Dear Readers -

It’s been about two months since we’ve updated. In the past two months, we’ve all been very busy. Our miss Marena K. Niehoff graduated from highschool. I, today, turn fifteen. On the opposite side of this scale - today holds another very important event for this little nugget of fiction. One year ago, today, our miss Marena wrote the very first ever chapter for Eternity Will Never Be Enough, a birthday present to yours truly. So, as we’ve been in existance for once year straight… HAPPY BIRTHDAY WILL AND DELANEY. WE LOVE YOU.

A Letter To The Readers

Eternity Will Never Be Enough - Chapter Eight

Delaney:

“Will, I’m sorry.” I whisper, staring at him. But he’s not looking at me, instead he’s staring at the wall, the hardened stare of somebody whose been rejected on his face and his shoulders shaking with what I’m sure are unreleased tears. I reach out to him, my fingers flexing momentarily before I feel Rylee beginning to steer me out of the room. He pauses at the door, his hand still on that spot on my hip that I hate people touching, and looks over his shoulder. I wonder, for a moment, if he’s going to take one look and Will and decide it’s not worth the satisfaction that he’s getting by taking me from him. I try, in vain, to wiggle out of his arms and back to my boyfriend, but Rylee holds me tighter, his fingers rubbing soothing circles into the skin under my shirt, which he can now reach as he’s pushed his fingers underneath the hem of my old and worn Nirvana t-shirt. I adjust my arms, tugging my shirt up a bit and sliding my fingers over his knuckles, trying to push his hand away, but I see him smile a bit as slides his fingers to intertwine with my near limp ones.

“Are you coming, Braydon?” He asks instead, simply, and in such  a cold manner that it makes me nervous. I’ve heard other men use that tone of voice before, and it’s never ended well for me. First, there were my mother’s boyfriends, the men who would ask me to get them a beer from the fridge and then would suggest to my drunken slut of a mother that I join them that night in bed. And then there was Joseph, the only boy I dated in high school, a possessive, athletic man with shaggy blonde hair and gray eyes. And then, most recently, Grant, and as I think this, I can almost see the flashing red light of the video camera before my eyes. I can hear the low rumble of his growl against my ear as he’d tell me that he loved me and that everything he did, he did because I deserved it. After the first few days of this, I actually began to believe it, and had he not left me there and fled, I would probably still be with him now, be there, in the last few snowy days of the year, the frost biting my flesh and numbing my body so the only sensation was the sharp, tugging feeling in my wrists. I almost feel myself begin to slip away, but then I hear Will laugh from inside and it pulls me back into reality. It’s a cold, bitter laugh, and one that I never hear from Will.

“Why on earth would he do that?” Will snaps angrily and I try to twist to look at him. Rylee stops me, instead pulling me to nestle into his chest.  My nose crinkles up in protest, I absolutely hate the way Rylee smells a majority of the time. It’s sharp and it hurts my head. There’s a strong sense of vanilla wafting off of him, and that in itself is pleasant. But his clothes, his skin, retain a remarkably strong mixture of the smell of cigarettes, marijuana, and booze. I long to pull away from him and move back into the arms of Will, who smells fresh and clean and strongly of axe. The combination of that and his natural smell, like summer air, is my favorite scent in the world and it’s nearly painful to be pressed into somebody that smells so much different than my perfect boy. But I’m weak, and I can’t fight him, and right now I’m not sure if he’d fight back. This is a side I’ve never seen of Rylee, it’s cold and hard and I’m so used to the sweet, nervous boy who’d smile at me and stutter through his sentences. I manage to look at Will from under Rylee’s arm, and he’s snarling at him, “I’m sure he’s had enough of your cheating ass.”

“He’s coming with me.” Rylee snaps back, his arm tightening around my waist and I whimper, staring at Will pathetically from underneath Rylee’s arm. He doesn’t even look at me, keeping his eyes focused primarily on Rylee’s face. I’ve never seen him like this, so hateful towards one human being. Will isn’t a hateful person. I’ve honestly never met somebody so absolutely full of love and happiness and joy. But now, he’s growling and angry and he looks like a predator about to pounce. He tears his eyes away from Rylee for a minute, adjusting his position so he’s nearly facing Braydon. Braydon is standing a little bit to the side of Will, and ten feet away from Rylee and I. He’s biting his bottom lip, staring at Rylee with large, sad eyes. His shoulders are slumped and he looks utterly defeated, such a change from the mischievous smile and quirky posture that he usually demonstrates. Rylee adjusts me so I can stand awkwardly at my side, though he’s still holding me in a way that there is no hope in getting back to Will, who turns to stare at us, the feral snarl back on his features.

“I think…” Braydon says slowly, his dark eyes looking between Will and Rylee slowly. He’s torn about which person he’d rather stay with, Will, who needs his comfort, or Rylee, who has his heart. Braydon bites his bottom lip, pulling his eyes off of Will and looking up at Rylee slowly, nervously, and Rylee smirks at him, his arm tightening on my waist. Braydon smiles unhappily, and I don’t think Rylee notices because he holds out his other arms for Braydon to fit neatly under. Will continues to stare at us, angry tears cascading down his cheeks now, and I whimper, my mind struggling to keep focus on him. It’s so hard to do that, with him already slipping so far away from him. I’ve never hated Rylee as much as I do right now, but then, I’ve never hated Rylee. It’s so hard to think of this little boy in a way that he could be dangerous. He’s never been dangerous to me before, but he’s hurting Will and that’s absolutely unacceptable.

With one last look at Will, Rylee ushers us both back to the car. Braydon moves out of his arm to get to the front seat, but Rylee coughs, staring at him threateningly. It’s quiet for a minute, awkward, with Rylee and Braydon staring at each other. Braydon looks scared, like Rylee will hurt him if he doesn’t do what he says, and I don’t blame him. Rylee is giving him a look that could kill, his eyes narrowed and hate pouring out of them. Rylee slowly opens his door, but he doesn’t get in, still staring at Braydon as if he’s waiting for something. Braydon takes a deep breath, unmoving, and begins to open the door of the passenger’s seat, and Rylee lets out the same kind of growl that Will did. “No,” He says, his eyes flicking to the back seats. “Delaney is sitting in front with me.”

Braydon stutters incoherently for a moment, before nodding slowly and moving away from the passenger’s seat, sliding into the back with a dazed look on his face. Rylee then smiles at me, contrasting the dark look he had had on his face moments ago. And I see a glimpse of the Rylee I know who told me over and over again, about a year ago, how much he loved me. I smile back at him anxiously and watch as he very slowly slides into the driver’s seat. I follow suit, settling myself into this unfamiliar car. Car rides always make me nervous and I feel myself wanting to curl into a ball, but Rylee grabs my hand and pulls me towards him, his lips landing on mine smoothly. My eyes widen and I try to pull away a bit, but his hand moves up to the back of my head, holding me there until I un-tense and lean into his kiss a little bit. I don’t want to, but I figured he wouldn’t let me go until I did. I feel his tongue prodding my lips and I whimper, shaking my head, and he very reluctantly lets me sink back into the passenger’s seat. I curl up into a ball, turning so I’m facing out the window hopelessly.

“It’s going to be okay,” Rylee says softly and I almost want to laugh the same, bitter laugh that Will had moments ago. When I don’t respond, Rylee sighs and backs out of his parking space, putting the car into drive. Rylee drives fast. He doesn’t know how much I hate cars. I shut my eyes, trying to keep focused on the present, but it’s so insistent and nearly painful that I let myself slip away. When I feel my reality come back into focus, it’s warm outside. I look around briefly and realize that I’m in Will’s backyard, holding on to string between my fingers. Upon looking down, I realize that I’m hanging onto his hammock and sitting between his legs. My arms are still covered in freckles, something that I’ve grown out of by now. But I smile, these are the days when I was happiest. These are the days that were spent in Will’s backyard, laying under the spring sun until the stars were out and his Momma called us in for dinner. I know which memory this is immediately. He smells like summer and his breath smells like the orange tic-tacs we’d shared earlier.

