Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Then, “So I guess what I’m saying is that the reason I came here today is not only to apologize to your parents but also because I wanted to ask you something.”
“Ask me what?”
He opens and closes his fist. “Something that I should’ve asked you the moment I saw you. Even though you were too young for me.”
I’m opening and closing my fists too.
I’m also breathing very, very hard. While blinking, keeping tears at bay.
Because I want to see his face. I want to remember his face when he asks me.
“What, Reign?”
At this, he unfurls his fists and leaves his fingers like that, open and vulnerable. Much like he is right now. “Will you be my girlfriend, Echo?”
It’s not my intention to make him wait.
To keep him on pins and needles for my answer.
But I don’t think I can speak yet. I’m too overcome. I’m too emotional.
I’m too everything.
Six years.
I waited for this for six years. I waited for it when I didn’t even know that I was waiting for it. And so I just… breathe.
I just soak it in. Like sunshine. Like summer. Like all the lovely things that he’s promised me.
Things that I don’t even need but I know he’ll give me anyway.
Because that’s who he is.
The boy I love.
The boy in black that I stumbled upon in these woods.
“Why?” I ask then and he knows.
Exactly what I’m asking.
And he gives it to me.
The words.
“Because I think I love you.”
This, I need to absorb as well. And I do it with my lips parted and my eyes closed.
I do this with my fists open as well, letting every word, every sensation seep into me. So I never ever forget the moment he finally admitted.
He finally told me that he loves me.
I think I love you…
I snap my eyes open then. “You think?”
He studies my features. “Yeah.”
I clench my teeth, my happiness, my too many emotions forgotten. “Seriously? Even now. You think?”
And oh my God, just look at him.
He’s amused.
I can’t believe he’s amused. That his lips are twitching, and his stupid pretty eyes are twinkling.
And then he takes a step toward me. “Yeah. Because I don’t think love’s the right word for what I feel for you.”
I narrow my eyes. “So then what’s the right word?”
Another step. “Obsession. Because I’m obsessed with you.”
I deflate slightly. “Oh.”
Yet another step. “Crave. Because I crave you with every breath I take. I have craved you with every breath that I’ve taken since the first moment I saw you.”
I swallow jerkily. “What else?”
Step number four. “Insanity. Because I’m insane for you.”
Oh God.
“A-and?”
Step number five. “Life. Because you’re the pulse that beats in my veins.”
I hiccup. “I…”
He reaches me then, on step number six. “Sick. Because I’m sick for you. Because what I feel for you, Echo, doesn’t have a name. It can’t be described in words. Not yours and definitely not mine. Because what I feel for you isn’t something that anyone has ever felt for anyone before. But if you like, we can call it love. And I can tell you that I love you every day. Until in all your logophile glory, you invent a new word or a whole new vocabulary that fits it all, every single thing that I feel for you.”
And I realize that he just took six steps.
One for each year that we’ve known each other.
That we’ve loved each other.
And isn’t that the most poetic thing ever?
Who cares about love when the guy I fell in love with is making poetry for me, right out of thin air? Who cares about love when the guy I’m obsessed with and insane for and live for and crave with every breath I take just told me that he’s been carrying me in his heart?
He told me that, didn’t he?
That he’s been carrying these woods where we first met in his chest.
I mean, love seems so silly and small when you think about it all.
He’s right.
I put a hand on his chest, where his tattoo is. “They’re really coordinates of where we met?”
His chest moves up and down with a breath. “That was the only way I could keep you close. Or rather, the only way I allowed myself to keep you close. After everything.”
“Because you…” I fist his shirt. “Stopped writing in your diary.”
“Yeah.”
Holy God, he has a diary.
A diary.
Just like me.
I mean…
What are the chances of that?
What are the fucking chances?
“What color is it?” I breathe out.
“Black.”
“I want to read it.”
“You can.”
“And not just three lines.”
“It’s yours.”
“You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I think…” I step up to him. “I think this is how you fix it.”
“I will,” he says with determination.
“This is how you fix not telling me. All this time. Hiding this crazy connection between us. This crazy and huge and massive and gigantic connection.”
“Yeah.”
My heart twists. “And I want you to start writing in your diary again.”