Page 56 of Six Years
I want to say yes, go back to his place, and get my bag, but the only reason for me to say yes would be because on the off chance that we get into traffic, we wouldn’t make it back to the airport in time which then results in me having to stay longer.
“I’m good. You can keep the clothes.” I’m wearing the most important one anyway. Plus, I stole one of Luan’s shirts this morning while he was in the shower. I’m just hoping he doesn’t care about that shirt too much. If he does, that’s not my problem.
“Good, because I wasn’t planning on giving them back to you anyway.” Of course he wasn’t.
For the next hour, we’re waiting together for check-in to open. The time passes faster than I’d like, especially with Luan telling me all about everything he can come up with. His stories vary from anything that happened in his childhood, to college stories, though most of those are more sad than great ones like mine are.
My college life was great. I had my best friends, an amazing hockey team. I was somewhat loved by random people, even though I never talked to any of them. I was always the silent one in the group, nobody ever saw me and still they knew me. The parties were great and overall, college was just amazing, if we ignored the constant studying and boring classes.
Luan’s college life was filled with bad grades and alcohol, so he tells me. He says he can’t remember most of the four years, that he had more near-death experiences than he’d ever like to admit. There were moments when he stole liquor bottles from stores because his parents refused to give him more money.
I don’t know how this started, or why it did, but I do know that I am so goddamn proud of him for finding a way out. Forstillnot wanting to go back there. I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been to find the courage of wanting to be helped or staying strong all day long.
The entire hour while we’re sitting here, Luan’s holding my hand. I’m not sure he notices it himself, but every now and then, his hand tightens, especially when he looks around and remembers we’re not in his house anymore.
Maybe I’m the only one who pays so much attention to his hand in mine, but even then I don’t care. His hand fits so perfectly in mine, I don’t want to believe that I will have to let go of it in a little while.
A moment later, they announce that check-in for my flight is now open and that’s when the same pinch from earlier reappears. Maybe coming here in the first place was a bad idea, but I don’t regret it. I wish I didn’t come, but at the same time, I wish I could stay longer.
It’s kind of ironic. Five years ago I said I’d never set foot in Malibu ever again, and now here I am not wanting to leave. It’s funny how one single person can change your whole perspective.
I once thought Malibu was the problem, that if I left Malibu, my problems would disappear, but that has never been the case. My problems stayed, they were just further away from me. And now I’m here and somehow, those problems are still as far away in the back of my head as they’ve been when I was in New York. The only difference is that the problem could see me any second here in Malibu and cause a scene, while in New York that’s not the case.
We get up from our seats and Luan follows me to the check-in, but once we reach it and I look at him to say goodbye, my heart breaks a little at the sight of his reddened nose, his bloodshot eyes, the tears pooling in them. There’s no smile on his face, and I think that’s what gets me the most. Without Luan’s smile, the world seems only half as warm. Without his smile, it’s like the world has tilted off its axis.
I bring my hands to his face, wiping away his tears. “Don’t cry, Luan,” I say quietly, softly.
“I’m sorry.” He sniffles. “It’s just gotten real.”
I nod, understanding more than ever before. The last time I left Malibu, there was no real goodbye. The time I left after that morning in L.A., I didn’t care enough to realize that saying goodbye sucks.
“There might be something that could cheer you up though,” I say, waiting for that smile of his to resurface but it never does.
“I don’t think so…”
I run my thumb gently over his cheek just before I shove my fingers through his hair and pull his head closer, then dip mine down and press my lips right to his.
No more thinking. No more excuses as to why this is supposed to be wrong.
A delicate gasp slips from his lips just before his hands grasp my hoodie by my waist and he pulls me into his body.
Chapter 8
“I’d rather you walk all over me than walk away”—Worst of You by Maisie Peters
February 2024
I think I’m dreaming, but if I am, I am praying to never wake up again.
Grey is kissing me.Heis kissingme.He initiated it. Our first kiss.
I am still trying to figure out if this is actually happening even when he tugs on my hair ever so softly, it might as well be the wind that’s definitely present inside of an airport. Or when his tongue slides over my bottom lip, asking me for access, which fuck yes, I grant him.
Barely a second after I part my lips just that tiny bit, Grey pushes his tongue right into my mouth, mingling with mine.
The loud noises of people talking tune out.
The sounds of suitcases sweeping over the floor mute.
