I shudder, blinking away the memory that I know will plague my dreams for years to come and focus on the sight in front of me. Almost just as heartbreaking. His tears are nearly enough to blind me from what his hands are doing, but there’s no way I couldn’t not see it.
“You’re packing. Why are you packing, Del?” I’m panicking. I can hear it. Feel it. I know he can, too.
He doesn’t answer. Just shows me his back and begins to slowly kill any shred of hope I had for us as he moves each article of clothing from the bed into his duffle bag—his precious guitar already slung on his back.
No. This is so not happening.
I’m on him in a single breath. My hands clawing at his leather jacket—the one I bought for him two years ago, when he reached two million followers, a few months before he signed his record contract. I’m trying to turn him around, but his damn body is too solid for my smallish frame. So, I settle with my voice. My voice is bigger than I am. He taught me that.
You may be small, but your voice is big. Use it, new girl. Be big. Be brave. Just like I know you are.
“Del? Del, look at me! Del!” His name fills the room, loud and frantic. But big. Big enough that he stops with the damn bag and turns around. Our bodies are so close, I can feel the warmth of his skin radiating off him. He always runs hot and I, cold. We balance each other out in almost everything. We were made for each other. That’s what he told me. I’m the damn yin to his yang.
That’s what I believe.
Believed.
I’m an idiot.
“Del,” my voice cracks, and I do along with it. I reach for him, my palm cups his cheek and his eyes close as he breathes in. But when he exhales, it’s like a door slams shut in my face. His eyes open and the tears are gone. He’s shutting down. I can see it. Feel it—the thick barrier he’s putting between us this very second, but I don’t understand why. This doesn’t make sense. I was lying in his arms in in the lumpy hospital bed just last night, listening to the new Bazzi record as he sang the lyrics into my messy bun, his hands brushing away stray tears that have been a constant the last twenty-four hours. Like every moment I have had with Del, even when we’re at each other’s throats, I had felt loved beyond my imagination. Love that is exceptional. Endless.
But now, I feel…nothing. It’s slipping through my fingers by the second and I don’t know why.
I thought this strain between us would subside. That we just had to get back into the groove of things. That it was just a bump in the road. But looking at him now, I realize just how wrong I was.
“What do you want, Zo?” Del startles me. His voice is flat and lifeless, unlike anything I’ve ever heard from him. He isn’t looking at me anymore—apparently, his shoes are taking priority.
“What do I want? I want you to tell me what’s going on. I want you to tell me that this letter is bullshit—some stupid, fucked-up joke! I want you to tell me you aren’t breaking up with me. I want, for fuck’s sake, Del, for you to look at me! Why won’t you look at me?”
Del sighs as if I’m inconveniencing him, and then he looks up. Those soulful brown eyes finally lock with mine and I know, fuck, this is real.
This isn’t a joke.
He’s leaving me.
My hand falls from his face and I stumble backwards, gasping for air.
“Zoey,” his voice softens all of a sudden, and I hate it. His voice has been my absolute favorite sound in the whole world since I was ten years old but now, in this moment, it feels like torture. “You weren’t supposed to be home yet.”
Now I’m the one who won’t meet his eyes.
“They discharged me early,” I whisper, my throat hoarse, my voice small, like I’m that timid little girl all over again. “How is this happening right now? How did we get here?” I take another step away from Del, my hands trembling, fingers clutching my stomach—my empty stomach that no longer feels like my own. My head shakes back and forth in crippling disbelief.
“I’m so sorry, Zo.”
A small laugh escapes me; it’s dry and bitter.
“You’re sorry? Fuck your sorry, Del. What the hell happened? Why are you doing this? What happened between last night and today? I know we just went through hell, but I thought we could get through anything together. That’s what you said. I don’t understand! Make me understand!” My voice rises with each question—the confusion and anger erecting like building blocks inside of me. “I need you. I can’t do this without you.”
I feel so damn blindsided by this, I’m really losing it now. Like for real, a few minutes shy of Gone Girl-ing. To make matters worse, I know I look a straight-up mess. An unattractive mixture of mascara, tears, and snot runs down my face as I stand in front of Del, in grey joggers, an old t-shirt, and a ratty sweater, smelling like hospital and desperation. All while he stares, stoically, looking effortlessly handsome as always, with short auburn hair that appears to have taken hours to style but literally took no time at all, maybe a two-second run through with his right hand. He’s wearing that damned leather jacket I got for a steal at a consignment shop in downtown Portland, over a plain white t-shirt, dark form-fitting jeans, and Nike high tops.
Basically, he looks like a dream.
While my dream is falling apart at my black-sandaled feet.
Del is just watching this unfold. Watching me fall apart in front of him with vacant eyes and a heart I now know to be hard as fucking steel. The only emotion I’m even getting from him is a little clench in his jaw. Otherwise, he looks like he wants to be anywhere but here, with me.
What happened to us?
He licks his lips and looks down at his stupid feet again. Del’s right hand clenches and then he opens his mouth and I hate every word that comes out of it.
“I’m leaving. Back home. To Cali,” he says, his voice sounding as if he’s on autopilot.
It pisses me off. So I growl. I literally freaking growl. “I’m your home. And we’re leaving. To Cali. In twenty-four days.”
“No, I’m leaving now.”
“Um, okay. I’ll pack a bag right now. We can call my parents on the road, and they can send me the rest of my stuff. That could work—”
“Zo—”
“They’ll be pissed, but—”
“Zo!”
“They’ll forgive me—”
“ZOEY!” Del yells, and I yell right back, feeling completely unhinged. And I know I sound so damn pathetic, but I’m grasping for straws here. This can’t be it.
“WHAT?!”
“You’re not coming. Not with me. Not now. Not in twenty-four days. Not ever.”
My vision blurs with tears. I wrap my arms around my middle, fingertips clutching my damned YMCA summer camp t-shirt, while my face twists and shakes, not able to believe what I’m hearing.
“What are you talking about? I don’t understand. All I hear are words, but they aren’t making any sense.” I’m full on sobbing now, barely able to communicate, but somehow, he hears me.
I wish he hadn’t.
“God damn it, Zo! Fuck! Hear. Me. I’m leaving. You aren’t. We’re done. We’re over. End of.”
“No! You can’t leave me, Del! You can’t do this. We’re not done. We were never supposed to be done…you promised! You said we were it. That I was it. You’re it, Del. You’re my everything, and we just lost—”