“I want to try something.” I feel myself say nervously, my hands trailing up to hold his shoulders. He smiles and his hands are automatically placed on my waist, as if to balance me, and I take one shaky breath. It took weeks for Becky, in Jamaica now with her parents and little sister, Alexis, to convince me to do this. To make my move to Will. Originally, her plan had confused me. I’ve seen the way she looks at him, blatantly oblivious to the fact that my eyes are on her. She looks at him like a piece of candy, a new toy, a treasure, something for her to play with. I’ve seen her look like this as she stares at other boys - the seniors at the High School up the street and the rockstars on TV. I let my hands slip off of his shoulders for a minute, I’m loosing my nerve, something that I absolutely hate about myself. I have absolutely no courage. I’m the biggest chicken you’ll ever meet. But I shut my eyes, taking another deep breathe and stretching myself upwards to plant my lips on his.

It’s awkward and harsh and our lips don’t press against the other’s quite right, but before I know it he’s kissing me back. I pull back a little bit, not enough to signify that I want the kiss to stop, but enough so it doesn’t feel like I’m smothering his lips with mine. I keep my eyes squeezed shut, my arms trailing up around his shoulders so I’m holding myself to him. His lips taste like citrus and so does his tongue, I can feel it pressing against my lips, willing them to pry open. I hesitantly part my lips and his tongue darts into my mouth nervously, but after the initial awkward of it, it’s the best kiss I’ll ever have. It’s better than so many of the desperate kisses I’ve lain on his lips. It’s so much better than any sort of kiss I’ve ever had. I can feel the sun burning my back and Claire watching us from the living room window, and I can feel his hands tightening and loosening on my hips. He does that when he’s anxious, clench his fists. That, and stutter, but he can’t really stutter right now. I’m occupying his lips. Finally, after what feels like hours, I pull away and stare up at him nervously, and he looks shocked as he stares down at me. I blush and feel myself look away.

“Delaney…” He whispers, and I know what comes next. He’s going to tell me that he likes Becky more than me, that she’s so much prettier than I am and that she probably knows how to kiss better. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, he wraps his arms around me and very carefully lowers both of us so we’re laying together, his limbs entangled with mine, and his lips come down to land on mine again. It’s much shorter than the first kiss, but it’s still just as perfect, and I’m left panting afterwards. I’ve just had the first two kisses of my life with the boy of my dreams, and he’s still smiling down at me. I can feel my hair tangling with the hammock but I don’t care, and instead of untangling it, I stare back up at him with wide, adoring eyes. He lowers himself back down, resting his chin on the top of me head, and that’s when I realize that he’s perfect. He has to be more than human, more than just a fourteen year old boy. He has to be an angel. That sort of majestic being that was sent here specifically to be mine. I giggle nervously and he slides one of his fingers through my ratty hairy. “Delaney,” He says softly. “You’re beautiful.”

And for the first time in my life, I believe it. I wrap my arms around him awkwardly, sparing a glance at myself. Compared to him, I look like a slob. His hair is cut in the latest in-fashion way, and he’s wearing neat blue jeans and a band t-shirt. I’m wearing jeans that have holes in the knees and patches all over them, and a sweater ten times too big for me. It hangs off of me in awkward ways but I love it, it’s red and black striped and it’s fraying and ripped in places. But it’s the same one Kurt Cobain has in the picture that hangs above my bed at home. I found it in a thrift-store last time Momma had the common sense to take me shopping. But still, I feel beautiful. I feel like a princess that is worth the attention he gives and I feel like I can do anything. I move my head and press my lips against his jaw, wiggling closer to him in a way that makes it so there is absolutely nothing separating us. There are no gaps, no spaces, there’s just us and the slowly setting sun. In the back of my mind, I think this must be perfection. I think this must be love. I want to tell him that but I’m so scared to.

“Will?” I ask, and look up at him, staring at him with suddenly frightened eyes. Because I’m so scared he’s going to leave me, just like Jayden did. But he can’t do that. Not this beautiful, perfect, good creature who thinks I’m beautiful. He wouldn’t just get up and leave on me. But I’m still so scared. I whimper and press my face into his neck, whimpering softly and sliding my hands up to his shoulders again. I hold him to me even tighter, trying to pull my thoughts off of Jayden and the way he left me. I’ve never told Will about that, but I still expect him to just know. I want him to wrap his arms around my waist and tell me that I’m being stupid, that he’s not going to leave me and that he loves me, too. I want him to be able to read my mind, but that’s such a stupid thought and I realize it, so instead I look up at him again, breathing softly. “Will, you’ll never leave me, right?”

“Never.” Will says firmly and leans down to kiss me again. I feel fluttering in my chest and then I’m being pulled out. I try to stay here, to stay in this reality by there are hands on my shoulders pulling me ever so forcefully away. I whimper and squeeze my eyes shut, trying desperately to get back to the happy times. I vaguely process that I’m screaming at the hands to let me go, to let me get back to him. I don’t think I’ve ever been this angry at something I don’t know. And then it occurs to me that It’s Rylee and I feel myself calm down a bit, pulling myself out of his arms and squeezing my eyes shut again, willing my body to let itself sink into the time when I was maybe just a little bit happier. I feel myself beginning to slip again when I hear his voice. It’s persistent and clear, and I know it’s not in the dreamy reality I was just apart of. It’s from the here and now and I look up. We’re in a parking lot. I’m curled on the ground, in a ball, screaming at the top of my lungs.

“You couldn’t find anything sharp.” Will tells me softly and I feel my eyes beginning to prick with tears. He wraps one of his arms around my waist shakily, and I begin taking short, panicked little breaths, feeling myself curl into him. For once, his scent doesn’t calm me down. It presses against the anxiety and makes it go reeling even further. I sob into his chest, pressing my hands against his shoulders in a similar fashion to how I had in the past reality. I want him to know that I thought of him this time. That it was happy this time, that it was our first kiss on the sunny spring-break day. I want to tell him that I wish we could go back to that hammock, that I wish we were there instead of this hotel parking lot in Chicago with the sound of cars rushing past behind us. I miss the quiet days spent in his room or in his backyard, or at the park up the street or down by the creek. I would give anything to go back to the first week before Her. But I can’t, I tell myself, I have to stay here. I have to stay here from now on.

“I love you,” I tell Will desperately, my lips finding his. “I love you more than anything. You’re my prince, baby, you’re my angel, my knight in shining armor. You’re the peanut butter to my jelly and the chips to my salsa.” I whisper shakily, a small, bittersweet smile working up on my lips as I choke out soft laughs. I want him to know that there is no possible way that I could live without him. I want him to know that he’s still my best friend, that he still means more than anybody else to me. I feel so bad, I feel the aching guilt in my chest for not trying to fight Rylee when he took me. I should have fought him, gone back to Will instead, curled up in his arms and let his scent and his arms and his lips and just everything about him calm me down the way he always does. I look up at him, my eyes wide, and his lips come down to land on mine, a final kind of kiss but not really. His hands lace with mine and he pulls me closer to his chest. It’s then that I’ve realized I’ve been saying all of this out loud. I slump against his chest, my eyes shutting as I breathe out against him. You can breathe, the words echo around my head, instead of the pulling feeling that’s always there lately - though I can still feel that in the background. You can breathe.

Eternity Will Never Be Enough - Chapter Seven

William:

It takes me a few minutes of my lips being pressed against Delaney’s ear before I’ve calmed her down enough that she stops shaking. Even though I stopped listening to her, I can still feel the hot air leaving her lips as she whispers words I can only assume to be “I’m sorry”, over and over again. My arms hold her tightly, even after she’s done shaking and is limp against my chest. I don’t know what she’s thinking, if she’s thinking anything at all, because no matter how many times I’ve asked. And believe me, over the last three weeks I’ve done nothing but ask. These episodes, I guess you’d call them, are getting more and more frequent. More and more severe. And even though I try to constantly watch over her, I can’t, and that’s the reason why there’s countless cuts lining her forearms.

