Smashing Into You •• BWWM

1. Last year

Ch. 1. Last Year: (Shiver by Coldplay)

Cy
°°°°

There's only one thing a person would want to do on the first day of their last school year, and that's, sleep. 

Sadly, that's not an option for me. I spent most of my night staring at a screen, reading and re-reading her text from two months ago:

"Happy Birthday to the sweetest boy I know! Hope it was everything to welcome you to adulthood. Lol... Love ya, Cy. - Nat."

Did she honestly need to sign her name?

Not really sure how to feel... my heart ached whenever I switched between her Instagram filled with pictures of the two of them. And my camera roll filled with us, together. Including, all our old conversations. 

I tried convincing myself that it was just a birthday wish, that there was nothing more to it... so, I couldn't understand why a fucking greeting was stirring up questions that I didn't want... to start asking again.

This was the first message I'd gotten from her after two years of complete isolation. Just a couple ticks before midnight. It confused the hell out of me. I waited, sobering up as the minutes neared the end of my day. Once the clock struck twelve, there were no other messages... and as the night went on, I never responded, having half the mind to delete it. But I didn't.

Despite trying so hard, they came to life. The things that were upsetting to wonder about: How was she? Did she miss me? Was she aware she'd sent me that message or did someone use her phone? Should I've replied? Would she have continued with a conversation? Was I meant to delete it?

These questions always made things worse...

I shifted on the pillow but only froze at the slightest movement that didn't come from my body. Instincts, regrettably, met with a soft smile. A hand pulled a small, paint-brush sized amount of hair between a nose and an upper lip. I watched as the silent grin grew, wanting to expose the giggles behind it.

When it came to speaking, my tongue strained, tight, and tied. 

I must've let out the tiniest, most humorless laugh at the thought of how pathetic it was. Lungs empty. Each fucking inhale short, shallow, and very much countable... before the giggles couldn't hide any longer, whispering, "I love you, Cy."

Those words made me twist to squint at the spot my thumb paused mid-scroll. It was a picture of her doing the exact same thing one Sunday: our good-morning, mustache.

And... the longing began to build. But I couldn't let it fill me with any more sadness so I held my breath and stopped thinking until everything burned inside, besides, me.

I tossed my phone towards the edge of the bed and closed my moisture-deprived lids. They stung while I swallowed the rest of my emotions. No, you don't...

Even though my chest hurt like hell, my brain was kind enough to remind me every single morning that everything that happened, in the end, was shitty.

The old, rusty alarm Grandpa John gave me for my thirteenth birthday went off for the third time this morning. It looked foreign in my room but I held onto it since it was a heartfelt keepsake.