thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing! this little ficlet was fun - and now has come to a close. and now that its over, i can tell you it was inspired by rosie and marco's storyline in the movie 'what to expect when you're expecting.' if you havent seen that movie, you definitely should! please dont forget to review this final chapter!

…

The pain that ripples through me is something I was promised. It shouldn't surprise me as much as it does, I know that, but I've never experienced anything like it. I realize, in that moment, that there is no one stronger than a woman in labor. This will be the hardest thing I ever do. I'm giving life to another human being. I'm forcing them into the world. Who else but me could do this for my own child? No one.

I bear down, chin to chest like the midwife showed me, and clench Jackson's hand as hard as I can. I don't care if I'm hurting him, but I'm sure that I am. He doesn't show it, though. All he does is support me - touching my fingers only. I won't let him touch me anywhere else, it hurts too much and I'm too uncomfortable. I need to do this on my own. He can't help. This is my duty as a mother. It's my job to bring her here. I can do it. He can't.

"One more big push, April!"

I don't know who says it and I don't care. I close my eyes tight and scream, throwing my head back once all my energy is spent. There's a great release, the pressure between my legs lets up and I deflate entirely. I know she must be out, but I don't hear a thing. The room is silent, quieter than anything I've known. I can't even hear myself breathe. I can't hear her breathe, either.

I turn to Jackson. "Where is she?" I ask him, withered.

"She's coming," he assures me, one hand still wrapped around mine.

Then, the nurse walks over holding a bundle, but that bundle isn't moving. Isn't squirming or crying - it's completely still. I know, in that instant, that it must be my child. I never felt her kick. She was so sedentary. Never had much of a will to move.

"Would you like to meet your daughter?" the nurse asks, and I nod. Of course, I nod.

With a smile, she lowers the wrap of blankets to my chest and for the first time, I crane my neck to meet my child. Her weight settles in my arms, damper than I imagined, but light. I can't see her; the blankets are in the way.

"Move them," Jackson says. "I wanna see her face."

So, I do. With one tentative finger, I peel the thin blanket back from where her face should be. But instead of a baby, there's a mess of blood. When I bare the mass further, all I see is red and black. Thick clots coat the inside of the blanket and my arms, then drip to the floor when I shift - horrified.

"She's beautiful," Jackson says. "She looks just like you."

I look at him with disgust, then to the bloody mess that cannot be my child.

Then, I scream as loud and long as I can.

I jolt awake with a gasp, blinking against the harsh hospital lights. My heart is racing, and my whole body is sweating. Beside me, Jackson sits in a chair where he must have been slumped to the side - he's on his way to sitting up now. "You okay?" he asks, slurring a bit. I don't remember either of us falling asleep and I have no clue what time it is. For a moment, I don't know what happened. Then, it all comes back.

I lost her. I miscarried and bled out what little I held. Now, I carry nothing. Back to how I was. I'm empty again.

I answer him honestly and say, "No."

He sits up straighter. "What's wrong?"

I cover my face with my hands and lay back; tears soak my palms instantly. "Everything," I say. It sounds dramatic, even to myself, but it's nothing short of the truth.

"Can I…" His sentence breaks off as he leans forward and tries to get me to look at him. I meet his eyes through my fingers for a split second, but look away just as fast. "Can I get you anything?" he asks.

I lower my hands and look at him, shaking my head no. His eyes are wet, too, but the tears don't spill. I'm long past that stage. My cheeks are soaked by this point; I'm crying without giving any sort of permission. I just am. I don't think I'll ever stop.

I try to catch my breath, wiping beneath my nose with my hand. I don't care how gross it is. "It's my fault. I wished it," I say.

"Don't say that," he says quickly, almost as if he knew I'd go there. "It's not your fault. Okay?"

We sit in silence for a while. The same silence from the dream; the same stillness. "I never even felt a kick," I murmur. I stare at my hands in my lap - the chipped fingernail polish, the bitten cuticles. It's so high school. It's so young. We were never ready, anyway. It was stupid to think we were. "Congratulations," I say, which catches his attention. It's a strange word to say given the circumstance. "You're off the hook."