I look up at the two in front of us, Braydon and Rylee, and they both look horrified. I’ve known them both for years, a total that rivals how long I’ve known Kate and Alexis. They’re in a band together, one that’s on my label. Braydon’s looking down at Rylee, his jet-black hair falling in his eyes as his hands grip Rylee’s hips. He’s holding him so tight that his knuckles are white, but Rylee doesn’t even seem to notice. I look at Rylee, whose lips are pulled downward and eyes are baring into me. I’m not quite sure what he wants more, to get Delaney out of my arms or to beat the shit out of me for letting this happen to her in the first place. But then, Delaney looks up at him with her small, reassuring smile, and it’s gone. This little thing, the way he smiles when she looks at him, is enough to make my stomach twist into knots. I glance down, burying my face into Delaney’s hair and try to get rid of the urge to rip Rylee’s throat out.

I didn’t always hate Rylee, you know. He used to be one of my best friends. And really, he still is. It’s just for the fact that about a year ago, he decided to date Delaney. It was during one of those brief tours that Delaney accompanied me on. One where Rebecca and I weren’t dating, and Delaney and I were. I’m not entirely sure what happened as to why Delaney and I were fighting, but Rylee took that to his advantage, luring Delaney into being his girlfriend when he was still dating Braydon. The whole relationship only lasted a few days, but it was enough to break both the hearts of me and Braydon. I feel so bad for Braydon, who dedicates his entire life to Rylee. His entire existence, really. But Rylee can never seem to keep his eyes from wandering and his hands off other girls. I don’t know why Braydon puts up with it, really. Rylee’s cheated more times than either of us can count.

I hear footsteps coming closer, and I look up just in time for Rylee’s hands to come down on Delaney’s arms. He says her name softly, rubbing her skin. Even though I wish she wouldn’t, I can feel Delaney relax a little bit. I look at Rylee and he’s on his knees in front of her, and while he pretends to be looking directly at her face, his eyes are on me. I instinctively pull Delaney tighter against my chest, as if I could erase the boundary where I end and she begins, and then he wouldn’t be able to touch her anymore. His eyes narrow just slightly. A growl escapes from my lips before I can stop it. Delaney jerks out of my grip, turning to face me.

“What was that?” She whispers, getting up and moving a couple feet away from me. I get to my feet shakily, looking at her. I don’t answer her, just go up and wrap my arms around her tiny body. For a moment, she buries her face into my chest.

“Nothing,” I say calmly, but her hands find my chest and push me back. Stunned, I let go of her. Given that my memory hasn’t completely failed me, I don’t think she’s ever pushed me away. I take one look at her and see the way she’s trembling, the way her eyes are frantic. I step towards her again, but Rylee steps in between us.

“What the hell did you do?” He snaps, pulling her into his arms. I can’t respond, I only watch as she wraps her arms around him, hiding her face in his chest. She turns her back to me, and I watch as her chest goes up and down, signalling the deep breaths she’s taking to try and calm herself down.

“I… don’t… know…?” I say, biting into my bottom lip so hard that it bleeds. I take the sleeve of my hoodie and press it against my lip, but all I can taste is the rusty, salt-flavored taste of my blood. Rylee rolls his eyes a little, winking at me before planting a kiss on the top of Delaney’s head.

“It’s alright honey,” He whispers, rubbing her back in the way that I should be doing. I should be the one comforting her, holding her like that. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to let him hurt you…” I gulp. Hurt her? What is he talking about? I’ve never laid a finger on Delaney, nor will I ever. If anyone should be saying that, it should be the other way around. I’ve seen the way Rylee’s anger gets out of control, and I was there the night his dad died and he broke his hands because he couldn’t control himself. I saw the way Rylee leaned his forehead against that brick wall, blood dripping down his hands. And quite honestly, I don’t trust him with Delaney. She’s small, and fragile, and even though he’s holding her as gently as I would right now, I know how easily that could change.

“Lane,” I murmur, holding my arms out. “Laney baby, come here?” She barely peaks over her shoulder at me. She doesn’t move, and I swear I see her arms tighten around Rylee.

“No,” She says slowly, and then looks up at Rylee pleadingly. Rylee’s hand lands on her hip, on a patch of skin exposed by a shirt that is just a little bit too small on her. A spot that only I should be touching. But Delaney closes her eyes and she looks so comfortable there. He knows it, too, because he’s looking directly and he’s smirking. I knew he hated me, and I knew he’s in love with her or whatever, but I never thought he’d take advantage of her when she’s not well. And it’s not like Rylee doesn’t know. He’s stayed at my house for two days now, so he’s heard the way Delaney’s screams wake everyone up. He’s rushed into my bedroom in the middle of the night to see Delaney violently shaking, a razor blade positioned on her wrist. He knows that she hasn’t been able to sleep, instead opting for coffee to maintain her body. He, of all people, should know all these things.

Rylee’s lips come down on her cheek, and he lets them linger there a moment longer than necessary. “Lane,” His eyes catch mine for a split second before he looks back down to her. Lane. Lane. That’s my nickname to her, not his. For as long as I could remember, Delaney would correct anyone who called her ‘Lane’, with the exception of me. But standing here, listening to him call her that and her not correcting him, but instead smiling makes me feel so wrong. So much less genuine. My brain tells me to go into the bedroom and hide under the covers and stay there for a really long time, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s getting to me. “Lane, baby, why don’t you go into the bedroom and get some clothes?” It’s devastating when she nods, slipping out of Rylee’s arms and starting towards me. I try desperately to catch her eye, but she’s staring at the ground, focused only on getting to the bedroom. 

“Delaney,” I whisper pleadingly, holding my arm out to her. She doesn’t respond, so I reach out and grab her arm. Not enough to stop her. She yanks her arm away, not even looking up at me. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Lane,” I choke out. It occurs to me that we’re reversing roles of a day almost a month ago. Wasn’t this exactly what she did to me? Beg and plead for me to stay, only to have me turn her away without so much as a glance? The black hole in my stomach that is threatening to swallow me whole roars again. “Please,” I mumble, reaching again for her. This time actually grabbing her arm. As my fingers enclose around the thin wrist of her left hand, she raises her right hand and digs her fingernails into my skin. I yelp, jerking my hand back. She pushes past me without so much as a word, and I can practically see Rylee, even though I haven’t turned towards him.

“Let go of me,” She whispers, disappearing into the bedroom. I follow her, slipping out of Rylee’s reach easily as he tries to stop me. I sit down on the edge of the bed, next to the duffle bag she’s got sitting on her side of the bed. She’s stuffing it full of her clothes. I watch her stuff her Nirvana t-shirts, dark jeans, and Vans into the bag. She shoves a couple of my own shirts into her bag, and I’m not sure whether she means to or not. I don’t say a word, and neither does she.

“Don’t go,” I whisper, biting my bottom lip again. This time, when it bleeds, I don’t try to stop it. Instead, I lick the blood off my lips, using it’s taste to distract me from what’s going on in front of me. “Please Delaney, I’m so sorry,” And while this is true, I am sorry for upsetting her, I still don’t know exactly what it is that I’m apologizing for. I scan through my memories and I don’t really understand what I did that could have upset her so bad. I stand up for a moment, and she turns towards me.

“Will, you’re in my way,” She whispers. But I don’t move from my spot in between her and her bag. She grabs a hold of my arms, trying to shove me out of the way, but I stay firmly in my spot. She’s shaking as her hands slip from me. My hand comes up to gently touch her face, my palm cupping her cheek. She blinks back tears, trying to turn her head away from me. I’m barely touching her, and it occurs to me that she could get away if she really wanted to, but she doesn’t even try. Her left hand fumbles with the silver band on her right hand, fingers running over the dragonfly of our promise ring. She pushes the ring into my palm, and there’s fresh tears pouring down her cheeks and being caught on my fingers.

