I hate us. Shay doesn't speak to me and I try to think of something to say. He's upset and I get it. But, I'm upset, too.
"You're giving up?" I ask, hands buried in the pockets of my jeans. They're raw and aching.
He shrugs. "You want her."
"I don't know." My time is chilly like winter weather. "I just thought that I meant more to you."
"You do!" His voice is trembling and he can't even look at me. I lose his eyes within the darkness of the night. "I don't know what to do anymore."
"Try a little harder."
I'm halfway through the front door, but Shay's not leaving. He just stares. Then I stare. And we laugh about nothing for what feels like the last time. He holds out his hand to me. I take it, expecting it to be cold and bruised. Only, it's warm. I smile a bit, staring at our hands, cold and warm, wrapped neatly together.
"I like you," he says. But, it's different this time. He pulls me a bit closer, wrapping his arm around me. "A lot."
We are a very close together kind of close. Only, this time he doesn't just stare. He kisses me. His lips are chapped from the cold and I can taste his blood on my tongue. But, it's okay.
"Is your dad home?" he whispers against my lips. His hands are beneath my jumper. The cold slips in with his fingers.
I shake my head, unsteady on my feet. My head spins and spins and spins until everything comes to me in little circles of vague clarity.
"Good."
The lights in my room are off and it's a bit so we can't see very well, but we made it to the bed in two pieces. Him and I. I can't feel my legs because I'm nervous. I tell myself it's a good thing. But, I can't be sure.
I stare at him from somewhere in the middle of my bed. He's undressed and pink and his fingers are trembling like mine are. I can't tell whether it's because he's nervous or whether it's because he's afraid.
I'm scared, too. I don't know what we're doing. And I have a feeling that we'll never be able to come back from it. He doesn't see that I'm afraid. Everything is dark and we can barely find one another's lips in the dim.
"Are you okay?" His hands are in my hair, holding my head, forcing me to look at him. Only, I can't because my eyes are blurred and my throat hurts too much to say anything.
I nod. But, he doesn't believe me.
We sit with our backs against the wall, staring at nothing. His t-shirt and jacket are somewhere on the floor and I'm only in my underwear.
He tugs his hair. "This isn't working."
"I know."
We're not really talking to the other person. He says what he says. And I say what I say. I rub my arm, pressing goosebumps back into my skin. "I'm cold."
He laughs humorously, covering our legs with my duvet. He looks at me and I look at him. Now, we're just staring.
"Better?" he asks.
I nod. "Better."