Then, he understands. "April, don't say that," he says. I lay down, turning onto my side to face away from him. "Hey," he says, standing up. "April, hey."

He gets up and walks to the other side of the bed so he can look at me. I look back, moving only my eyes. "We're not a couple," I say. "We've never even been on a real date, you know? I think we can do ourselves a favor and stop pretending."

His eyebrows come together and anger passes over his features. He looks like he did the day I confronted him on the basketball court. Stubborn. Then, he dug his heels in to ignore me. Now, he digs them in to keep me. "Why are you talking like that?" he asks, blinking rapidly. "I want to be there for you." He sighs and his voice weakens. "I want to support you. I always wanted that."

"There's no reason," I croak. "There's nothing to support."

"There's you!" he says.

"The reason you stuck around was because of the baby," I say. "And there is no baby. So, you're free. You can go."

"No," he says. "That's the reason you stuck around. I wanted to be with you from the start, but you pulled away. You only started paying attention to me once you found out you were pregnant." His chin quivers. I've never seen him like this. It's not surprising that I haven't, though; I barely know him. "Just say you don't want anything to do with me. You never did. Stop trying to push all that on me."

"Fine," I say, shaking. "I don't want anything to do with you. I don't want to be with you."

The first tear escapes and slips down his cheek, rolling under his chin and out of view. More follow, creating steady streams down his face. "You don't mean it," he says.

"You just told me to say it," I argue, clenching my jaw.

"Not if you don't mean it."

"I can't look at you," I say, turning onto my opposite side. "Please, just go."

"April, I wanna help."

"You can help me by leaving me alone," I say. "I don't wanna see you."

I close my eyes as tightly as I can, hoping that by the time I blink, I'll be alone. I wait a long time, until my breath comes more evenly and my heart rate slows. Then, I open my eyes. And for the first time since it happened, I get what I want.

…

I hate the phrase 'lost a baby.' I know where my baby went. I didn't lose her. I bled her out.

Technically, there wasn't enough of her formed to know the sex. But something tells me she was a girl, or would have been. But that's something I'll never know for certain, no matter how long I live. Because she didn't live.

I didn't get to hold her in my arms, say goodbye, or rock her towards heaven. She exited my body in the form of black blood, clotted and messy - shocking as it streaked my inner thighs. That was all I ever knew of her. All I'll ever see of her.

It's a horrible image to manifest, so I try to forget it.

I left the hospital without saying goodbye to Jackson. I couldn't find him and I didn't look. When I asked him to go, he left. Simple as that. My mom asked about him but all I could answer with was a shrug. I'm giving myself tonight to mourn, to disappear within the shell of grief. Tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow is new.

When my mom walks me inside the house, I let her help me. She shoulders half my weight and helps me out of my shoes, looking at me like she doesn't know who I am. I don't say anything, I just meet her eyes - the same color as mine. Hers are wet with tears and mine haven't yet dried.

"Do you wanna talk, sweetheart?" she asks, standing to her full height again. She swipes a bit of hair away from my face and traces the apple of my cheek. Her hands are soft.

"I want to go to bed," I say, though the sun shines through the picture window in the front room. "Can I go to bed?"

"Of course," she says, nodding as if to solidify her words.

I retire upstairs and feel her eyes on me the whole way. I know she and Dad will probably talk in hushed tones in the living room, will wonder what to do next. I'm glad I'm not with them. I don't want to hear that conversation. I know what needs to happen next. I need to take a shower, get changed, and go to sleep. When I wake up, I can try again.

I hear Ashtyn come in much later. I was only lightly sleeping, almost waiting for her. It didn't feel right being in the room alone, and I settle once the door shuts. Usually, when I go to bed first and she comes in after, she doesn't bother being quiet. We're too used to existing in the same space. But tonight is different. Her feet barely make a sound as they pad across the carpet and she opens her dresser drawers extra slow. I don't hear her clothes shift, and she sits on her bed gently, so it doesn't creak. This isn't the Ashtyn I know. I don't like the buffer she's put between us. In thinking I've changed, she's made herself different. I make a silent vow to myself not to let it stay that way. I need tomorrow to come faster.