I clutch the ring tight in my hand. “No,” I whisper, and she’s stepping away from me. She’s out of my reach before I can do anything about it, going to her side of the bed and getting the contents of her nightstand. All I can do is stare down at the glistening silver in my hand. A dragonfly. A dragonfly because when we were young and she would come over to my house on late summer nights, we would walk down the road to the playground. She’d spend hours trying to catch fireflies, but that week in summer school we’d learned about dragonflies, and I’d decided that I liked them better than fireflies even if they didn’t light up. Staring down at the ring as I sit on the edge of my bed, I’m thinking about how she probably doesn’t even remember that story, she probably doesn’t even remember that happening.

She starts to pick up the bag and I grab for her. I grab her by the hips and pull her tight against my chest. Her brown eyes catch mine. “Will, what are you doing?” She asks as quietly as she can. She doesn’t try to get away. She doesn’t do anything except stare right into my eyes. It makes me think of when we were in Kindergarten and got married on the playground with our Ring Pops. Or when we were in first grade and we’d lay in the concrete tunnels when it was raining, and I’d hold her and keep her safe. My hand comes up to her hair, smoothing it back so it’s not falling, messy, into her face

“Don’t go,” I repeat, grabbing her hand and trying to slip the ring back onto her finger. She clenches her hand into a fist and pushes me back again. I reach out and grab her hand, but she leaves it limp against mine. “I love you.”

“Stop it, Will,” She mumbles, ignoring me altogether. She pushes past me, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. She barely looks at me, turning her back to me and walking back out the door to the living room. Although it’s getting increasingly difficult by the second, I ignore the pulsing urge to crawl under my covers and cry. I can’t, I won’t, give Rylee the satisfaction of knowing he’d won. I grab the ring, which I’d dropped on the floor by my feet, and hold it in my palm, my fingers clenched tight around it, then walk out to the living room.

Rylee sees the look on my face and smirks. I can’t believe he could possibly be such an asshole to me, to her. He’s taking advantage of her. I should stop him but I don’t know how, because Delaney doesn’t want to stay here. I shut my eyes and think of how many times in the last couple of weeks she’s slipped inside of herself and that I’m the only thing that seems to be pulling her out of them. She’s getting worse, she’s gone for longer each time these days, and it hurts to think about what’s going to happen to her when I’m not there to help her. Delaney barely looks at me as she steps into his arms. He takes her bag and slips it over his shoulder, his smile wicked and focused on me.

“Will,” She murmurs, and I can feel my shoulders start to shake as I’m trying to control the tears that are threatening to come. “I’m sorry,” She says this, but I can’t bring myself to believe her. I find myself looking at the ring in my hands instead of her face. My promise ring, my promise that I’d never leave her again. That I’d never break her heart. I never thought that this time around, it’d be her doing the breaking. I can barely breathe, but I somehow manage to keep my breath steady and even. I watch as she tries to reach out to me, but Rylee’s pulling her away from me, trying to steer her out of the room before I can say a word. I close my eyes, another growl escaping my lips.

“Braydon,” He says, his voice almost cruel. Braydon looks up immediately. “Are you coming, Braydon?” Rylee’s voice is impatient, coming out as more of an order than a question. I watch as Delaney shivers at his tone, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking. I let my eyes flick towards Braydon, standing in the corner and looking increasingly nervous. As petty as it is to admit, every bit of me wants to hurt Rylee as much as he’s hurting me right now. I take a few steps back so I’m standing next to Braydon. Never before have I wanted him to stay here quite as much as I do right now. I let my fingers, slow and nervous, drift across Braydon’s hip. Two can play this game.

Anger flashes across Rylee’s face and I can see the way his hand tightens on Delaney. She winces immediately, and I swear that if he hurts her I will kill him. Rylee and I do nothing more than stand there staring at each other, like those elementary school staring contests that I was never good at because if they so much as smiled, I’d blink. But there’s a difference between those contests and this: I will win this time. And I will hurt Rylee, for every time he’s hurt me, in the process.

Eternity Will Never Be Enough - Chapter Six

Delaney:

With the coming and going of Christmas, brought friends to our new apartment. People passed in and out, some insisting on spending the night in one of our two guest bedrooms, but Will would always hurry them out. The last thing either of us needed was for them to walk in on me, unresponsive and violent, with a razorblade posed at my wrist as Will had so often woken up to in the middle of the night. The person we were most reluctant to have over was my little girl, my Katie. Despite Will’s warnings, for four days straight, she and her friend Alexis would board a bus and head across town to our humble apartment. I tried my best to be as welcoming as I could to them, but the more I ignored it, the harder it was becoming to keep from slipping in and out of my memories, a state that could endanger both girls. But I tried my hardest - the second, third, and fourth day I had spent all morning, with Will’s hands guiding me along, preparing a tray of chocolate chip cookies. As much as I loved the girls, though, I couldn’t wait for them to leave each night, when I could slip into Will’s lap and just not… think. I long, every night and day, to be alone with Will, something that has never bothered me quite as prominently. But I’ve never been this far gone, and I just want to be us. Not parents, I’m not ready for parenthood, and not hosts to many guests and label mates… just us. I twist the ring around my finger, staring at the sparkling dragonfly.

“Hey?” Will whispers hesitantly, coming to sit next to me. He’s been across the room, methodically taking down the large Christmas tree he insisted we’d put up, though I knew we’d go spend Christmas at his Mom’s house. This doesn’t bother me as much as people coming here, because there I’m a guest. I don’t have to smile and pretend that I’m alright, I can retreat against Will and not say a thing. And I find myself, in the way that I was on Christmas, curling up against him. I breathe in and out slowly, focusing that and the way he smells, to keep me grounded here. He pulls me onto his lap, making sure I’m not slipping by lacing his fingers in mine and bringing his lips down on top of mine. Focusing on him is the only thing that keeps me here these days. I wonder, briefly, what it would be like if Will had left me in the hospital and gone back to Becky. I would have proceeded to relive all of my memories without waking, over and over. And while some of them are pleasant, a few with Kate and a few with Will, the two days I spent as Rylee’s and not Will’s, and the days before everything ached, most of my memories are the kind of thoughts that send me spiraling, that make me suicidal. I wish I could control it, only focus on the happy times, but I can’t, and lately when I slip, I find myself back in the times with my mother.

My mother hadn’t been much of a mother. She was always abusive when I was younger, but when I was small I had someone to cushion the blow for me. I had Jayden. Jayden was my older brother, and I use the term was simply because he left. When I was eight years old, the abuse Momma would give him became too much and all he left me, was a note. It was simple, one line, and it broke my heart. Jayden had been my world. He had taken care of me, made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches  every night, a substitute for the dinner my mom never made. He was also my hero, in the knight-in-shining armor kind of way. When my mom would threaten me for doing something stupid, like spilling my juice on the floor, Jayden would stand in between me and her as a roadblock. After he left, I didn’t have that. And after he left, the abuse got worse. Or maybe it was always like that, I just didn’t notice because I had somebody else to share it with me. Jayden was always Momma’s favorite. She said he was the spitting image of our dead-beat Dad, who took off when I was born.

“You gonna be okay?” Will asks me and it takes me a minute to pull out of my thoughts to look up at him. I smile, and nod reassuringly, before looking down again. He’s reluctant to let me go, but he does, his hands slipping away from my waist as he stands up. He has to lug all of the boxes full of our ornaments down to the storage locker on the first floor, and then he has to very painfully balance the pine tree we’d used for our Christmas tree on his back and lug it down the stairs and around back to put it in the dumpster. I’d begged Will to let us use a fake tree, because then we could just take it apart and put it in storage with the rest of our Christmas things, but he insisted we have the real thing. He wanted our first Christmas together to be genuine, with our house smelling like gingerbread and pine trees and cinnamon and our tree and fireplace to be decked out in green, red, and cold, with a stocking set for each of us. I watch him leave the room and smile, because I know he’s going to want to do it all again next year. I won’t have a single complaint, because if it makes him happy then it’s all worth it. I love the way he smiles when he’s getting what he wants, it lights up his eyes and it makes him look like a little boy, just absolutely and entirely full of joy. Lately, he has this air about him when he’s with other people. It’s not how he normally, it’s pulled back and reserved and to be honest, it scares me.

