The Fire Between High & Lo (Elements #2)(77)

Me.

Us.

We grew closer. Our bodies wrapped together, and I felt him trembling as my fingertips rested against his chest.

“Nervous?” I asked.

“Nervous,” he replied.

My lips hovered millimeters away from his. His breaths became mine, and mine were solely his. He was my life support, making my heart rise and fall, over and over again.

I shrugged.

He shrugged.

I laughed.

He laughed.

I parted my lips.

He parted his lips.

I leaned in.

He leaned in.

And we were both still so very much in love.

***

For a few brief moments, he let me into his heart, and I allowed him into mine. His skin met my skin, his lips met my lips. That night we held onto one another. We stopped our minds from wandering off. We didn’t speak of yesterday, and we refused to speak of tomorrow.

But we did remember, and we did dream.

We remembered everything we were and dreamed of everything we could someday become. Every time he moved into me, I whispered his name. Every time he pulled out, he whispered mine.

“I love you,” I softly said against his ear.

“I love you,” he gently replied, kissing my neck.

We loved each other that night. We loved each other with no restraints, no restrictions, no fear. We loved each other with every kiss, every touch, every climax.

We loved the pain, we loved the scars, we loved our wild fire that could never be extinguished.

We loved that night.

Yes…

We loved so slowly.

***

When I awakened, I still felt as if I were dreaming, because I woke up in his arms. His eyes were opened, and he placed a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“Hey,” I yawned, rubbing my eyes.

“Hey,” he replied.

“Is it time to get up?”

“No.” He shook his head. “It’s only three in the morning.”

I sat up slightly, concern building inside of me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Logan. Tell me.”

“I’m just worried, that’s all. Kellan had his chemotherapy a day ago, and since I’ve been back, I’ve never not been there. He sometimes gets sick in the middle of the night, and I’m worried, that’s all.”

I climbed out of bed, and started collecting his things, then I tossed on my clothes.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

A pair of pants slapped him in the face. “Get dressed. We’re going home.”

The drive home was quiet, but he held my hand the whole way. I knew it seemed silly, but on that car ride, I fell even more in love with him. He pulled up to my house to drop me off, and leaned forward to kiss me.

Oh, how I loved his kisses.

“Call me if you need anything,” I said. The sky was still dark, the sun still sleeping. He agreed to keep me updated. “Oh, and I have something for you.” I reached into my oversized purse and pulled out a stack of DVDs. “I collected these over the past years, thinking they might be documentaries you’d be interested in. I watched a few, and loved them. The one on the phoenix was my favorite, and reminded me of you.”

His lips parted, and his voice cracked. “Why didn’t you ever give up on me?”

I shrugged. “Because some things—the best things—are always worth fighting for.” I kissed his lips, and started to climb out of the car.

“Oh, and High?” He reached into the glove compartment of the car, and pulled out a DVD. “This is for you.”

“What is it?”

“I made a documentary while I was in Iowa.”

“What?” I asked. “What is it about?”

“Us,” he replied, a bit shyly. “It’s called Highs and Lows. Every message you left me has a response on that. One thousand and ninety replies. Plus a few in-between moments.”

“Lo…”

“It’s not all good, but it’s real. It’s raw. But I thought you should know that I did respond. To every single message. And I want you to know that you’re the one who helped me get through every second of getting clean. Your voice saved me.”

The moment I got into my house, I tossed the DVD into my laptop, and I held my breath for an hour straight. Some of his replies he spoke to me, others he simply spoke to the camera, as if it were a diary of sorts. Each reply told me what I’d wished I could’ve heard all of those years ago. Each reply matching how my heart bled, for five years straight.





Reply #1



I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so f*cking sorry, High…





Reply #56



It’s my fifty-sixth day at rehab, and I’m lonely. I still don’t know what this all means. Being alive, being dead. Inhaling, exhaling. The simple idea of existence was always confusing to me. But then you walked into my life one day, and everything started to make a little more sense.

Maybe the point of life is to teach us that we aren’t always going to be our past mistakes. Maybe the point of life is to open ourselves up to the things that we fear most—like love.

Maybe the whole point of my life was to simply find you, even if it wasn’t meant to be forever.