Our Last Time: A Novel (22 page)

My eyes were wide as I soaked in what I was hearing - what I was hearing from
Wyatt
for the first time. “You just said-”

“I love you,” he interrupted me. “Yes, I did say those words. Three words I thought would be difficult to say to you, but they came out without warning. Fumbled, mindlessly spoken words are what they are. Except with you and me, those three words aren’t a sham. It’s real with us, and those words mean everything. I feel it in my soul, tingling. And I know you feel that, too, Willow. You feel it in your soul, too.”

“Tingling,” I said breathlessly.

He pulled me to him, holding me tightly, and he kissed me. I kissed him.

Tonight, we weren’t holding back. Tonight, he carried me to his bedroom. Tonight, he placed me on his bed. Tonight, he touched me everywhere as my hands roamed his back.

Our eyes said it all. Tonight, we made love for the first time. We stayed there in bed together. I traced my fingers over his bare body as we lay there, partially covered with blankets. He kissed my temple. I slowly inched the palm of my hand from his stomach to his chest, and then I just kept it there. Our eyes closed, and we drifted off. Through the night, my hand rested there, covering his heart - protecting it.

September 17
th
, 2006, 6:04a.m.

Willow

I woke up before him
, remembering I had mail to go through. I got up from the bed quietly, pulled his shirt back over my head, and then tiptoed down the hall. I went into the living room, and grabbed the mail I had placed on the coffee table last night, and then scurried to the guest bathroom. I thought it’d just be a few bills, and some junk mail.

I sat on the toilet seat, thumbing through each piece of mail.

Junk mail - tossed it in the waste basket.

Junk mail - tossed it in the waste basket, too.

Cable bill - placed it on the countertop.

I was down to the last piece, which was a letter from Trace. Inside, there were two pieces of folded paper. One piece was folded twice, forming a rectangle, the other a few times, forming a little square.

Slowly, I opened the paper that was folded twice.

Dear Willow,

I just wanted to tell you that you’re in denial. You love that guy. You loved him when you came to visit me, and you love him now. Wyatt Blanket is his name, right? I can read the face of denial better than anything. Look at the truth, Willow. I know you’re strong enough to take it in. I’ll give you a little push. (This is that little push) Remember me saying I had something to give to you once you fall in love? Here it is. Not this note/letter, the other one. The little one. I didn’t write that. I don’t even know what it says. Your favorite person wrote that specifically for you, and he wanted me to give it to you whenever you fell in love. So, throw this one down. Grab that other one, and read the hell out of it so you can move on, and love Wyatt Blanket the way you should.

Love,

Trace

I hadn’t thrown the letter down that Trace had written for me. Instead, I placed it on the countertop with my cable bill. Slowly, I took the other note out of the envelope, and unfolded it. A shaky sigh broke past my lips as I read those words that were written by
Kennedy
, and seeing his handwriting for the first time in nine years. It was a poem, a
sweet
poem. It was a poem about our love, and how his illness had gotten in the way. He wrote this as an explanation for him leaving so suddenly, though I understood why he did it in the first place. Though I understood his purpose, then, I still couldn’t accept his absence. I was miserable, but it wasn’t his fault.

I was crying. I rubbed at my cheeks, swiping the tears away. I looked down past his signature to find a little note that wasn’t a part of the poem.

P.S. When you feel it burning in your heart, let yourself fall in love with someone else. Tell them you love them, so they know for sure. Don’t let the story of us be the end for you. You were my forever. I was your beginning.

I smiled weakly, tracing the words with my thumb. “More than anything, Kennedy. I miss you more than anything,” I whispered, my eyes closed.

What he had written here was the truth. In the back of my mind, I had already known Kennedy would have wanted me to fall in love, and move on from our past. His words helped me realize he hadn’t been my forever - and that I was his. He was my beginning. He’d always be my beginning. He was my first for everything. No one could take that from him. Death couldn’t, I couldn’t, and nor could Wyatt.

I folded the note, and then put it in the envelope along with Trace’s note. I grabbed all of my mail, holding it close to my chest as I exited the bathroom.

I placed the mail on the nightstand on my side of the bed before snuggling close to Wyatt. I wasn’t as quiet as I had been before. He woke up due to the sounds I had made, his hands grabbing my waist, pulling me closer.

“Good morning,” he murmured.

He opened his eyes, making eye contact with me, and then I saw it again. That
love
written in thin air for us to see - our eyes said it all.

“I love you so goddamn much,” I said calmly. I sounded almost casual, saying it out loud. It rolled right off my tongue. It just came out, naturally. It felt good saying those words to him for the first time. It was freeing and real and… everything.

He kissed me, tucking some of my hair behind my ear. Then his mouth was there, pressed to my earlobe. “I love
you
so goddamn much,” he whispered.

Love had us for the rest of our lives.

Cristy Marie Poplin
 is a South Carolinian who currently lives in the state of Connecticut. She's a young, independent author who aims to obtain a Bachelor's degree in English within the next 4-5 years. She is also a freelance journalist and selective cover designer. 
The Pact of Strength
 is her debut novel which she self-published on May 1st, 2015.

E-mail:
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Our Last Time
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