Click to Subscribe - By L. M. Augustine Page 0,47

of gray and orangey-yellow. It has started drizzling a little, and Cat throws on her hood as she rushes, head down, over to me.

I’ve stopped crying now, and I’m left fingering Mom’s name on the inscription, Rose Mary Rider, until my thumb starts bleeding from rubbing it so much. Her mom named her that—Rose Mary. Like a rosemary, Mom said, which was the same flower her father gave to her mom the night he proposed, and the same one Mom gave to Dad on their wedding day.

I don’t meet Cat’s gaze as she stumbles over to me, crouches down at my side, and looks into my eyes. “Hey,” she whispers slowly. Rain trickles down my face, washing away the tears and the screams and the pain. I just stare miserably at the gravestone, my shirt wet and clinging to my stomach and my hands shaking vaguely. “You okay?” Cat asks.

“No,” I whisper. “I… I dunno. I’m just… lost.”

She shifts closer. It’s only a tiny, tiny movement, but I can’t help but notice how her body creeps closer to mine. We’re only an inch apart now, so close I can reach and touch her if I wanted to.

And I do want to.

“It’s okay,” she whispers.

“Is it?”

“Yes, West, of course it’s okay. You have me, remember that. I’m here for you.”

I shake my head. My eyes are still trained on the tombstone. “Even now?”

She places her hand on my shoulder, and her warmth sends a series of jolts throughout my body. I don’t want her to stop, either. “Even now. I’m always here for you, West,” she says quietly. “Always. No matter what.”

My heart seriously skips a beat.

I’m always here for you. No matter what.

I’m not sure why, but her words keep echoing throughout my head. She’s here for me. By my side. Hand on my shoulder. Thigh touching my thigh.

I want her.

I need her.

I… love her?

I can’t find the words to respond, though, and the silence seems to stretch on for an eternity. More rain comes down, a little harder now, streaming down both Cat’s face and my face. “Remember,” she says after a minute, her voice soft, and then she smiles to herself. “Remember when we were kids and we decided we were going to revolt against our teachers. So we planned to round up all of the other kids, supply them with orange juice weapons, and stage an attack?”

The smile grows. “Yeah. I remember.”

She inches closer again, and I can feel her warmth, smell her vanilla scent wrap around me. I feel safe with her, like we’re in our little world again, like nothing can hurt us when we’re with each other. “It was a terrible, terrible plan,” Cat continues, “and it’s no wonder the op failed as soon as the lunch lady yelled at us for taking the orange juice grenades, but you know what I loved about it?” Finally, I turn to her. Rain streams down her face, wetting her red hair and dripping down her cheeks and off of her chin. I feel it on me too, all over now. I watch Cat’s eyes on my shirt, her lips moving with every word. “I loved it,” she whispers, “because I was with you.”

There’s a single moment that follows where neither of us speaks a word, just listen to the sound of the rain and lock eyes with each other. For the longest, most beautiful instant, we just stare. Unmoving. Unsmiling. Rain pouring down us—only with each other.

Then, without thinking, I reach out and push her wet hair to the side like I did so many nights ago, so I can see more of her beautiful face. And I’m right: it is beautiful. Heat creeps into Cat’s features, and she drops her gaze back to her lap, looking so completely shy and vulnerable. “I know it’s going to be okay,” she continues, “because I still have you.”

Then, ever so slowly, she places her left hand on my cheek. I don’t flinch, don’t even tear my gaze from hers. Her hand is warm at the touch, and I shiver a little bit as her skin brushes mine, but I don’t tell her to stop, don’t push her hand away. Weirdly, I don’t want to push her hand away.

“I’m glad you came,” I say quietly. “I… was an idiot, through all of this. I shouldn’t have done that to you. You’ve always been there for me and the one time I should’ve been there for you, I wasn’t.” I