Nova

Those four words are enough to make me want to get up and walk away. But I can't. He deserves to know. Besides, I can feel his eyes on me and hear his silent plea that I finally open up to him. When I turn to look at him, something in his eyes causes my heart to stutter. "Warren..."

He says nothing, and for that, I'm grateful. I'm grateful because I can see the understanding in his eyes, the patience. It's almost as if to say, I've had to wait this long, I can wait a little longer. And I know that even if I say nothing at this moment, he'll be okay with it.

But the thing is, no matter how much I want to avoid this conversation; I also want him to know everything that's happened to me. I want him to know the reason why I tried so hard to keep him at a distance. Why I'm the way I am.

"It's difficult for me to talk about," I say slowly. "I need to, um..." I shift uncomfortably.

My mind is a mess. I'm going to give this part of myself to him, expose my weakness willingly, and I don't know whether or not I want to put some distance between us or pull him closer to me. In the end, I choose the latter one; I move close enough that our shoulders are touching.

"His name was Carter Jackson" – I choke on his name – "and he was my best friend. We'd been inseparable since kindergarten. He was my first kiss, my first date, and the first man I ever slept with." As I speak, I begin to feel the familiar burn in my nose. I swallow hard. I need to hold back the tears for now and tell Warren more. No matter what we end up becoming after this – a summer fling, friends, or just two people that simply know each other – I want him to know.

"We had plans, and when we graduated from high school, we were going to go through with them. About a month after we graduated, we decided to rent an apartment together for a year and get used to the concept of living together before we went to Regina for university." I pause and take a deep breath. My composure is beginning to slip. "Oh God, it was wonderful. Living life with him beside me, loving me. We both had really good jobs, we were in love, and everything seemed so bright for the future."

"Then, there was one day...I had been working for the greenery that was about twenty minutes away from our apartment. Because I didn't have a car, I would always bike to work. So, it was near the end of August, and on my way home from work, a truck hit me. The man who hit me was beside himself."

Shifting away from Warren, I pull up my shirt until the left side of my body is exposed from the top of my ribcage to my hip.

"I cracked a couple ribs, had some severe bruising, and needed stitches," I continue, staring at the view. In the back of my mind, I can see the scar that's about as long as my pinkie finger.

"Christ, Nova," he says. "How did I not notice that when we were at the beach?"

I flinch when I feel his fingers trail the length of the scar. Not because of the shock or because I don't like it, but because it feels good – the warmth of his skin against mine is comforting.

"The recovery went well," I continue. I'm scared that if I don't, I'm going to crumble. "The doctor prescribed me some major painkillers to deal with the bruising and discomfort. Then, maybe two weeks after, I was feeling better than I had in days so I decided to go for a walk. Carter wasn't keen on me doing that, but I argued that it would be good for me to get up and do some physical activity. I remember promising him that I'd take it easy." I look down at my hands. "I should have invited him to come with me. But he had been so caring while I recovered that I wanted some time alone. I was...I was getting sick of him always asking if I was okay or needed anything. He just cared so much, and I took it for granted."

The first tear slips down my cheek, and I don't bother wiping it away. I know more are going to come, so what's the point?

"I left. I walked around for a few hours to breathe some fresh air and spend some time alone. When the pain became more demanding, I decided it was time to head home."

This is the part I don't want to tell because I can feel the old wounds reopening, and it feels like they're being soaked with saltwater. It hurts – God, it hurts so badly. Squeezing my eyes shut, I take a deep breath and find Warren's hand again. I hold it tightly in mine, like it's something that will keep me anchored so I don't fall victim to these feelings again. When he squeezes back, I almost sob in relief.

"I – I lie to myself and everyone around me," I choke. "I told Hazel and Julia that the news was broken to me, and I tell myself that I'm not the one who discovered what I did behind the front door. I don't know why I do it. I know it's unhealthy to not accept the truth, yet I still try to block it from my mind."

I'm silently sobbing, choking on every word that comes out of my mouth. I glance at him through my teary-vision. He's frowning at me, and I can't blame him. I still haven't gotten to the part that will piece everything together.

"When I got home, I instantly knew something was wrong. It was too quiet – he would usually have music going or be watching a hockey game. Carter was never one to sit still and do nothing. I c-called out his name, but he didn't respond. I thought maybe he went to bed early, so I went to check the bedroom we had been sharing. I remember stepping into the living room and seeing my empty bottle of painkillers on the small coffee table. I froze in place, scared as hell because when I'd left to stretch my body out, it had been almost full. I'd been extra cautious about taking such strong painkillers, meaning I only took them when I was in pure agony. So, seeing the empty bottle...I had no idea what to do. Panic took hold of me and I ran."

