Read Online For All You Have Left by Laura Miller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Miller
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face. I can’t tell if it’s simply a greeting or more like a warning. Either way, Amsel nods his head once and makes his way to the stairs.
I follow Amsel’s figure down the stairwell until he’s out of sight. And when I look back up at Jorgen, I realize he was doing the same thing—following Amsel. His eyes are still planted on the stairs. I take the opportunity to steal another glance at the photo, and then I quickly slide it into the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt.
“Who was that?” Jorgen asks, curiously.
It takes me a second to answer him. I have to retrieve my mind from a different time first.
“A friend,” I say, as I toss my gaze to the ground.
I look back up a second later, and Jorgen’s eyes are still on me. He looks at me like he wants to believe me. I think I look at him like I want him to believe me too.
It wasn’t completely a lie. Amsel is my friend, but he’s also a whole lot more than that.
Jorgen seems as though he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, until I turn to go back inside my apartment.
“Hey,” he says, stopping me. “I have this work barbeque tomorrow night. You maybe wanna come with me?”
I rotate around and catch his pleading blue eyes—the same pleading blue eyes that have no idea that at twenty-two, I’ve already lived one life and am now on my second. I feel my heart beating a hard, fast rhythm against my chest, but I think it’s his pleading, clueless blue eyes that make me nod my head yes in spite of my heart.
“Sure,” I say.
He slowly bobs his head up and down a couple times.
“Good,” he says, through what seems like a happy grin. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
I force my lips up and then push through my door and close it behind me. And before I know it, my back, minus any thought, is pressing against the back of the door. I feel my body slide down until I’m kneeling on my heels. And just like that, a familiar, warm liquid pushes past my eyelids and streams down my cheeks. I can’t stop it. I have no reason to stop it—alone and inside my apartment, tucked away from the world. I feel my heart growing heavy as I pull out the photo from my sweatshirt’s pocket and let my eyes search every detail—the little diamond, the two wedding bands, the scar on his middle finger from a run-in with a barbed wire fence when he was eleven. And I let my mind drift away until I feel breakable—like I could shatter into a million, tiny pieces right where I’m kneeling.
We spend so much of our passion on our first love. I’m not convinced that it—passion—is one of those things that you have an endless amount of—like happiness or sadness. I could be happy all day. I could be sad all day. But I’m not so sure I’ll ever love like that again.
I quickly wipe a tear off the photo with my sleeve and then let my head fall into my bended knees.
I think I used all my passion up on the boy who stole my first I love you ...
A thunderous bang crashes in the heavens and then rumbles over the earth. We all look up at the sky. Huge, dark clouds are gathering right above us.
“Tut-tut, it looks like rain,” Hannah shouts from the outfield.
Andrew turns the baseball over in his hand and then rests it in his glove.
“Come on. We’ve got at least ten more minutes,” he shouts. “James, you’re up to bat.”
James looks terrified as he stares up at the dark sky and twists the barrel of his wooden bat into the dirt.
“Come on, James. Don’t be a little squirt. Get in the box,” Hannah shouts.
James’s chest rises and then falls before he slowly shuffles to the batter’s box and positions himself in front of me.
“It’s all right, James,” I say to him from behind my catcher’s mask. “Just hit the ball, and then we’ll all go inside.”
James nods his head and then slowly faces Andrew on the pitcher’s mound. Andrew winds up and releases the ball. It comes fast and whizzes right through the strike zone.
James swings, but the ball
I follow Amsel’s figure down the stairwell until he’s out of sight. And when I look back up at Jorgen, I realize he was doing the same thing—following Amsel. His eyes are still planted on the stairs. I take the opportunity to steal another glance at the photo, and then I quickly slide it into the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt.
“Who was that?” Jorgen asks, curiously.
It takes me a second to answer him. I have to retrieve my mind from a different time first.
“A friend,” I say, as I toss my gaze to the ground.
I look back up a second later, and Jorgen’s eyes are still on me. He looks at me like he wants to believe me. I think I look at him like I want him to believe me too.
It wasn’t completely a lie. Amsel is my friend, but he’s also a whole lot more than that.
Jorgen seems as though he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, until I turn to go back inside my apartment.
“Hey,” he says, stopping me. “I have this work barbeque tomorrow night. You maybe wanna come with me?”
I rotate around and catch his pleading blue eyes—the same pleading blue eyes that have no idea that at twenty-two, I’ve already lived one life and am now on my second. I feel my heart beating a hard, fast rhythm against my chest, but I think it’s his pleading, clueless blue eyes that make me nod my head yes in spite of my heart.
“Sure,” I say.
He slowly bobs his head up and down a couple times.
“Good,” he says, through what seems like a happy grin. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
I force my lips up and then push through my door and close it behind me. And before I know it, my back, minus any thought, is pressing against the back of the door. I feel my body slide down until I’m kneeling on my heels. And just like that, a familiar, warm liquid pushes past my eyelids and streams down my cheeks. I can’t stop it. I have no reason to stop it—alone and inside my apartment, tucked away from the world. I feel my heart growing heavy as I pull out the photo from my sweatshirt’s pocket and let my eyes search every detail—the little diamond, the two wedding bands, the scar on his middle finger from a run-in with a barbed wire fence when he was eleven. And I let my mind drift away until I feel breakable—like I could shatter into a million, tiny pieces right where I’m kneeling.
We spend so much of our passion on our first love. I’m not convinced that it—passion—is one of those things that you have an endless amount of—like happiness or sadness. I could be happy all day. I could be sad all day. But I’m not so sure I’ll ever love like that again.
I quickly wipe a tear off the photo with my sleeve and then let my head fall into my bended knees.
I think I used all my passion up on the boy who stole my first I love you ...
A thunderous bang crashes in the heavens and then rumbles over the earth. We all look up at the sky. Huge, dark clouds are gathering right above us.
“Tut-tut, it looks like rain,” Hannah shouts from the outfield.
Andrew turns the baseball over in his hand and then rests it in his glove.
“Come on. We’ve got at least ten more minutes,” he shouts. “James, you’re up to bat.”
James looks terrified as he stares up at the dark sky and twists the barrel of his wooden bat into the dirt.
“Come on, James. Don’t be a little squirt. Get in the box,” Hannah shouts.
James’s chest rises and then falls before he slowly shuffles to the batter’s box and positions himself in front of me.
“It’s all right, James,” I say to him from behind my catcher’s mask. “Just hit the ball, and then we’ll all go inside.”
James nods his head and then slowly faces Andrew on the pitcher’s mound. Andrew winds up and releases the ball. It comes fast and whizzes right through the strike zone.
James swings, but the ball
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