times I stood in the middle of this carnival.
The first Monday, when I never saw the heartbreak coming.
The second Monday, when I couldn’t believe it was happening again.
The third Monday, when I still couldn’t fix it.
The fourth Monday, when I thought I had.
The fifth Monday, when I refused to care anymore.
But what about tonight? What will happen in less than thirty minutes? Will he do it all over again?
Will he break my heart a seventh time? Does it even matter anymore?
What do you want, Ellison? I ask myself. But it’s suddenly the most complicated question in the world. One that I’m not even sure I trust myself to answer.
The music intensifies, leading into the chorus.
On stage, Tristan is singing about my impenetrable mind, my bewildering thoughts, my inscrutable emotions. It’s no wonder they’ve been such a mystery to him. I can’t even figure them out myself.
Frustrated and with tears stinging my eyes, I turn away from the stage and wander through the carnival. After many aimless steps, I somehow find myself back at that stupid horse race game. I pick the very last seat—the unlucky number thirteen—and sit down. I feed my dollar into the slot and wait for the game to begin.
Someone drops onto the next stool and I turn to see that it’s Owen. He looks at me. I look at him. Neither of us speaks. And yet it’s like we’re both saying everything.
No. Not saying it.
Screaming it.
For years we’ve communicated in silent words. Thoughts that we never had to say aloud, but this is a new conversation.
This is a subject we’ve never broached before.
And I can’t be certain that I even understand it.
The buzzer rings, snapping us both out of the moment. I reach for the little red ball and with a practiced flip of my wrist, fling it up the ramp. It drops directly into the number three hole and rolls back down. I repeat the action, same position, same flick, same result.
Again and again, I sink the ball into that coveted high-point slot.
I must fall into some kind of trance, because suddenly Owen is shaking me, pointing at the horses. “You won!”
I blink and look up. There’s number thirteen, all the way at the finish line, a scattering of losing horses frozen in its wake.
“I won?”
“You won,” he confirms.
The carnival employee comes over and hands me a giant stuffed turtle. “Here you go, little lady. Nicely done.”
Before I can think, I turn and thrust the turtle into Owen’s arms. It’s so unexpected, he nearly drops it.
“For you,” I mumble. “I want you to have it.”
He frowns. “Me?”
I reach out and pet the turtle’s soft head. “Slow and steady wins the race, right?”
Owen laughs. “Not in your case.” He gestures to my winning steed. “That was pretty impressive. Have you been practicing?”
I shrug. “Beginner’s luck, I guess.”
“There you are,” someone says, and I tear my gaze from Owen to see Tristan walking over, the post-gig glow still radiating off his skin. “Where did you run off to?”
I scuff my feet against the dirt. “Sorry. We were—I was just playing some carnival games.”
“Cool,” Tristan says. “So, do you want to check out this carnival? Maybe ride the Ferris wheel?”
I glance at Owen, immediately falling into his vibrant, pleading eyes. Another barrage of silent words comes charging in my direction, but I understand them perfectly.
Say no.
Stay here with me.
Choose me.
It’s only taken me a week to hear them, but that doesn’t mean I know what to do with them.
That doesn’t mean I’m brave enough to face them.
I flash Owen a friendly smile. “I’ll text you later, okay?”
It seems to take forever for my response to reach him. Like bullets traveling in slow motion. When they hit, he hides the wounds well. But I’ve known him too long. I see through his façade, and the pain on his face ricochets back to me, making me feel like I’m the one who’s been shot.
“Sure,” he mumbles. “Later.”
Then he walks away, and I watch him drop the stuffed turtle into the nearest trash can.
When You Change with Every New Day
8:50 p.m.
We lift into the air, the ground beneath us growing farther away with every passing second. I yelp and grab Tristan’s arm.
He chuckles. “Are you afraid of heights or something?”
“Maybe,” I squeak.
He puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me to him. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.”
Falling is the best part.
I snuggle up to him, trying to absorb his warmth, the surety of his embrace. But none of