“I want to hear you,” I said. “Anything you have to say, I want to hear it.”
He nodded. “Let me sleep a little. I’ll be better once I’ve had some sleep. Promise.”
“All right,” I said slowly, and settled against him. “Of course. You must be exhausted.”
Within minutes he was asleep. I lay awake, trying to calm the turmoil in my heart and evade the nagging thought that I’d made a terrible mistake. All the while, Connor’s chest under my cheek rose and fell with the steady cadence of his breath.
He’s tired, just like he said. That’s all.
I finally dozed, waking again in the gray light of early dawn as Connor slipped out from under me. In the dimness, I watched his silhouette draw on his clothes.
I held perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe.
What is happening?
I needed to ask him. To sit up and turn on the light and ask, but I was too afraid of the answer. Too afraid I’d see those rocks come racing up to meet me, and break me apart again.
Connor bent, kissed me softly on the forehead and left.
Weston
I lined up at the starting gate with the other racers. The red-brown track stretched out before me, divided into perfect white lanes. I glanced at my competition, a sneer and a joke ready on my lips.
But it was Connor smiling at me from the lane to my left. On my right, Autumn was beautiful in the morning light. One by one, Ma, Paul, my sisters, Mr. and Mrs. Drake—all took their places, crouching in their street clothes in their lanes as the announcer told us to take our marks.
Set.
The gun went off, and the runners ran. Except me. I fell to the ground, the strength sapped from my body instantaneously. I tried to press my hands to the turf and push up, but my body was made of lead. I could only crane my head to watch the other runners —everyone I cared about most—run ahead and around the curve until I couldn’t see them anymore…
I woke with my body heavy and my breath squeezed out of my chest.
Five a.m. and the apartment was empty and silent. Ten weeks of getting up at 4:30 had been ingrained in me and sleep wasn’t coming back. I thought about going out for my ten-mile morning run, but I’d done so much running in Boot Camp, the ritual didn’t mean anything to me anymore. Lots of things, I realized with a dull pang, didn’t mean anything to me anymore.
You’re letting things go.
“I have to,” I said to the ceiling. “I’m fucking shipping out for a year. That’s all.”
The nightmare clung to me as I sat at the dining table with a cup of coffee and the Object of Devotion poem in all its messy, unfinished glory.
Finish it, Professor Ondiwuje whispered. For your sake. Put your heart on the page and your signature at the bottom.
He was right. I had to finish it and put it in a drawer with the rest of my writing. Get it out of my system. Get her out of my system. Autumn wasn’t mine no matter how I’d pretended throughout Boot Camp. The longer I played this impersonation game, the greater the chance she’d be hurt.
The front door banged open and shut, making my pen stutter across the paper.
Too late.
“Jesus, man,” I said. “Scare a guy to death, why don’t you?”
Connor tossed his keys on the side table, put his hands on his hips and stared at me. His clothes were rumpled, his jaw shadowed with stubble, and I’d never seen his eyes so hard or dark.
I set the pen down. “What?”
“What?” Connor said with mocking imitation. “Yeah, what? As in, what the fuck, Wes?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The letters.”