by Kira Hawke
handsome in a way– just… the man was old enough to be my father. I couldn’t think about him like that. He had salt-and-peppered hair, wore a tie on casual days, and always carried the scent of cigarette smoke with him. Sophisticated. Maybe a little tired around the eyes and neglected a shave, but he had a genuine smile. Charming, even. Everyone took Harris as a friendly, respectable guy …and I suppose that’s what helped him blend in so well. Allowed him to observe up close without suspicion.
Who knew that the gentleman who greeted me every morning in the elevator and delivered mixed mail harboured such violent fetishes surrounding his young –and painfully shy– neighbour?
I wouldn’t have pinned Harris as the type to take what he pleased and destroy it before allowing anyone else a chance.
He’d offered me a ride home one rainy night. It was safe to guess that wasn’t any coincidence now. If I hadn’t been heading in the opposite direction, I might have taken it.
And I might not have made it to today.
Should I have been grateful to have lived on borrowed time?
If I survived this, I promised to never take up smoking. Ever. I was curious how it tasted before –what it was like to hold in your lungs– but not anymore. Not even a little.
“They’re almost here.”
I groaned as my aide brought me back with a gentle shake. I was so close to being free from it all; away from the crippling pain. It was nicer there. I wasn’t scared of dying anymore. Death was just our body’s way of providing mercy when the damage became too much to bear. It was kind. I didn’t have to suffer. There were options.
“Stay strong, beautiful. I need you to make it through this so I can get your number, okay?”
I choked out a weak laugh. …Was he actually flirting with me? I must have lost more blood then I thought. He couldn’t possibly like me—that would be too perfect. My luck wouldn’t allow it.
But now that the tears had started, they wouldn’t stop.
Nope. I was scared.
I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to be alone for this and I wasn’t –and that made me happy– but now I had someone to stay for. I wanted to stay with him so badly; but that was beyond anyone’s control now. Harris already made that choice.
“That was supposed to make you smile, not cry,” he laughed, voice slightly hitched. This was probably that point when he realized I wasn’t quite strong enough.
He didn’t mean a word of it, anyways. He was just saying what I wanted to hear before letting go. A parting gift.
And that made me love him.
There was no such thing as love at first sight. That only happened in books and movies. Life didn’t work like that. I didn’t know him. He didn’t know me. We were strangers and we could never become a thing.
Not anymore.
I guess dying has a way of turning you into a believer. I had to let go of so many things that I’d never get to do.
I’d never ride a horse.
I’d never find out what a macaroon tasted like.
See the ocean and build a sandcastle.
Get a tattoo of wings on my back. Maybe a piercing too, but probably not. Chances are I’d chicken out on both.
Make pottery and ruin some clothes in the process.
Get bruises from a game of paintball but love every moment of it.
Leave my own graffiti tag.
Publish some writing.
Donate blood.
Get drunk.
Buy pictures in those old photo booths.
…Learn his name.
“Come on! You aren’t going to die. Not today. Not under my watch.”
Falling in love was ranked number one on the bucket list …the only thing I had time to scratch off.
Was I giving my heart away too easily? Was I falling for him just so I could?
Whatever. What did it matter anyways?
I’m glad it was him, whoever this beautiful stranger was.
“I can see the lights, right over there! Look, Logan—they’re here for you! You’re going to make it.”
I wonder if he knew he was loved, even if it was for a short while.
I had to show him. Somehow.
It took everything to curl my fingers into his. Simple actions cost too much. I couldn’t tell if I’d done it right or if it happened at all. Everything was so slippery...
…surreal… dizzying…
It slowly drained away, like trying to cup water in your hands only to have it leak through the gaps bit by bit.
“Logan? Logan!”
Maybe that was for the best.
My foolishness would have frightened him off. Who clings this tightly to someone they just met? Who could possibly be that lonely?
No—he’d be too sweet to let that show. He’d probably play along. What was the harm in leading on a dead boy?
We could both pretend. To make it easier.
Because of that he deserved to know.
I had to prove it –communicate it somehow– before it was too late.
“Damn it! Please… don’t die. You’re too young for this.”
He deserved to know what an impact he had on someone’s life. That he actually meant something to someone, even if they were no one …even if they became nothing.
He deserved so much…
“Come on, Logan! Stay with me!”
He deserved more than I could ever repay…
More than he would ever receive…
“Don’t let go. Please... stay?”
He deserved more...
He deserved…
“…L-Logan?”
He deserved…
He…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kira Hawke is a designer and a GLBT writer with a passion for finding art and beauty in everything. She lives in Ontario Canada with her life partner and is currently working on a YA fantasy novel.