Luckily, once I know my sister is in her bed, I fall asleep quickly and deeply. I wake in the morning as she's stirring, responding to her alarm, and her eyes open fully once she sees that I'm up. "Sorry," she says, tapping her phone screen repeatedly until the noise stops. "Sorry. Go back to sleep."

"No," I say, standing to make my bed like I always do.

"It's early," she says. "It's Saturday."

"I know," I say, smoothing the covers. "And early on Saturdays, I have volleyball. So, I'm up."

"You don't…" she says, eyebrows furrowed when I turn around. "You don't have volleyball. I do."

"Not anymore," I say, then narrow my eyes at her. "I'm going back. You can be done subbing for me. I'm gonna play."

I don't know if she knows. I can't tell. "But what about…?" she asks.

I don't wait for her to fill in the gap. "There's no baby," I say, then pick up my practice uniform from the foot of her bed. "I'm going."

…

When I go back to school on Monday, nothing is different. At least, that's what I've convinced myself of. No one but the 'need-to-know' people were even aware I was pregnant, so the fact that I'm not anymore only makes life easier. If anything, I act more like my old self. More recognizable than I have been for the last handful of weeks.

I go to all my classes, my student council meeting, and volleyball practice. My body is sore come the end of the day in a way I'm not used to, but I push that out of my mind. I can power through. My body doesn't get to tell me what to do or how to feel anymore. I'm the boss. I'm in control. And I say, I'm fine.

I don't see Jackson all day, not even in passing. And I'd been dreading it, too. The fact that I don't see him makes it clear that he must be avoiding me, which I guess I expected. Isn't that what I told him to do? I said I didn't want to see him. And that was true, in the moment. Seeing his face reminded me of the one I would never get to hold close. Reminded me of what belonged halfway to him. But the complete absence of him makes it feel like he never existed and the baby didn't, either. Like it was all some nightmare I conjured up.

The sympathetic looks I get from my parents and sister at home negate that thought, though.

"You didn't have to go back today, honey," Mom says, setting the table. Ashtyn is already sitting there, doing Calculus homework that I finished in class. Today was one of my most productive days this year. I don't want anyone feeling sorry for me. I did great.

"I wanted to," I state simply, grabbing a handful of silverware.

"Well…" Mom says, sighing. "I don't know if it was for the best. That paired with volleyball on Saturday and tonight? You're gonna burn out. You might hurt yourself."

"I'm fine."

"You're not," she says.

"You don't know how I feel," I say, trying to keep my tone light.

"I can only imagine," she says. "Your body needs time to recover. It just went through trauma. If you do too much too fast, you're gonna cause damage, sweetie."

"Well, the damage already happened," I say. Ashtyn's pencil has stopped moving. It's clear she's listening. I don't care.

"I know…" Mom trails off, pausing with an empty glass in her hand. "Dad and I think it might do you some good to talk to someone. A grief counselor, maybe."

"I'm not grieving," I lie. "I got up this morning and I went to school. I got more done today than I have in literal months. I'm fine, mom. You can stop worrying about me, seriously. I'm not holed up in my room, refusing to get out of bed. That would be grieving. Then you could worry."

"That would be normal."

"I'm perfectly fine," I insist for what feels like the thousandth time. "I don't wanna talk to a counselor. I'm not going crazy."

"No… no, that's not what I'm saying. I know you're not going crazy. Far from it. You're hurting. You-"

"But I'm not, though!" I say, dropping the silverware with a clatter. Ashtyn jumps. "I'm fine, mom. I'm fucking fine!"

I close my mouth instantly. I hadn't meant to curse. I press my lips tightly together and feel my eyes grow hot, but I refuse to cry. Someone who's 'fine' doesn't cry.

