Thirteen Reasons Why(48)

Her words, they’re not warm anymore. She might want me to hear them that way, but they’re burning me up instead. In my mind. In my heart.

Clay, you kept saying that you knew things would flow easily between us. You felt that way for a long time, you said. You knew we’d get along. That we would connect.

But how? You never explained that. How could you know? Because I knew what people said about me. I heard all the rumors and lies that will always be a part of me.

I knew they weren’t true, Hannah. I mean, I hoped they weren’t true. But I was too afraid to find out.

I was breaking. If only I’d talked to you sooner. We could have been…we could’ve…I don’t know. But things had gone too far by then. My mind was set. Not on ending my life. Not yet. It was set on floating through school. On never being close to anyone. That was my plan. I’d graduate, then I’d leave.

But then, I went to a party. I went to a party to meet you.

Why did I do that? To make myself suffer? Because that’s what I was doing—hating myself for waiting so long. Hating myself because it wasn’t fair to you.

The only thing that’s not fair are these tapes, Hannah, because I was there for you. We were talking. You could have said anything. I would have listened to absolutely anything.

The couple sitting beside us on the couch, the girl was drunk and laughing and bumping into me every so often. Which was funny at first, but it got old real fast.

Why isn’t Hannah saying her name?

I started to think maybe she wasn’t so drunk after all. Maybe it was all a show for the guy she was talking with…when they were actually talking. Maybe she wanted the couch all to herself and her guy.

So Clay and I left.

We walked around the party, shouting over the music wherever we went. Eventually—successfully—I spun the conversation around. No more big and heavy topics. We needed to laugh. But everywhere we went it was too noisy to hear each other.

So we wound up in the doorway to an empty room.

I remember everything that happened next. I remember it perfectly. But how does she remember it?

While we were standing there, our backs against the doorframe, drinks in hand, we couldn’t stop laughing.

And yet the loneliness I entered the party with came rushing back.

But I wasn’t alone. I knew that. For the first time in a long time, I was connecting—connected—with another person from school. How in the world was I alone?

You weren’t. Hannah, I was there.

Because I wanted to be. That’s all I can say. It’s all that makes sense to me. How many times had I let myself connect with someone only to have it thrown back in my face?

Everything seemed good, but I knew it had the potential to be awful. Much, much more painful than the others.

There was no way that was going to happen.

So there you were, letting me connect with you. And when I couldn’t do that anymore, when I pulled the conversation to lighter topics, you made me laugh. And you were hilarious, Clay. You were exactly what I needed.

So I kissed you.

No, I kissed you, Hannah.

A long and beautiful kiss.

And what did you say when we came up for air? With the cutest, littlest, boyish smirk, you asked, “What was that for?”

Right. You kissed me.

To which I said, “You’re such an idiot.” And we kissed some more.

An idiot. Yes, I remember that, too.

Eventually we shut the door and moved deeper into the room. We were on one side of the door. And the rest of the party, with its loud but muffled music, was on the other.

Amazing. We were together. That’s what I kept thinking the whole time. Amazing. I had to concentrate so hard to keep that word from spilling out of my mouth.

Some of you may be wondering, How come we never heard about this? We always found out who Hannah made out with.

Because I never told.

Wrong. You only thought you found out. Haven’t you been listening? Or did you only pay attention to the tape with your name on it? Because I can count on one hand—yes, one hand—how many people I’ve made out with. But you, you probably thought I’d need both hands and both feet just to get started, right?

What’s that? You don’t believe me? You’re shocked? Guess what…I don’t care. The last time I cared what anyone thought about me was that night. And that was the last night.

I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean forward. I clasp my hand over my mouth and squeeze to keep from screaming.

But I do scream, the sound dampened in the palm of my hand.

And Tony keeps driving.

Now get comfortable, because I’m about to tell you what happened in that room between Clay and me. Are you ready?

We kissed.

That’s it. We kissed.

I look down at my lap, at the Walkman. It’s too dark to see the spindles behind the plastic window, pulling the tape from one side to the other, but I need to focus on something, so I try. And concentrating on the spot where the two spindles should be is the closest I get to looking into Hannah’s eyes as she tells my story.

It was wonderful, both of us lying on the bed. One of his hands resting on my hip. His other arm cradling my head like a pillow. Both of my arms hugging him, trying to pull him closer. And speaking for myself, I wanted more.

That’s when I said it. That’s when I whispered to her, “I’m so sorry.” Because inside, I felt so happy and sad at the same time. Sad that it took me so long to get there. But happy that we got there together.