But as his figure leaves the room, I feel the familiar dulling of the situation around me. I curl my body into myself, trying to hold my knees to my chest to prevent what ever I’ll end up doing before Will gets back. But it’s no use because when I’m like this, my body takes control of itself and I no longer have any power. Before I know it, I’m eight years old again. I’m walking home from school when I first realize something’s wrong. Will usually walks me about as far as the playground but he can’t go much further because he needs to catch the bus. From there, I walk alone for three streets, until Jayden meets me at stop sign between our little house and the elementary school. He’s always there, with his backpack at his feet and smiling at me as I skip up to him. He’ll hold my hand and I’ll toddle along after him - as I’ve always been much, much smaller than him - and tell him what Will and I did at recess or what Mrs. Parker did today or something silly and stupid that I know he doesn’t care about but he listens to anyways. He always would tell me, that’s what big brother’s are for, and I believed him. He had been my playmate and my guide and my guardian. More than once he had forged Momma’s signature on my report card.

I’m walking home from school and I stop. The stop sign, it’s there as always. But the figure I had come to view as permanently there while I walked home isn’t. Jayden isn’t leaning on the stop-sign smiling at me. His backpack isn’t anywhere to be seen so I know he didn’t go running after something. He’s not there. He didn’t come today. And Jayden’s always walked me home, always. I look over my shoulder, contemplating maybe going back towards school. I could go into the main office and ask them to let me call my Momma, and call Will’s momma instead. And if I did, I know that she’d come get me, with Will and baby Claire in the back seat. Will would help baby Claire out of the backseat and over to me, probably sitting on the platform by the monkey bars, and we’d play hide-and-seek or tag or little games with her, usually winding up making up our own imaginary world hidden safely away inside the center curl of the winding tube slide. And this sounds nice to me and all, but it’s a school night and even though Will’s Momma would gladly let me come home with them, my Momma wouldn’t. I bite my bottom lip, and decide against that plan.

I wait at the stop-sign for five minutes. And they seem like forever as my feet kick at the sidewalk and I spin around the pole of the stop sign. Maybe he’s running late, I think and my eyes flick up at the sky. Five more minutes, and I drop my backpack onto the ground, skipping around the pole now. Five more, and then five more, and then five more until I have to go home or Momma will be even more mad than she already always is. I look around, and bite my bottom lip. It’s okay, Delaney, I tell myself. You’re old enough to start walking home alone anyways. I lift my backpack off of the ground and sling it over my shoulder, looking around once more and then hesitantly stepping away from the stop-sign. Jayden always told me to wait for him until he came, if he wasn’t there, because the walk home is dangerous, but I have to go because if I don’t I won’t get to finish the math worksheet that Mrs. Parker gave us for math homework, or the sheet of cursive letters she assigned, either, and then I’ll be in trouble and I won’t get to go to recess. Recess is my favorite time of the day, ever since I’d met Will. He made me… popular.

As I start getting closer and closer to our house, I begin to see crushed beer bottles and wrappers and litter along the street. There’s a woman in a short skirt with dark makeup who looks so much like Momma sitting on a bus bench, and she smiles at me coldly as I pass. I keep my head down. Jayden usually keeps me sheltered from these things, and I know that he won’t approve of the fact that I’ve been out and on my own. When I get home, he’ll probably scold me, but it’s okay. Because he’ll still sneak me cookies after dinner. Today is Wednesday, and Wednesday is the day we all eat together. It’s an awkward occasion which neither Jayden or I look forward to. Soon I’m walking up the front steps of our little white house, reaching up for the door knob. I’m small as I always have been, and I can barely reach it. Jayden, though he’s only three years older than me, is much taller and is the one who opens the door and reaches the things in high places (like the cookies at grandma’s house or the wash cloth’s in the closet.) My fingertips struggle to turn it and when I have the door swings open too fast and I’m stumbling forwards. Momma’s laying passed out on the couch as always, her face pressed into the arm of it and a beer bottle between her dangling skinny arm.


I shut the door quietly, so as not to wake up Momma, and toddle to my room - my little legs tired from the fact that I had to focus on walking this far. This isn’t really just my room, it’s ours. Me and Jayden’s. We share a room because Momma can’t afford - or won’t afford - a bigger house, but it’s perfect for when I wake up in the middle of the night from a scary dream or Momma’s locked us in here and I need help with the spelling homework Mrs. Parker assigned. I nudge the door open with my hip, dragging my backpack along after me. It’s heavy from the useless things I put in it every day, all of my favorite books, drawings Will and I have done, my stuffed bunny rabbit, my rock collection. There’s only barely enough room for my homework. When I look up, I expect to see Jayden sitting on his bed with either a notebook and a pencil in his hands or one of his really long books, but he’s not. His bed isn’t made, and there are clothes all over the floor. His books are gone, and his shoes, and his backpack and I feel myself starting to panic when I see the note on the yellow notepad paper on my pillow. I stumble over to it, leaving my backpack on the floor and the door open. I pick the piece of paper up, my breathing quick and shaky as I read the letters in his messy print.

Delaney,

I love you. I’m sorry.

- Jayden

My eyes tear up and I curl up on my bed. I can’t be loud or Momma will be upset, because she hates it when I interrupt her beauty sleep - and I do have to admit, Momma is very pretty. But I curl up on my bed and I cry, I cry harder than I ever have, my tiny body shaking and heaving as I try to keep my sobs quiet, because Jayden is gone. Jayden got out and Jayden’s not coming back. I know he won’t come back for me - Momma tell me daily what a mistake I am, and how no one could ever want me. And she’s right. I always thought that maybe Jayden did, but… it turns out that I was wrong. I hold the note tightly to my chest, trying to press the words strongly into my memory. I have to hide it. Destroy it. I have to get rid of it because if she finds out that I know she’ll blame me, and the nightly beatings will be worse. She’ll hate me even more. She already hates me because I made Daddy leave, because I’m such a bad girl and no one could ever love an ugly little thing like me. Now I made Jayden leave, too, and now it’s just me and her and now he can’t protect me from everything she keeps telling me she’ll do, the second he’s not looking.

“Delaney!” Except it’s not Will’s voice or his strong hands that snap me out of it. I realize that I’m screaming, and I try to stop myself, but all it does is make my screams turn into heart-wracking sobs. I stare up at the person who snapped me out of it, and then look down. I’ve found myself back in the bathroom and I’m holding the razor, unbroken as always, against my scarred wrist. There are three sets of five little lines, all of which are burning and bleeding, dripping onto Will’s floor. I begin to panic, taking the razorblade and chucking it at the wall. The person who snapped me out of it wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer to his chest, murmuring quiet ‘shhhh’s against the top of my head. I curl up against him, and wish he was Will. It’s Rylee, and Rylee is my best friend, but it’s not the same sort of comfort that I need. He rubs my hip in slow, soothing circles.

“Laney, baby,” He murmurs. “It’s going to be okay, it’s all going to be okay. Braydon went to get Will, honey, sh, it’s going to be alright.” And even though he’s comforting and all, it’s not enough to keep me grounded here. It’s not the way Will’s arms tighten around me after I slip away, as if to tell my body that I need to be here.  It’s not the way his lips would press against the top of my head, or the way he’d tell me that it’s alright and then proceed to show me by kissing my lips and taking my mind off of the stinging as he puts rubbing alcohol and gauze on the little cuts, and then it’s not the way that Will would lift me up, bridal style and cuddling me close, when Rylee does. But he gets me back to my bed and I scramble out of his arms, tearing back the blankets and desperately trying to bury myself beneath that and the mass of pillows we own. Rylee slides onto the bed next to me, rubbing my back as I bawl into the sheets.