Mom looks at me with something unreadable in her eyes. They're damp, though, and glistening. "I think you should spend some time up in your room," she says, which is her gentle way of telling me to get upstairs. Now. "I'll make a plate for you."

After closing the bedroom door, I sit cross-legged on my bed and open Heart of Darkness, something we were assigned in AP Lit today. I don't absorb much; really, my eyes just scan the letters and words without making anything of them at all. But it gives me something to hold, something to do, until the door comes open and Ashtyn walks in carrying two plates.

"Here," she says, setting one next to me.

"Thanks."

She goes to sit on her own bed, resting against the wall with her legs straight. Her eyes are on me, unwavering, and I match them. "Mom was just trying to be nice," she says.

"Yeah, well…" I say, stabbing a piece of chicken.

"It's true," she says. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like… all hard and stuff. Like it doesn't affect you. I know it does. There's no way everything is as fine as you're making it seem. It's a great mask and all, but…" She shrugs and shakes her head. "You're gonna kill yourself with it."

"Kill myself after one day, yeah," I say, raising my eyebrows and nodding sarcastically.

"Don't be like that," she says, wounded. "It's sad. It's… it's horrible, what happened."

"You don't know," I say. "You weren't there."

"Yeah, but Mom told me about it."

"But still, you weren't there."

"I'm saying what happened in general is horrible!" she says. "Why are you acting like it wasn't?"

"Of course it was," I say, frowning.

"You're not even sad," she says, voice thickening with tears. "Or… or you are, but you're acting like everything is normal and fine because you think you have to, or something. You don't. You can cry and be mad and sad and whatever the fuck. It's okay. You lost a baby."

"I didn't lose her," I say, lowering my voice.

"Well, she's gone," Ashtyn says. She had agreed with me before - the baby would be a girl. There was no doubt in our minds. After she got paid from working the concession stand, we were going to go to Barnes and Noble to find a baby names book. We never got that far. Now, I'm glad we didn't.

"I'm aware. Thank you."

"She was my niece," Ashtyn says, hiccuping. "And I feel like shit."

"She was my daughter."

"That's what I'm saying!" she yells. "How do you not hate the world right now?!"

I stare at the food on my plate, gone cold now. I clench my jaw and blink - one tear falls and lands amidst the broccoli. "It wasn't the world's fault," I say, shrugging. "It was mine. Bad things happen. Life sucks, then you die."

"You don't believe that," she says. "Shut up. You sound like an 8th grade emo kid."

"It's kind of true, though," I say. "It won't do me any good to sit here and wallow, think about what could've been. She's not coming back. Neither is Jackson."

"What do you mean?"

I don't answer her. "I had a life before I got pregnant. I had a plan. And I have a plan again. I'm going to finish this year. I'm going to be valedictorian. I'm gonna give a speech at graduation, and then I'm gonna go to Duke." I shrug, trying to pretend this is the way I think. "Life goes on. It's that easy."

Ashtyn sniffles. "She never even had a name."

"Well…" I say, placing my plate on the bed next to me. "Like you said, she's gone."

…

The rest of the school year flies by and I do exactly what I set out to. The volleyball team makes it to State, but not further, which is fine with me. I make valedictorian and give a speech that makes more people than just my parents cry. I work with Ashtyn at the pool over the summer - she teaches swim lessons and I keep watch as the lifeguard.

When our class schedules changed for spring, I saw Jackson in the hall once in a while. Never long enough to have a conversation, though I don't think we would've anyway. We'd lock eyes, I'd lose the ability for conscious thought, then hurry away. There was too much between us to know where to begin, so it was best not to begin at all.

But I miss him. I don't say it out loud, but I do. I was the one who forced him away, though, so I don't have the right t to miss him. The only option is to push the feeling down.

I try not to think about him often. Going there won't help anyone or anything, so it's best to stay away. But right now, where every sentimental thought is at the forefront of my mind as we pull up to Duke, it's hard to keep my emotions at bay. My sister is beside me in the back seat, our hands clasped in the middle like we used to do during a thunderstorm on a road trip. Our grips are equally tight. I'm not ready to let her go when the car stops, but I have to.