I hiccup and then continue on. "Things blur together whenever I think about this specific part, which I find odd. You'd think that finding the one person you love and trust with all your heart, body, and soul lying on the bed without a heartbeat would find a way to engrave itself in your mind. One thing I can remember is the overwhelming rush of emotions – fear, anger, despair, and then the guilt. Oh God, the guilt I felt when it was all over...Sometimes I wonder how I'm still alive. I blamed myself for everything that happened, and I continuously went over what I could have done differently. I wondered why I didn't notice anything wrong with him."

Somewhere, in the midst of all my talking, Warren has wrapped his arms around me and pulled me so I'm sitting on his lap. When I realize he's done this, I melt into him and I feel some of the tension infecting me ease. I take a deep breath. He smells so good. So familiar. And his arms are big and warm and make me feel safe. He starts to run a hand up and down my bare arm to comfort me.

"He must have been suffering from it for a long time," I continue. "If he was, he did a good job of keeping it hidden from me. Depression is a terrible mental illness to have, and I wish there was a way we could prevent it from ever happening. We live for a reason, and having to deal with such a disease is unfair to humans. Losing someone you love...it's a terrible thing to have to deal with. It took me a long time to figure out that it wasn't my fault. The illness damaged him in a way that love could never fix; there's nothing I could have done to stop him from committing suicide because I had no idea he was even depressed."

"But time went on and I started to heal. One thing I never got over, though, was my love for him. I swore I would never move on – that it would always be him and no one else. I moved to Vancouver for university, thinking change would be good for me..."

I trail off, not knowing where to go with this conversation. How do I tell Warren that I love him without making it look like he's a rebound? I don't want him to think that. Ever. Because he's not – he's something so much more than that.

"Carter called you "Novs," didn't he?" Warren asks.

I nod, my cheek rubbing against the fabric covering his chest.

"Shit," he mutters. "Nova...if I'd known...I would never have called you that in the first place. But I get it – I get why you didn't say anything. I can't imagine what it felt like for you to find him." He pauses, and I feel him shift his weight beneath me. "What happened on Canada Day?"

My insides twist in pain. "Canada Day was Carter's favourite holiday. We made it a tradition to watch the low-budget parade, go geocaching all day, and then go see the fireworks. I know it sounds simple, but it was what we liked to do. And when you're in love with someone, it doesn't matter what you do as long as you're together."

For a moment, we both stay silent, listening to nothing but the distant sound of waves against the shore and me sniffling. In the limited amount of noise, I think about everything that's happened since I arrived in Vancouver: the day we met, all those times we sneered at each other, when he proposed this ridiculous idea, when I agreed. Moving had the opposite effect on me. Instead of things getting easier and me fading into the shadows like I had wanted to until I finished my program, they got shaken up and changed me.

"Moving to Vancouver...I thought it was going to be a good thing. Until I met you, that is."

"Me?" Warren asks.

"When I met you, things started to shift in a direction I was scared of. I'll admit, I didn't notice at first because, well, we hated each other. The change was subtle as the months went by, and I didn't notice I had feelings for you until that day at the lake. That kiss scared the hell out of me, Warren. And the guilt I felt as soon as it was over? I had promised myself that I'd never move on, yet there I was, kissing you. And I wanted it. I missed the feeling of someone wanting me and caring for me. But the guilt overpowered it all – that's why I've been so cold to you. I felt like I was leaving Carter behind." I pause to wipe my nose. "I don't think I'll ever be able to completely get over him – he'll always own a piece of my heart. It's just...that piece is no longer big enough to control my life. I realize now that he would want me to move on, to find someone and be happy."

I choke on the last few words. I want to be happy as much as anyone in the world. It's just hard to do when someone else who deserved to have the maximum amount of happiness in their life was taken at such a young age.

"God, Nova," Warren says softly. "How did you get through something like that? The amount of strength...I would have never been able to cope with that. You have so much fight in you – you have no idea how amazing you are. How strong you are."

I shake my head in disagreement. "I'm not strong, though. I couldn't tell you one of the most important components of my life. Where's the strength in that?"

"Strength is what we gain from the madness we survive. So, don't you dare call yourself weak or feel like you're not important," he argues. "What you've been through..." He stops talking, clears his throat. When I look up at him, I see a single teardrop slide down his face.