“Let me see her.” Will says and I feel Rylee tense next to me, his fingers moving through my hair for a minute longer before he wordlessly stands. I breathe out shakily as I feel Will’s familiar weight settle in next to me, and reach out from beneath the covers to wrap my arms around his waist. I pull myself close to him and he wraps his arms around me, holding me firmly and kissing the top of my head gently. “It’ll be alright, baby,” He tells me gently, his fingers intertwining with mine as he pulls my wrist into view. He’s done this a million times before, and he’s used to it, and he can do it so well. The cuts aren’t that bad, barely bleeding and not enough for treatment, so he lets me settle in one his lap, and kiss his neck, and apologize over and over and over and over again. Because I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to lose myself and let it get this far. I want to get better, Will, I should be saying. I should be begging him for his help. But he knows what I’m thinking and he tilts my chin up so he can kiss me softly, and smile against my lips. He doesn’t need words to help me.

“I’m sorry…” I tell him, making his hands press into my waist. I kiss him over and over again, desperately, and I’m reminded of the way that I kissed him the day he left. The day I tried to hang myself. Will smiles against my lips and he tells me it’s okay again, that he knows I didn’t want to and he knows that I love him. I nuzzle my nose into his neck, feeling my heartbeat slow into a normal pace in my chest. It’s honestly true that Will’s scent is the most comforting thing in the world to me. It’s like that last cigarette, it’s perfect and when I have to pull my nose out of his neck, it’s gone to fast. He turns me so we can face our guests, situating me on his lap perfectly and rubbing my hip. I can feel his trademark crooked smile working up on his features as Rylee and Braydon stare at us, both equally horrified and confused. I open my mouth to explain, not really wanting to, but Will beats me to it.

“She loses herself sometimes,” He says simply. “She’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

I smile up at him gratefully. He’s my prince charming.

Eternity Will Never Be Enough - Chapter Five

William: 

When I was younger, Christmas Eve was the most special day of the year, aside from my birthday and you know, Christmas itself. My sister, Claire, and I would always be up at the crack of dawn, long before our mom would wake up. We would sneak around every closet in our home trying to find exactly where she hid our presents. Delaney, who lived with us a good majority of the time when we were young, would always sit on the top step. Her arms were always crossed and she would beg us to stop looking because it would ruin the surprise. Every year, she would very calmly explain to us that Santa was still watching and that if he saw us so much as looking for our presents we could be put on the naughty list, and that we would be sorry the next morning when she woke up to presents and we found coal in our stockings. Regardless, we never found where our presents were hidden and we always woke up with dozens of them under the tree. We would spend Christmas Eve day in the kitchen with my mom and Grandma, baking enough cookies, cakes, and pies to feed a third world country. The family would always show up around five pm, ready to eat some of my Grandma’s wonderful cooking and play cards. The kids, those of us under the age of fifteen, would spend the evening playing in the snow. Or, in the case of me and Delaney, would curl up beside the fireplace reading the latest Harry Potter to each other. 

This year Christmas Eve is spent, like always, in the corner of my mom’s house, Delaney sitting in between my legs. By now, the deep cuts that line every inch of her tiny body have turned into scars, with the exception of a few on her arms that are currently covered by her soft white sweater that I can’t keep my fingers off of. She’s settled against my chest, a cup of hot chocolate in her hands. Every few seconds, she turns her head ever-so-slightly so her lips can meet mine. I can feel my family’s eyes on me, fine tuned to every move I make with her. Claire, as all younger sister’s do, occassionally calls out her PDA announcements. Which, I always respond with something about how I’ll get her back when she brings a boyfriend home. I don’t mention, however, that I not so secretly hope that she never brings a boy home. I’m so not ready to deal with my baby sister being in a relationship, even though she’ll soon be eighteen years old. 

It’s not until my mom has attempted to give Delaney her third piece of pumpkin pie and eighth cookie before I find myself helping Delaney to her feet. She looks at me, utterly confused, because we haven’t even opened presents and it’s usually late into the night when I’m leaving my mom’s. I lace our fingers, using my free hand to set the hot chocolate mug down on the mantle of the fireplace, and lead Delaney into the kitchen. With ease, I lift her onto the counter and grab her converse off the floor, sliding them onto her feet. Once both of our shoes are on, I help her off the counter and lead her out to the back porch. Outside, the snow is falling from the skin in heavy chunks that’ll make the drive home slick and nerve-wracking. I’ve never been a big fan of snow, I’m not too fond of things that are cold and wet. But here, with her close to me, it’s gorgeous. 

“What are we doing out here?” Delaney asks as I’m reaching back inside the door and pulling our coats off the back of one of the chairs. I slide her arms into it gracefully, but she still shivers. I tug my arms through my thick coat and then gather her in my arms. Her back is pressed tight against my chest and we’re watching the snow fall for minutes before I finally find the right words to say to her. 

“I feel like we’re being watched?” I find myself chuckling. Even though, I’m sure both my mom and Claire are pressed against the kitchen window, watching as I sway with her to music that only I can hear. I find myself looking up over Delaney’s shoulder, and sure enough they’re there. I flash them a quick smile before I’m focusing on Delaney again. “I just wanted to be alone with you.” Delaney turns in my arms, her coming up to my shoulders for a moment before she lets them slip down my chest until her hands find mine. She presses her face into my neck, breathing slow, hot bursts of air onto my skin. She’s breathing slow and steady, and soon her arms are wrapped tight around my body. 

I hold her like this for what seems like hours until Claire opens the back door, smiling at me. “Will, Momma says it’s time to open presents,” She calls. I give her a quick nod, and by then Delaney’s cheeks are pale with bright patches of red from the cold. I wait until I hear the door shut again and press my lips against Delaney’s. 

“Coming, precious?” I ask, my cold lips landing on her neck, making her shiver and a burst of air to come rushing out of her parted lips. I smile. “I’ve got something special to give you.” 

She looks up at me and for the first time all night, her eyes look sad. “Will….” She murmurs, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. I instantly reach up and pull her lip free. “Will I didn’t get you anything.” 

I put a finger to her lips. “Sshh,” I say simply. The truth is, I didn’t really want her to get me anything. And I really didn’t have the chance to get her much either. My arm slips around her waist, pulling her towards the door. When I get her inside the kitchen, my mom is waiting with two cups of steaming hot chocolate for us. Delaney blushes, murmurs out a small thank you as I’m slipping our coats off. I drape them across a chair, then scoop up the mugs and lead her back to our spot by the fireplace. Instantly, my grandmother gets to her feet. I watch her carefully as she goes over and gets one of the thick quilts my mom keeps up for wintery nights like this. She walks over and drapes it across Delaney’s lap. 

She runs her hands through my hair, ruffling up and her lips turn up in a smile, catching Delaney’s eye. “Delaney, dear, you’re so unlucky to have landed this one,” She says teasingly, and in the distance I hear Claire crack up laughing. I look past Grandma and scowl at her. I would get up and chase after her, but Delaney’s squeezing my hand. 

“I don’t think so,” She murmurs, and her lips meet mine once again. She flashes my grandma a quick smile before she turns slightly in my lap. She smoothes out my hair quickly. Her fingers send shivers down my spine, and I instinctively curl closer to her. 

Claire, with her elf hat perched upon her head, gets up and starts distributing presents. I watch her carefully, recalling the times when she was too little for this job and it would be left to me and Delaney. I’m sure by now everyone has noticed that I’ve dropped no present to Delaney in the pile of presents I brought for my family. That’s because her present is safe within the pocket of my jeans. 

