Prodigy

He is beauty, inside and out.

He is the silver lining in a world of darkness.

He is my light.

I throw my arms around his neck as he wraps his around my waist. My lips part for him and his mouth moves desperately against mine, devouring me, taking every breath that I have. Don’t go, I plead wordlessly. But I can taste the good-bye on his lips, and now I can no longer hold back my tears. He’s trembling. His face is wet. I hang on to him like he’ll disappear if I let go, like I’ll be left alone in this dark room, standing in the empty air. Day, the boy from the streets with nothing except the clothes on his back and the earnestness in his eyes, owns my heart.

He is beauty, inside and out.

He is the silver lining in a world of darkness.

He is my light.

He spins around. Before I can say anything else, he steps forward and takes my face in his hands. Then he’s kissing me one last time, overwhelming me with his warmth, breathing life and love and aching sorrow into me.

My heart is ripped open, shredded, leaking blood. I can’t let him leave like this. We’ve been through too much to turn into strangers. A farewell between us should be more than a polite bow. Suddenly I find my feet and rush toward him right as he reaches the door. “Day, wait—”

“Well, I—” His voice cracks, and he clenches his hands into fists. He stays there for a second, steeling himself. “I should let you get some sleep. You must be tired.” He rises and straightens his coat. We exchange a final, parting nod. Then he gives me a polite bow, turns around, and starts walking away. “Good night, June.”

I can tell there’s another part of this whole scenario that he’s not telling me, but I don’t press it. It wouldn’t make a difference, anyway—there are already enough reasons why we weren’t meant to be. His eyes catch the moonlight spilling in from the windows. Another moment passes between us, filled with nothing but the whisper of breathing.

Day runs a hand through his hair, opens his mouth to say something, and closes it again.

After an eternity, I swallow hard. I will not cry. Love is illogical, love has consequences—I did this to myself, and I should be able to take it. So take it, June. I am the one who should be sorry. Finally, instead of saying what I want to say, I manage to wrestle down the tremor in my voice and give a more appropriate answer. What I should say.

“I’ll let Anden know.”

Day hunches over and presses his hands against his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

I can feel the tears threatening to spill from my eyes, but I don’t dare let them fall. “So,” I whisper, my voice trembling from the effort. “Is that it? After everything?” Even as I say it, I know there’s no point. The damage has already been done. There is no turning back.