seasons

8: sulit

Song: I Lie Awake Every Night by James Vincent McMorrow

*trigger warning*

July 4th was the day I learned two things about Sicily:

One, her happiness is circumstantial.

And two, oversized clothes weren't just a trend.

We were in the meadow by my house, attending one of Cam's eccentric and unnecessary parties, before the fireworks show.

Cameron and I had spent hours lining up fairy lights through the curves of the trees and setting out delicate paper lanterns across the smooth grass and wildflowers. Wireless speakers hung from the criss-crossed tree branches. Everything sparkled and the fading sun dipped down, kissing the heads of the trees. We set out giant beanbags around the bonfire. Along the sides of the designated party area were coolers of alcohol, fruit-punch, and more. Cameron had started grilling the food with Sicily by the time the teens showed up. My entire soccer team brought fireworks while Sicily's swim team and art club showed up with snacks and blankets. 

That night was Sicily and I's first fight.

It took me too long to realize it, but she wasn't okay. 

While the others drank and danced to Cameron's shitty music, I took Sicily to the Drop.

The Drop was a cliff overlooking the rivers and trees. It was treacherously gorgeous. 

Sicily and I had been coming there for months.

It was where we had our first kiss, tender and sweet as cotton candy.

It was where we first discovered each other, our skin hot and comforting against pillows and blankets under the sea of stars.

It was where we had our first fight.

I remember noticing, and hating myself for not noticing earlier, the way Sicily's clothes hung off of her body. It wasn't some "hipster" trend, I mean yeah, it actually was, but not to this extent.

She was naturally tiny, a hummingbird in a crowd of vultures, but this wasn't a healthy kind of skinny.

She was facing me, her back towards the drop-off, and we were screaming over the noise, over the noise of each other, over the noise of the party, over the noise of fireworks, splattering like glittery paint against the clear, midnight sky.

"You aren't healthy," I hissed, vehemently and then, with a choked voice, my Adam's apple bobbing in my throat, "You're beautiful because of who you are, not what you look like; you need to eat. Just, please eat, I'm begging you, I'm here for you. Your past doesn't make you."

She narrowed her eyed at me; she was vicious and breathtaking like a lioness.

"I told you my history, Emerson. You know why I moved. Stop acting like I'm some pure, girl you can save. I lost my purity the night I was raped, you and I both know that."

She was crying and her eyes were even more brilliant under the cascade of tears.

"Sicily, don't you think I know that? It hurts because I know I can't save you or protect you all of the time. I know how strong you are, you can lean on me." I told her, my voice was gravelly, suffocated by the tears that blurred my eyes. 

"I'm trying to eat, but I just want to feel happy with my body again."

"Oh fuck," I breathed out, running my hands through my hair, head tilted at the sky so she couldn't see the tears in the turquoise depths of my eyes, "Sicily, you're beautiful healthy, not a bag of bones, you are your personality; sarcastic and curious. You don't have to be skinny for you to be pretty. I don't care how you look."

"Yeah, but I do," she snapped.

I took a step towards her and she took three the opposite direction, towards the edge.

Again, I moved forward, trying to warn her of the edge, but she kept moving back.

I rushed at her suddenly, just before she fell and cradled her against my chest as we cried together.

"I love you," I murmured against her lemon-scented hair, "I love you, so, so fucking much Sicily Aurora Martin."

Nestled in my arms she looked into my eyes with her own, 

"Em, how can you love me when I don't love me, or even know who I am?"

I pressed my lips gently against her forehead, then her nose, once on each freckled cheek, and finally dipped down upon her chapped, bow-shaped lips.

She tasted like tears and frustration. It was painful and wonderful at once, and I couldn't keep the words from spilling from my lips.

"Sicily, 

I will love you even if you don't know how to love yourself. 

I'll love you as you find out who you are and who you want to be. 

I'll love you if you change or if you don't. 

I'll love you if you're wrinkly, wearing a diaper, and don't have any teeth. 

I'll love you when you're sick and when you're healthy. 

I'll love you when you steal my clothes.

I'll love you when you yell at me and lie.

I'll love you when you hurt me and when you help me.

I'll love you as long as the universe continues to be and as long as you stick by my side."

She stared at me, wide-eyed for a bit, her mouth clamping open and shut.

"Are those your wedding vows, Em?" she finally said.

"Nah," I laughed, pressing my lips against her mouth, "that was only the beginning."