged eyeliner. "I tried to help him... but it wasn't the same. It killed me to see Amana's child like that. To see a kid I've come to love like my little brother so messed."
Shaking her head, she glances at me with misted eyes. "I'm not saying you're a cure-all for depression, but he eats like a horse now." She laughs snottily and wipes her nose.
"I think he just needs somebody his age who cares," she says after a long pause. "Somebody who can maybe even love him - and
don't take it like I'm pressuring you to. But it's clear you care about him a lot, and I'm glad that you do."
I look over at Theo.
(We haven't had much time. But if I love anybody or anything, it's him.)
I look over at the church, at the way the light makes the panes of berry-coloured glass shine the same way it does my skin.
(But they always said this kind of loving was wrong.)
A half hour later, the three of us leave the graveyard with similar tearstains on our faces.
We leave Theo's mother behind.
I want to hold his hand as we walk. My own palm glitters as I hold it out to the sunlight, reminding me again of what we left behind in that graveyard. I keep it in my pocket.
We have this connection, him and I. His soul called for me. His needs tied us together.
But we have one other connection, one I wasn't aware of.
His mother is buried there, in the graveyard we just turned our backs on. And so is my baby sibling. Meaning that my father must be buried there. Maybe my aunt, too. And my poor, broken mother.
Which means that somewhere under that cold, dark earth, the body of sixteen-year-old Evan Adams is now nothing more than bones.
I'm dead, gone and buried somewhere in that graveyard, bones and dust in the same dirt as Theo's mother, while my soul walks this earth, tethered to this not-quite-existence for eternity.
For the first time in forty-five years, with a boy I care about in my arms and a world of troubles too far away to hurt me, I have a nightmare.
I have a nightmare about falling and screaming and last words and no time to regret and bullies and crowing slurs and kissing a boy, kissing a boy only to be pushed away and pushed down and kicked and spat on just for loving how the world doesn't think people should love. I dream fretfully of myself, of a dead baby who died because of the cold and a blank-faced mother and a father still living in a war that broke something behind his eyes.
And my mind is filled with thoughts of jumping and screaming and scarlet blood and broken necks and regrets and things that I did do and things that I didn't.
And, over and over and over, of the end that I caused.
When I wake from that nightmare, I remove Theo's arms from around my stomach and slide out of his bed. I look back once at his face, peaceful and frownless and beautiful in sleep.
And I want to run my fingers over his skin, along and against and over the contours of his face, the hollows of his cheekbones, the frown lines between his eyes, the thin shapelessness of his lips, the slight hook at the end of his nose.
More prominently, I want to wake him up and bury my head in his shoulder and ask him to comfort me.
I don't.
I head down the dark, lonely corridor to the cold and empty bedroom that I fooled myself into believing belonged to me. I slide under the freezing covers of that bed and stretch out as far as possible, my fingers and toes cooled by night air that my very existence stales.
As I start to sob, I know for sure that I would much rather be lying with his warm body close, his curls in my hands, my fingers running up and down his spine.
I would rather be with him. I would give anything to stay with him. But I can't. And it was wrong of me to let it get this far. So we may as well get this over with.
He notices. Of course he does. We still spend every second we can together. We still watch sunsets, we still eat together and with Georgia, we still sit outside with Kyle and Amber at school, we still explore the town and we still read books and chat like friends about inconsequential rubbish.
He still talks about his mother and his father and I listen and comfort him - but I never hold him. I don't sleep in his bed. Even when he asked, I just shook my head and didn't look at his face because I couldn't stomach the hurt in his eyes.
I don't hug him or hold him or try and brush his hand against mine. When we watch films, it's me who avoids touching his hand when we reach for snacks, it's me who jumps away like I've been shocked when we touch.
And it's painful. And it's so, so hard. But I know I'm doing the right thing.
(Because I keep thinking about that nightmare, that history I've been so blissfully forgetting so I can care about him without the memories of all the terrible things I've done hanging over me.) (I won't let myself forget now. I'm doing this for him.)
He won't confront me about it but I can tell that my absence is hurting him. I catch him looking at me sometimes, eyes wide like a kicked puppy. I always look away.
Almost overnight, it becomes Kyle's job to make Theo smile. He and Amber both have catchy laughs: Amber does so rarely, but when she does she either snickers or giggles silently like she's dying, her shoulders shaking violently. Kyle laughs lightly, airily, or ends up snorting like a piglet being poked.
Every day, I find myself resenting them less.
Except for those times Kyle watches Theo laugh. (Theo laughs like he's trying to hide it, his hand over his mouth or in his shoulder if he can. I've only seen him laugh full on and breathlessly when he sneezed in my face in the corn field.)
When Kyle looks at Theo, when he thinks nobody else is, his eyes go soft and he starts smiling like he doesn't even know he's doing It. It's in those moments that everything just hurts a little more.
"It's my birthday in five days," Kyle says suddenly, unexpectedly, Wednesday morning. He and Theo were just discussing whether or not he should get Snapchat. ("Two friends. I would have two friends," Theo said. "And a universe of dog filters!" Kyle retorted.)
"Sweet sixteen," Amber says listlessly. (I've come to learn that unless she's smiling or angry or being sarcastic, everything that comes from her sounds dull at the edges.) She clicks a lighter on and flashes it underneath Kyle's nose, making him shriek and push her away. The
fact that we're sitting in an almost-circle (that I feel very much on the outside of, although it's probably my own doing) means he practically jumps into Theo's lap. He apologizes, smiling like a happy little kid.
Ugh.
"Anyway." Kyle throws a joking glare at Amber, who just clicks the lighter on again menacingly and starts to burn blades of grass. "My family is coming down from Scotland to see me this weekend and they'll be here Saturday morning, so I thought you three could come
around mine on Friday night."
"And get fucked up?"
"Yes, Amber, to get fucked up."
"Well, I'm in."
Theo chuckles, again. "We can't, sorry. Evan and I are busy." He looks at me like he has been lately: nervously, like I might up and
walk away at any second.
(Well, I won't walk away - but I might vanish.)
"No, it's cool, we'll come," I say. We were only going to watch the seventh Harry Potter movie, after all.
Kyle grins at me briefly before looking back at Theo for confirmation. Theo looks at me with eyebrows knitted in confusion.
"You were the one who wanted to marathon those trainwrecks with me."
"Well, they can wait, can't they?" I'm uncomfortable sort-of-arguing in front of Amber and Kyle and I can tell Theo is, too.
"You're only sixteen once," Amber mutters, burning the end of a strand of her own hair experimentally.
"Yeah," I say.
Theo hesitates. "Okay, we'll come. Thanks for inviting us, Kyle."
Kyle's smile looks a little forced and I can't help but feel sympathetic. "Thanks for coming."
When Kyle turns around to scold Amber for trying to set her head on fire, Theo leans towards me and whispers: "What's up, Evan?
What are you doing?"
I force a smile for him. "It'll be fun."
"You know I hate parties."
"It's not really a party. You'll be spending time with your friends."
"We... we were going to spend time together."
"We still will, won't we? And Amber, and Kyle."
Theo frowns. His breath touches my cheek lightly. "Why are you pushing me away?" he mumbles, leaning away as quickly as he came close and picking viciously at a patch of grass by his toe.
I don't give him an answer, except in my head.