They're dropping me off first, then taking her to Drexel. The last time I was away from my twin for more than a night was when we went to different sleepaway camps when we were 9. We both cried every night, and made a pact to always go to the same camp after that. I don't know what it'll be like here without her. She's annoying and I hate when she finishes my sentences, hangs out with my friends and steals from my closet, but I don't know how to live without her. I'll have to learn.

"It's lucky you get a single room," she says, plopping onto the bed once we've hauled everything inside my dorm. "Bed sucks, though. It's hard."

I sit next to her and bounce once. "Only half as hard as your head," I say, then shove her over with a loud laugh.

"Girls," Dad says, already starting to put together my TV.

"A little help would be nice," Mom says, unfurling my curtains. "I need more than just an audience."

"But I'm so comfy…" Ashtyn says, stretching out with her arms behind her head.

I kick her shin when I stand up. "Get up, lazy," I say. She does, and we put my room together as a family. Slowly but surely, as we do most things.

"So, I have to help you put together your room," Ashtyn says, tacking up a photo of me and her right in the middle of the corkboard. "But you don't have to help me with mine."

"Yeah," I say, plugging my desk lamp into the wall. "That's how it works when you're born 5 minutes late."

"Shut up," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Really, though," I say, walking over to wrap a vice grip around her shoulders, successfully trapping her arms against her sides. "I'm sad I won't be there to see your room."

"Get off me, you weirdo," she says, struggling.

"You love me!" I say, squeezing tighter.

"Let me go!" she shrieks. "Mom! Tell her to get off."

"April," Mom says.

"She likes it," I say, then trip over both of our feet and end up falling on top of my sister on my hard, bare bed.

"You're suffocating me, fatty!" Ashtyn says, laughing so hard her face turns red.

"You're gonna miss me!" I say, sitting on her legs so she can't move.

"Don't sit on me!" she says, kicking wildly so I fall off and hit the wall. "Get away from me, you loser!"

"Girls!" Dad booms, which makes us both stop. "Are you 18, or 8? Enough!"

I widen my eyes in a 'yikes' expression and Ashtyn lets loose a snort of laughter. Calmly, we sit next to each other on my bed and watch our parents put the finishing touches on my room, and eventually I lean to rest my head on her shoulder. Her arm winds around me, and we let the moment pass quietly. I won't get this again until Thanksgiving.

When Mom and Dad leave to put the empty bags and containers back into the car, I let out a long sigh. "I'm gonna miss you," I say, my head still in the same spot.

"You gonna be lonely here?" I shrug. "Might be better than having to share your room with a stranger like I have to."

"It's gonna be weird, being alone," I mutter. My throat gets tight, though I don't want to cry. "Why did we pick separate colleges?"

"So we won't end up like Mary-Kate and Ashley, all attached at the hip and shit," she says. "Plus, you need new friends."

"No, I don't."

"We shared a womb, then a room… for like, ever," she says. "We're built-in best friends for life. But we can't be those old lady twins who like, dress the same and never talk to anyone else and end up creating their own language."

"That was my goal, though."

She laughs and hugs me tight, wrapping both arms around me. "I'm gonna miss you a lot," she says. "We have to call each other once a week."

"And text."

She nods. "I'm always there… if you need to talk. I can get on a bus, or something."

"The phone exists," I say. "You don't have to go all 20th century."

"No, but… you know what I mean," she says, lacing her words with weight. "If things get really hard, I can be here. I will be here."

"Okay. You, too."

"Yeah, but it's different with you," she says. "With everything that happened, and…"

"You don't need to say it."

When it's time for them to leave, I tell my parents I love them and they tell me how proud they are of me, giving me about a hundred hugs and kisses each. I tell Ashtyn to call and text and FaceTime, that I love her, and that she's ugly. I don't want her head getting too big. She tells me I'm uglier, and funny enough, that's what makes me start to cry. I already miss her.

