The Problem with Forever

“I don’t want to...be like this,” I whispered as I looked away, and once I said it, I didn’t even want to take the words back. A weird sensation hit me, almost like...like relief. That didn’t make sense. Or did it? “I don’t like who I am.”

My gaze returned to his, and the concern was still there, filling his hazel eyes and thinning out his mouth. Tears crawled up the back of my throat. Humiliating actually, to admit something so intimate like that, but now I wasn’t the only one who knew this about myself. It wasn’t my secret.

“It’s okay. You’re not going to feel that way forever.” Rider smoothed his thumb along my jaw. I closed my eyes, wanting to believe him. Needing to. He kept his voice low as he spoke. “Nothing lasts forever, Mouse.”

* * *

We didn’t go to the party.

We ended up going to a movie.

I didn’t even drive to the theater. Rider had. And then he dropped Ainsley off, and then once I convinced him that I was fine, I dropped him off. Tonight had been a first—the first time I’d gone to the movies with a boy, and I wasn’t even there for it. My head was stuck on the fact that tonight had been an absolute failure.

I was pretty sure Carl and Rosa had waited up for me, but they were considerate enough not to jump on me when I entered the house and quietly climbed the stairs. My cell phone rang about five minutes after I closed the bedroom door. It was the first time Rider had ever called me on the phone for, well, obvious reasons.

“You there, Mouse?” he asked.

“Yes.” I clutched the phone to my ear.

There was a pause. “There’s something I need to say to you and I want you to listen, okay?”

My stomach dropped. I sat on the edge of the bed, my legs curled under me. I hadn’t gotten changed yet, just stripped off the cardigan that smelled faintly of popcorn. I braced myself—tried to at least—for Rider to say this whole relationship thing was a bad idea. A million things raced in my head before he spoke again.

“You said something tonight that really bothered me,” he said, and I heard a door close on his end. “You said you didn’t like yourself.”

I focused on the incomplete butterfly on my desk as I opened my mouth. No words.

“I hated hearing that, Mouse. I don’t like knowing you think that way,” he continued, and I closed my eyes. The burn was back, building in my throat. “There’s so much about you that you should like. You’re smart. You’ve always been smart. You’re planning to go to college and maybe even do something med school–related.”

I squeezed my eyes tight then, because I...I didn’t think I really wanted to do that, and thinking that made me feel like I was floating with no anchor.

“You’re kind,” he went on as I covered my face with my hand. “You’re a sweet person who has her entire future ahead of her. Not to mention you’re a great kisser. You kind of suck at the whole graffiti thing, though. That’s true.”

A choked laugh escaped me.

“But we can work on that,” Rider added. “And those soap carvings I saw? They were amazing, Mallory. You are talented. You just don’t talk a lot, Mouse. That’s it. You’re shy. That’s no reason to not like who you are, because who you are is wonderful. You’re perfect in your own way.”

“That’s not it,” I blurted out.

“What?”

I drew in a breath and it—it all just came out. “It’s not just that I don’t talk. I’m stuck.”

“You’re not stuck, Mallory.”

“I am.” I pushed off the bed and I began to pace. “I’m stuck and I can’t get past that.” My voice cracked and then I was talking faster, spewing out more words in a minute than I typically did in five hours. “Tonight was a first for me. It should’ve been fun and huge, and I didn’t even like it. I didn’t even experience it. I didn’t try. Not really. I’m that lame.”

“Mallory—”

“And you and I have always been this way. I need help. You... You’re right there. I fall apart. You piece me back together. I don’t even try to change that.”

“What? Where in the hell is this coming from?” he asked. “That’s BS.”

I shook my head.

“And you are trying. You’re in school. You’re making friends. You’re talking to people,” he persisted. “You just had a setback. That’s all.”

It was more than just a setback.