“Figures,” Claire mumbles. She really shouldn’t be complaining, I went through the trouble of getting her the Gibson guitar she’s had her eye on for months. “Will would forget to buy his new girlfriend something. No wonder you can’t keep a girlfriend.” 

Delaney’s cheeks redden but I shake my head. “I didn’t forget Delaney,” I whisper, one of my hands digging into my pocket. I pull out the velvet box that contains my present to her. The room silences, and I want to tell them that this isn’t exactly what it looks like. Because I wouldn’t propose to her here, not in front of everyone. I push the top of the box up, so she can see the ring that’s inside. It’s not really engagement ring material, silver and in the shape of a dragonfly. I scoop up her right hand, gently pushing it onto her finger. She smiles at me, holding up her hand so the ring glistens in the light.

“Like it?” I ask, and all she can do is nod. I lean in closer, where I know only she’ll be able to hear me. “Lane, I’m serious about this,” I whisper, wanting her, and only her, to hear the significance of this. I want her to know that this isn’t an engagement, but more of a promise that I’m hers. I want her to know that I’m never going to leave her, I’m not stupid enough to let her away from me again. She wraps her arms around my neck, drawing me closer to her. Her lips press against mine, and I can’t help but smile. 

Eternity Will Never Be Enough - Chapter Four

Delaney:

It’s almost immediately after I get to my new home that I stop sleeping. I’ve always been an insomniac, prying my eyes open long after they deserve to be shut, but anymore I don’t feel tired. I don’t feel the slowing thoughts or the way  my body used to get heavy. Instead, I’ll slip out of Will’s arms long after he’s fallen asleep and pad out into our new living room. The first time seeing it was like the first time seeing my life on display - the good parts, anyways. There are pictures, tons of pictures, of me and him, ranging from when we were five to those few, perfect months he spent entirely as mine. Sitting on a bookshelf, there are a series of pictures in different frames that I took at maybe five in the morning. The first is of him, smiling up at me, with his hair spread out around him, my knees by his shoulders. The next is a little off focus, he’d pulled me down to kiss him, moving the camera seconds before I took the picture. All you can see in it is our chins and my neck, and the bottom of our lips pressed together. And the last is undoubtedly my favorite, because it’s clearly of both of us. I had the camera raised above us, and he had his arm around my shoulder, his lips on mine perfectly. I smile and touch the picture. I wonder how many night are going to be spent like this again.

I look around our new living room, fully taking it in for the first time. In nearly the same position as they were in the last apartment, there is a couch, a bookcase, a desk, a TV and a coffee table. The only difference is the splashes of color he threw in. While the carpets are still white, as are the walls, he has exchanged the rich, black wood of his coffee table for a dark, warm mahogany. The couch is maroon with matching throw pillows, and it’s soft when I sit on it. There’s a colorful quilt on the back of it, and I recognize it as the one Will’s grandma knit him for Christmas when we were seven. I slide my fingers onto it, feeling the fabric between my fingers. It’s familiar and I smile, because I like that he didn’t get rid of everything. I turn my attention back towards the living room, looking at the curtains. They’re deep green and probably velvet, and pulled closed. I know that during the day, they’ll be thrown open to reveal the view of the parking lot and across the street. One thing I liked about his old apartment was that it wasn’t in the front of the building. It faced the back, and thus, the spread out foliage and the little stream that flowed through his backyard. This’ll be different, but I’m open for change.

I stand up, looking around again before moving on to explore the rest of the house. I move onto the kitchen, looking around. It’s remarkably similar to his old one, the same marble countertops and stainless steel that I’ll scrub with polish every day to keep shining. The differences are, again, subtle. Splashes of color around the room, and it’s then that I realize he purposely decorated it in all of my favorite colors. I grin and slide my fingertips across the countertop, only stopping when I reach the silver refrigerator. I pull one side open, and look it over. It’s stocked up with frozen food and my favorite ice creams, where last time there’d maybe have been a frozen pizza thrown lazily at the bottom. I open the other side and smile. There are fruits, vegetables, dips and cheeses and bagels, where last time there would have been a spread of half-empty condiments that nobody would ever eat as there would be nothing to put them on. I contemplate for a minute pulling out the bag of ripe, purple grapes he’d bought and then promptly decide against it, deciding instead to wait until morning to see what he’ll make for me. I’m already getting used to this, to him being mine and me being his. I’ve never felt happier than I do right now, and I move to sit at the table, the light wood in contrast but so perfect for the room. I drum my fingers against it, looking down at my bandages.

I haven’t thought about them yet. But now that my focus is on them, I realize that my arms are itching and so is my stomach and my legs. I bite my bottom lip, looking over my shoulder to make sure Will isn’t coming, before slowly untying the bandages. I unravel it carefully, keeping it around my knuckles incase I need to wrap my arms back up. But it doesn’t look like I’ll need to. The deep cuts have begun to scab and even though they’re a sickening yellow-ish color around the edges, I still think they’re utterly beautiful. I guess I should know by now, that if I think they’re beautiful, that I’m not getting better, but that doesn’t bother me one bit. My fingers are tracing over the rough bumps of try blood, breathing in sharply when I hit a piece of tender skin that hasn’t quite healed yet. I train my fingers back up my arm, stopping at my wrists and staring at them, and that’s when I feel it. I feel the sinking sensation, the way this reality is beginning to fade. I feel myself slump a bit, my mind running through a series of memories before stopping on one. The worst memory I have, in all honesty, besides maybe my suicide attempt.

I’m sitting in a hotel room, staring at my wrists. I’m on a would-be comfy bed with my legs crossed, and there are bandages in my lap. I’m breathing shakily, my eyes pulling away from my blood-stained wrist and then looking up at the other person in the room with me. It’s him, Grant, and he’s watching me with interest. The kind of sick interest, almost satisfaction, of a hunter watching it’s prey. But I smile, slipping off of the bed and padding over to him, sliding into his lap and nuzzling my nose into his neck. He smells good, not like Will, but good enough. It’s spicy and sharp and over-whelming, but I can’t get enough. I bury my face further into his skin, taking deep breaths and curling into him. I bring my hand up to my mouth, my mouth enclosing around the little diamond on the golden band around my pointer finger. In a few months time now, I’ll be his. His wife and his lover. We haven’t told anybody, not finding a need to yet, but every time I think about it a jolt of excitement courses through me.

“Who bandaged those for you?” Grant asks me softly and I look up at him, my eyes wide. I know he doesn’t like it when I turn to Will and not him, but I wish he’d realize I only do it because of habit. I don’t want to, you know, I’d rather turn to him instead, and have him hold me in his arms while he pries the razorblade from my hands and wrap the medical tape and gauze around my arms. I nuzzle my nose into his neck, ever reluctant to tell him, and shrug. I feel him shift underneath me so he can hold me tightly to his body, almost too tightly but not quite enough to hurt me. When he holds me like this, it’s when I know that he’ll never, ever let me go. “You can tell me, baby.” He whispers soothingly into my hair.

“W…Will.” I say after a couple of minutes of nervous hesitation. And I was right to hesitate, as it turns out. His arms tighten even further around me and I whimper, because his strong arms are beginning to hurt and I’m so breakable, and he should know that. His fingers dig into my hips and I open my mouth, a pained gasp leaving my lips shakily. “G-Grant!” I whisper frantically, trying to wiggle out of his arms, but it’s not working and he’s tightening his arms around me, and I’m sure he’s going to leave bruises on me. I try desperately to make myself, to curl against his chest in a way that’ll make it stop hurting. “G-Grant, that h…”

“I don’t want you seeing him anymore.” His voice is harsh and I stare up at him in shock. Because Will is my best friend. I’ve known him since I was five years old, and the thought of just not seeing him anymore makes panic swirl through my chest. I’m shaking my head slowly. Because I’m not going to choose between him, and Will. I know who I’ll choose, if the it really, honestly comes down to it, and it won’t make Grant happy. I love him, there is no denying the fact that I am hopelessly in love with Grant. But then there’s Will, boyish, smiling Will with the gentle hands who cradles me in his lap when I’m scared and smiles and jokes with me and reminds me that life isn’t all about the pain we feel inside. I breathe in and out in quick, shallow little breaths, and I’m beginning to get dizzy. All I can really feel is Grant’s tight hands on my hips and the way I’m shaking my head so quickly. I’m going to see him. I’m going to see Will. I need Will, more than I’ve ever needed anybody. He’s my best friend. He’s always going to be there.