Back in my dorm, I'm alone in my bubble. I hear the same exchanges that I just went through happening through the door, but I don't open it to socialize. I don't want to. I don't know if I ever will. I don't think I'll be that type of college girl - the one who makes friends easily, the one who joins clubs. That was me in high school, but everything is so different now that I don't know how I could possibly be that same girl.

I sigh and it practically echoes. I'm not used to silence in my bedroom. Whether it was Ashtyn's pencil against paper, the sound of her chewing chips, or talking my ear off, there was always something. And now that there isn't, the negative pressure is overwhelming. I have to turn on some music to keep from imploding.

Looking around the sparsely decorated room, I can't help but wonder what things would be like if life had gone a little differently. Had the pregnancy been successful, there's no doubt in my mind that I would not be here. I might be in a small studio apartment with Jackson, a crib against the far wall. A mobile hanging over it, a pink mattress. I know she'd love pink, just like I do. I would have a newborn, and I wonder what she would be like. Would she be an easy baby, like I was? Or a difficult one, like Ashtyn? I'd like to think she'd be easy, waking up once a night to nurse and be close to me. I can imagine Jackson and I sharing a bed near her crib, waking up at any little fuss. I know we'd love her. Even when she was the size of a grain of rice, we'd loved her then. How big our hearts would grow while actually holding her in our arms… I can't wrap my mind around that.

I don't let myself think about the what-ifs or the could-bes, not ever. Because when I do, all it does is cause me pain. But right now, I'm already in pain, so I figure more won't hurt. Sometimes, staving off thoughts of my baby is more work than letting them come. Drowning in daydreams of what might've been is my biggest comfort right now, when everything is so unfamiliar.

I wonder what she'd look like, smiling at the thought of her brown skin and clear eyes. I think of how soft her hair would be - then giggle at the fact that she might've been born completely bald, like me and Ashtyn, hair sprouting in tufts at six months. I think about Jackson putting her in sporty outfits and the homemade dresses my grandma would insist on making. I think about holding her for the first time, kissing her forehead, the feeling of wanting to keep her in my arms forever.

I skim a hand over my flat stomach, but I don't look at it. I never got a chance to see it grow, swell with the life of my daughter. She was gone before my body could change much. At the time, I told myself it was a good thing. Less to bounce back from. But now, it's like trying to catch the tail end of a dream while waking up. The memory of being pregnant is on the tip of my tongue, but I can't grasp it. I wonder if it'll ever happen for me again.

I lie down with my street clothes on and pull my knees to my chest, closing my eyes as the sun still shines outside. I hear people socializing in the quad, but can't bring myself to join. I need to be alone tonight. Tomorrow will be fresh, the official start of my college career. Everything will feel right then. I just need to sleep on it.

In the morning, I'm cautiously hopeful. I give myself plenty of time to get ready, picking out the perfect first-day outfit while brushing my hair into submission. After applying a subtle coat of lip gloss, I make my way to my first class where I'm sure I'll meet my lifelong best friend. All the movies make it seem like people make their most loyal friends in college, so I can't wait to see what's in store for me.

But it turns out, like in a lot of other ways, the first day of classes is nothing like the movies. Everyone is sweaty because they overdressed for September, and no one talks. Everyone is glued to their phone; everyone, including me. I scroll through Twitter mindlessly so I don't stick out, then try to pay attention when the professor starts going over the syllabus. All three of my classes go through the exact same routine, and I'm home much earlier than expected. I buy a protein bar from the store on the way back to my dorm, then eat it alone on my bed.

This is not how I expected college to look. At all. I feel lonelier than I ever have in my life, and more than anything, I want to go home. My real home, where I had friends and people to talk to.

I decide to do the next best thing, which is calling my sister. I hold the phone up as the FaceTime ring chimes throughout my small room, and Ashtyn answers - already laughing.

"Shut up, I'm on the phone," she says, looking to the side. She turns back to me and says, "Hey! What's up?"

"Hey," I answer, much more subdued than she is. "What are you doing?"

"Hanging out in my friend's dorm," she says. "She just ordered pizza. And they're taking, like, forever to get here."

