Chapter 12

Nico's Point of View

I go to Bianca because I have nowhere else to go. My window is closed off against the cold outside, but after pulling on my aviator jacket, I open it and climb out onto the roof. The air nips at my skin and I shiver, pulling my sleeves down so they cover my hands, and I cross my arms. The stars decorate the sky above and help the moon illuminate the darkness. I think of the story I told Jason in this very spot, about how, when we were younger, and whenever we were apart, Bianca and I would look up at the moon and feel comforted knowing we were both doing the same. However far apart we were, we were never far enough as to not be under the same sky. But now we are. She has gone beyond the sky, where I can't find her, can't see her, can't hear her.

I can't even feel her.

Afterwards, at the funeral, everybody always told me I could find comfort in knowing she was looking down on me. But I don't think she is. She has gone somewhere where I can no longer say, "I'm alone and I'm scared and I need your help".

Please hear me, Bianca. Please.

I start to talk. I don't know if anyone is listening, but I keep talking. "I miss you. It's been a while, but I still miss you. I still need you." I hear my voice break at the confession. "A lot has changed since you've been gone, and I've changed, and I'm changing. I don't think anyone else understands this, but I know you do. You would." I know I'm rambling, but the words are just pouring out of my mouth. I'm not making any sense, but I hope that, if Bianca is listening, she doesn't mind too much.

"I met a boy," I start, wiping my nose on my sleeve. "Smart, handsome. Funny. You'd like him," I hesitate. "He said he loves me. He knows- He knows the horrible things I do to myself, and he says he loves me."

I choke back a sob. "He loves me, Bianca, he wants to love me and I won't let him. I loved- love- you and look how that's turned out for me. You're gone and I'm still pretending you can hear me!"

I shake my head. "I loved Percy and he never even gave me a second thought. And it hurt. Nobody should have that power!" I shout, louder than I should at this time of night. "I always feel things too deeply. Love too much. And I can't ever let go of people."

I close my eyes as hot tears work their way down my cold, numb cheeks. My heart threatens to burst from the pain of it all, and the tears just keep coming, though they provide little release. While part of me wishes they would stop, I know that they feel better falling than they would kept inside. I'm tired of keeping everything locked up inside. When I'm finally able to speak again, my voice sounds so broken that it scares me. "I have tried," I start, my voice shaking with resignation, "for years, to turn my heart to stone. To build up walls too high for anyone to climb. To hold everything in and bleed it out at the end of the day, in the safety of an empty room behind locked doors.

And then he came. And God, Bianca, he's beautiful," I breath. "He's so beautiful, I don't even care that he's a he. He was just some stupid jock, just like the rest of them. But then he wasn't just a jock, but much, much more. Now you could tell me that he hung the moon in the sky, that he painted the stars, and I wouldn't even question it. He's so much more than a pretty face, than the school's football star. I don't know that he believes it, though."

I pause, trying to find the best way to describe it. "He's the kind of beautiful you'd want to hold you at three in the morning, when the rest of the world's asleep. He's the one you'd want there to ground you when your thoughts run away. He's the kind of beautiful you would kiss with the sun filtering in through the window, even when you both woke up with morning breath. He's the kind of beautiful that makes everything else seem somehow more beautiful, rather than duller by comparison. I don't know how he does it. He's like the pretty light that colors the world right before the sun sets. He is the sunset, and the sunrise, and the rain against the pavement. He's the white blanket of winter, the burning embers of a fire, and every other beautiful thing in the world. He is every goddamn beautiful thing, and I can't tell him I love him." I laugh at how unfunny the whole thing is, and I laugh at myself for messing things up so badly.

"I'm afraid, Bianca," I say, my voice young and old and hopeless and desperate. "I can't tell him I love him because I'm afraid."