I never thought they were romantic gestures.

I hold the tattered envelopes, sifting to the bottom of the stack and take note of the postmarks and dates.

They start in 1983. They end in 2017.

Thirty-four years.

Carefully, I set them back in the cubby as something I don’t like winds through my stomach, making me feel like I’m in a place I don’t recognize. Surrounded by strangers.

I don’t want things to change. I won’t recognize my life, and I’ll be lost. Nausea rises up my throat, and I groan. I don’t like this feeling.

I want my father back. I want my mother and Mimi to be proud of me.

I want our life back together.

Without telling them that I’m leaving, I jump back in my car and think about going home—or to Liv—but in minutes, I’m in front of Wind House instead. The parking lot is empty, and Mrs. Gates’ car isn’t in the driveaway.

I park and drift past the door I usually come in during business hours, sneaking through my same window and down into the basement. I switch on the lights and look around, finding it empty and quiet, all the tables vacant and the tiny hum of the coolers making the only noise in the room.

Such a sharp place. Hard and cold, and I don’t know why I find it comforting.

I walk over and put my hands on the sterilized steel table Alli laid on all those weeks ago, images running through my head that she’s now ash. Gone.

Forever.

If she could go back, would she make the same choice? It makes sense to suffer for who you are rather than who you aren’t, but ultimately, nothing is as bad as dead, right?

There’s only so much a person can take. We all have a limit.

Without thinking, I hop up, sit on the table, and swing my legs over before laying my whole body down on the freezing metal table.

I settle my back in, molding myself to the surface, and rest my legs slightly apart with my hands at my sides.

Everyone that lays here is dead. They don’t get to stare up at the stark fluorescent lights and let it sink in that their shot is over. That was it.

I’ll be here someday. Done. Never to speak or love or kiss again.

What will I regret?

What if I’m alone?

“SO, I WAS kind of thinking,” I say quietly as students make their way into the women’s locker room. “I could cancel shopping with Megan and Chloe and go shopping with you instead?”

Clay sits on the bench, pulling on her sneakers and tying the laces. Her beautiful hair is flipped to one side as she leans over in her black leggings and sports bra.

She doesn’t answer.

“Clay?” I press.

“Shopping?” she repeats, not meeting my eyes.

I tighten my ponytail, looking around for eavesdroppers. “Dress shopping for prom?” I remind her. Did she even hear me?

She meets my eyes, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. “Oh, um…”

What the hell is wrong with her? I sent her a proper sexy pic of me last night, after the dumb one of me with my pasta, and she didn’t answer, and she’s barely made eye contact since we walked into school for our morning workout.

“Uh…” She swallows, standing up and avoiding my gaze. “I actually already have my dress.”

She has a dress… Okay, so what does that mean? I stare at her, her body language all wrong. What the hell happened between yesterday and today? She can’t go shopping with me?

I fight to find my words, but she sees me staring and meets my eyes briefly. “I mean, we said we’d keep this casual, right?” she says, letting out a laugh. “The date last weekend was enough risk for a while, I think.”

Enough risk…

Why won’t she look at me? Maybe I can stand being a secret for a little while longer, but I don’t like this distance that’s there all of a sudden. I’m not just some fuck.

I turn and take my phone out of my locker, grabbing my earbuds, too. “I like spending time with you outside of bed too, Clay.”

But she doesn’t want that. Or she’s not ready to admit it.

She reaches for me. “Liv…”

“Just forget it.” I move aside and close my locker. “Macon was right. He always is. I’m the stupid one.”

She slams her locker and moves past me, murmuring, “Meet me in the shower now.”

“No,” I tell her. “I’m over it.”

I’m not doing this anymore. Shit’s changed. I want to go to prom, and I want to go with my fucking girlfriend. That’s it.

I walk the other direction, but someone slips in front of me, cutting me off. “Hi,” Chloe chirps, carrying her bag and smiling as she looks me up and down. “You’re right. Black is your color.”

I force a tight smile as Clay tries to hide her snarl. “Thanks,” I say to her.

She moves past us to the next row and Clay comes in close. “I don’t want to lose you, okay?” she whispers. “Just give me a chance. I’m just not ready yet. I’m not sure. What if this isn’t real? What if it’s—”

I grab her by the arms and back her into the lockers, the metal clanking echoing throughout the room. She gasps as I glare at her, my teeth damn near bared.

Someone comes around the corner, and I look at Ruby. “Beat it.”

She looks quickly between Clay and me, ultimately deciding to not get involved before she ducks back out of sight. I press my palm to Clay’s chest, feeling the rapid beat inside. “When your heart beats too fast,” I grit out, “it doesn’t pump enough blood to the rest of your body. It starves your organs, making you lightheaded, unable to breathe, dizzy, weak, you can’t think…” I dive into her, pressing my forehead to hers. “I do that to you. Not him. I’m real.”

I release her, backing away and waiting. Waiting for anything. Waiting for a yes. A no. Waiting for her to realize that she loves her life with me in it, and the fact that she’s willing to sacrifice how good this feels breaks my heart.

She stands there, her chin trembling as she stares down at nothing, agony written all over her face. “I can’t…” she mouths before finding her voice. “I can’t tell my parents that I’m gay. I can’t ever tell them that. They won’t see me the same way anymore. I’ll disappoint them.”

Pains wracks my body as she goes blurry in my vision. “You don’t have to tell them you’re gay,” I whisper. “You just have to tell them that you’re in love with me.”

Please. I understand how scary it is to change things. To fear being seen differently in the eyes of the people you love.

But she will regret not taking this chance. She may lose me, but she will never stop who she really is, and someday it will be too much to hide anymore.

“Just take my hand,” I murmur. “Please take my hand.”

But slowly, she shakes her head, tears spilling down her face as she backs away.

I take a step. “Clay…”

She shakes her head, backing up more and more.

“Clay, don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, wiping her tears.

And I lose it. I slam my hand into the lockers, on fire. “Goddamn you,” I growl. “Goddammit! I told you to stay away from me, didn’t I? I told you to leave me alone!”