"Oh," I say. "We don't have to talk right now, if you don't want."

"It's fine," she says. "What's going on? What are you up to? You okay?"

I shrug. "I'm fine."

"How were classes? Mine were boring as shit."

"Yeah, me too," I say, then hear a few voices in the background. "You already made friends, though, it sounds like."

"Yeah, these girls on my floor," she says. "They're cool. Say hi, guys! This is my sister."

"The twin!?" A blonde head pops into the frame, paired with a wildly waving hand.

"Yeah, the twin," Ashtyn says, giggling. "April, this is Sunny and Lia. They're cool."

"Hi," I say.

"Your sister is like, totally awesome," the blonde says. I don't know if she's Sunny or Lia and I don't have it in me to ask.

"She's alright," I say, attempting a smile.

Ashtyn shoulders them out of the frame and rolls her eyes. "Really… are you alright?" she asks. "You look sad."

"I don't know," I say. "Just first day stuff. I'll get over it."

"Were you okay last night?"

"Eh," I say. "I cried."

"Yeah, me too."

There's a pocket of silence, then I hear a knock at my door. Puzzled, I look towards the entrance, then back to Ashtyn. "Someone's here," I say. "Probably my RA."

"They're probably gonna force you to do some stupid-ass icebreaker game," she says. "You love those, right?"

"Yeah…" I say sarcastically. "I'll text you, okay?"

"Sure. Bye."

I hang up the phone and toss it onto my bed, crossing the room to open my door without bothering to check the peephole. I met my RA yesterday; she's a nice, tall girl named Kori - but she's not the person standing in the hall right now, waiting for me to answer. Right now, I'm standing face to face with no one other than Jackson Avery.

My mouth goes dry instantly and my throat seems to swell. I've forgotten every word in the English language except for, "You…"

"Me," he says, flashing me a shy-yet-charming grin. Then, he nods in my direction and says, "You."

I press a flat hand to my chest. "Me…"

He chuckles, deep in his throat. Has his voice gotten lower? It must have. "Now that we've established that…" he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Um… can I come in, maybe?"

I move away from the door, allowing him entrance. Once he's inside, I can't stop staring. I literally can't take my eyes off of him to look anywhere else.

"I know you're probably surprised to see me," he says, one hand still on his neck. "I knew you would be. I thought you might even be mad… or… or, I don't know. I know how we ended things wasn't good. At all. But it just didn't feel like an ending to me." He meets my eyes - he doesn't waver at all. "I get it if you want me to leave. I'll go, if that's what you want. But I applied here back when we were talking about it, and I got in. I never told you because we stopped talking, and…" He shrugs. "Didn't feel like my place anymore. So, I was just gonna come here and play ball and mind my own, but… then I saw you." He swallows and the corner of his lips pull up in a small grin. "You know how I get when it comes to you. I had to see you. Talk to you. See where you're at… I…" He sighs. "I couldn't leave things how they were."

I shake my head slowly, then faster. I can't believe this is happening. The boy who I spent so much time and energy missing is standing two feet away from me, saying all the right things. All the things I subconsciously wished to hear. I don't know how this is real, but it is. I pinch the skin on my inner wrist and stay exactly where I am. This isn't a dream.

"I missed you," I say, and my voice comes out much quieter than intended. I clear my throat in an attempt to make it louder. "And I'm sorry."

I hope he knows what I'm sorry for. For treating him so badly when it happened. For isolating myself. For cutting off communication. For everything. I take a step closer to him, figuratively and literally. And the first step is always the hardest - the rest come much easier. Before I know it, I'm in his arms, wrapped in the strongest hug I've felt since we last touched.

He holds the back of my head with one big hand and uses the other to wind around my lower back. I close my eyes, resting my cheek against his chest, and breathe him in. He might sound a little different, but he smells exactly the same. "How long can you stay?" I ask.

I look up and he cups my chin in his hands, cradling my face as we lock eyes. He smiles softly and says, "I'm gonna stay forever, and rustle up all kinds of trouble with you."