"Are you crying?" I ask, baffled.

He sniffles, and then shoots me a cocky-yet-sad grin. "Just because I'm a total ass does not mean I can't be a softie. You didn't deserve to lose someone like that, and it makes me sad that you had to suffer. And all the things I've said to you...Shit."

"Don't do that," I say, hugging him tightly. "You didn't know – you had no idea whatsoever. Don't blame yourself. I'm the one who wouldn't tell you."

When Warren doesn't reply, I pull away from his arms.

Slowly, hesitantly, I rest my hand on his face. Then the other one. His stubble scratches my palms. "As much as I miss him, as much as I loved him," I whisper. "I don't want to miss out on more chances with other guys...with you. Warren, that wasn't my first time, okay? It also wasn't your fault, so please, please stop beating yourself up about it."

He shakes his head. "I still shouldn't have done that to you."

"No," I argue. "Shut up and let me talk."

He bites his lip.

"We were both drunk. And, to a certain level, we both wanted that to happen. Am I right?"

"I wanted it to happen," he nods. "I just didn't want the alcohol involved, and I wanted it to be because you, well, loved me."

I'll be damned if him blushing isn't the cutest thing I've ever seen.

"Hey. Look at me."

He does.

"I have been fighting my feelings since we arrived here. I...I think I've loved you for a long time; I was just too scared to admit it to myself. I was scared that you'd break my heart. Then there was the guilt of leaving Carter behind for another guy. People in my life have told me so many times that I deserve to keep living my life, that I deserve to find another man to love. I never really saw the point of those words, but I think I do now. Your sister, Julia, my parents –they were all right."

I take a deep breath and make eye contact with him again. "What I'm trying to say is that I love you, Warren. I never meant to fall for you, but I did, and I'm tired of pretending. So...so if you feel anything like what I do, then tell me. And," I add, "I liked it when you called me by my nickname – that's why I got so angry; it was anger that was meant for myself, but I took it out on you."

I finally stop talking and wait for a response, holding my breath. Whatever he says now will determine where we go from here.

The left corner of his mouth lifts up as he says, "I might just fuck this up, but I'll try not to."

I frown at him. "How could you possibly do that?"

"I've never felt this way about someone until I met you. My reputation...it isn't the best – you and I both know that. What if old habits really do die hard?"

I glance at the sky, trying to hold back a smile through my drying tears. "Well, I'm not worried," I say.

"You're not?"

"Warren," I say, "you've never reacted like that after sleeping with a girl. So, even though I hate to say it because it sounds so cliché, I think I'm different than the rest of them."

"You are different from the rest of them," he says. "I've never felt this way before. You're not a choice anymore. I need to touch you, to breathe you in. I need to see you look at me and smile. I crave everything about you. Maybe a little too much." He leans in a little closer, so his breath is hot on my mouth. "I never expected you to grow on me like this," he murmurs. "But I'm glad you did."

"So am I," I whisper. "If I hadn't met you, I don't think I would have been reminded of what it feels like to be in love. What it feels like to be happy."

Reaching up, he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.

He leans in a little closer.

I hold my breath as my heartbeat picks up rapidly. Suddenly, I want him to kiss me. Right here, right now. I don't care if people can see us through the windows or if they hear us. I just want him.

So, I close the remaining space and plant a kiss on his lips. The action causes us both to freeze, and I slowly begin to count the seconds that tick by. After three, I start to pull away. But his hands cup my face, holding me still. Then his lips begin to move.

The kiss is nothing like the ones I remember.

He's like an addiction; the strongest drug pumping through my bloodstream.

He kisses me hungrily as my hands roam all over his body. A hand slides up my back and rests at the nape of my neck. I gasp when he bites on my bottom lip, asking for entrance. I oblige, and then before I know it, he's laying me down on the swing and kissing me like there's no tomorrow. We kiss until we're both gasping for air, until sweat lightly coats our foreheads.

"So," he murmurs, pulling away just far enough that he can look into my eyes. "Does this mean you're my real girlfriend now?"

I blush and look to the side. "I, um, guess so. If that means you're my boyfriend."

"My God," he laughs. "I could get used to this."

"Used to what?" I ask.

"You being nervous around me – it's cute."

"Oh, shut up, Warren," I say, rolling my eyes.

His eyes flick down to my lips. "Yeah, okay, whatever."

And he kisses me again; hugging me so tightly it feels like all my broken pieces are being glued back together.

"I love you, too," he murmurs between kisses. "I love you so much."