“Delaney.” Grant snaps and I feel my mouth opening in a shrill scream. I’m not sure if I managed to get the frantic, ‘LET ME GO’, into it, but if I did he isn’t listening. He yanks me to my feet, one of his large hands twisting in my hair. I’m so dizzy and I can’t help it, I go limp, and the pain of him dragging me by my hair is enough to make me pass out entirely. And then I’m in a dream inside of a dream, and in that dream I’m clawing and kicking and screaming, desperately telling him, ‘No! No,’ over and over again. I’m telling him that he’s not going to stop me from seeing Will. I’m begging for him to let me go, I’m taking of his ring and throwing it at him. I wish that, in real life, I would have the courage to tell him these things. But, little, quiet Delaney would never say those things and I almost start to hate myself for not breaking out of my shell when Will told me to. Because if I had, maybe I’d have the courage to stand up for myself, to fight back and when I wake up, to tell him to kiss my ass and leave.

But when I wake up, I realize that there is absolutely no chance of that happening at all. It’s cold and I can feel goose-bumps littering my skin, and as I look down I realize in horrification that I’m naked and that I’ve been tied with my arms above my head to a rotting, wooden post. It’s so cold, it’s one of those rare, snowy days, one of the last ones, in the middle of April. I look around shakily, opening my mouth and screaming again because I simply can’t think of anything else to do. I try to pull my hands down, to cover myself, and I cross my legs in an attempt to preserve my modesty but it’s not much help because I’m still utterly exposed. I blush and I hear a familiar, low laugh to my right and I struggle to turn that way. There he sits, with one leg crossed over the other, a view camera placed on his knee. I red light that signifies that he’s recording is on.

“If I can’t have you,” He says. “Nobody can.” And all I can really do is shiver.

“Delaney!” I’m snapped out of it by hands grabbing my arms and Will’s frantic voice. I look up at him, this reality slowly coming back into focus and I stare at him, my jaw dropped and my eyes wide. I raise one hand up to my cheek, not surprised at all that it’s wet, and as I bring them down I look at my wrist. At our surroundings. I somehow had made my way back to Will’s room, and I’m sitting on the floor with an unbroken razor poised at my wrist. I drop it quickly, staring at it in fear and curl into Will’s arms. He presses his lips against my forehead.

“Baby, you were screaming.” He murmurs and kisses my forehead. “It’s okay, honey, I’m here, I’m going to protect you.” But it doesn’t help the remnants of the aching, persistent fear I felt reliving that. It’s still beating against my chest in a way that makes me want to squirm and curl into myself.

“It’s not okay,” I tell him softly, and I realize I’m shaking and sobbing. He pulls my close to him, one of his arms hooking under the bend of my knees, and the other around my back. He lifts me in an effortless sort of way, carrying me easily back to our bed. “Its not okay.” I tell him again, more persistently this time and I shake my head quickly.

“I didn’t want to, Will, I didn’t.” But it’s like he’s not listening because he’s settling into bed next to me, his hands sliding onto my wrists instead to make sure that there aren’t any little cuts that he didn’t catch. I know this routine because we’ve done it a million times. He pulls us both back into a laying position, his lips touching my cheek softly. He tells me, again, that it’s going to be okay, his voice vibrating against my skin. But it’s not. It’s not. Because I can’t control myself. I can’t control what I’m doing or what I’m saying and it’s beginning to terrify me. But I can’t tell him why. How it happens every time, how I slip back into memories where he’s not mine. He’ll worry and I don’t want him to worry about me, I want our life to be perfect and happy and flawless. I just wish that, a life with me, suicidal and aching and so imperfect could ever be flawless.

“It’s okay, Delaney, shh…” He says again and rubs my hip in a soothing sort of way. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to smother the panic blossoming in my chest and making my whole entire body shake. Because it’s him, here, with me, that is my anti-depressant. It’s the way he holds me that makes me know everything is going to be okay, and it’s the way he smells so clean and amazing that lulls me into a sense of security. He presses his hands against the small of my back, holding me to him in a way that mean I can’t get away this time. I wouldn’t want to, honestly, even if I could because being away from him is when I begin to fall the most. When the past reality becomes more clear and more achingly loud to me, so loud that I can’t help but let myself drift away into it. I raise my hands up to hold his shoulders, hanging on to him with everything that I’ve got inside of me. I’m going to beat this, I tell myself stubbornly. I’m going to beat this and he’ll never have to know.

Will tilts my chin up, his lips coming to land against mine. I feel a wave of nervous butterflies sink through my body but I don’t pull away because it’s the good kind of nervous that makes every nerve ending in my body tingle. I press my lips harder against his, pulling myself closer to him and sliding my hands into his hair. I don’t want sex, I just want his lips against mine and his arms around my waist letting me know that I am utterly perfect and beautiful to him. That’s all I’ve always needed, really, just him. And that’s when I know that yeah, I’m stronger than this and yeah, I can beat it.

Eternity Will Never Be Enough - Chapter Three

William:

It only took me three hours of being alone in my apartment, with it’s blood scattered walls and broken glass dug into the carpet, to decide that it was no longer my home. It only took me two hours after that to pack up everything I absolutely needed after that. And it only took me one day to find a new apartment once I decided I was done there. My new apartment looks remarkably like my old one, in the way that it still has the same black marble countertops in the kitchen, and white carpets. It still has the stainless steel appliances and the tech-savvy washing machine that I love because I never need to remember if you wash colored clothes in hot water or cold. However, I left almost all of my furniture at the old apartment, opting to spend an afternoon picking out furniture instead of looking at the couch where I’ve held Delaney while watching a movie, or the bed that I’ve drifted to sleep with my limbs tangled with Delaney’s. Anything that had any signifigant memories with her had to go, which meant I was left with virtually nothing. Instead of taking my mother with me to buy the new furniture, which I’m positive she would have enjoyed doing, I did it alone. I picked out things that not only would I love, but Delaney would like as well. Nothing was particularly different from what I’d had, but instead of entirely black and white things, I’d grabbed a few things with colors that would hopefully make this place be more of a home. Somewhere where Delaney could feel comfortable.

After two days of moving couches, beds, and dining room tables into my new apartment, and one day of finding every good photograph of Delaney and I to hang on the wall, I was done. And I’ll admit, it looked like a home. A home that, today, I would be bringing Delaney back to. I’d be the first to admit that I’m nervous. I haven’t been to see her at all, simply because I’m terrified to see the bruises left from my bed sheets (which were the first thing I replaced) and the cuts left on her arms. My new apartment is also, well, Delaney proof. I’ve been her best friend for long enough to know how to keep my apartment from being a danger zone. Because of her latest stunt, I made sure every door in my apartment has no lock, and that the knifes and blades and placed strategically high to be kept out of her reach. I felt like I was designing a house for a two year old and not a twenty-one year old.

I’m thinking about all of this as I watch a nurse rush into the room, injecting a syringe that contains what I can only assume contains sedatives into her IV. It only takes seconds for her heart rate to slow back down, and I watch as the nurse runs her fingers down Delaney’s arms. She looks over at me, eyes narrowed as if to warn me not to upset her again, or else. I sink further into myself, pressing my back against the wall. I shut my eyes, trying to imagine Delaney laying not in that bed, but instead in my bed, smiling as she sits on top of my chest, her small hands wrapped around my wrists as I let her pretend that she’s actually strong enough to hold me against the bed.

When I open my eyes, the nurse is gone and Delaney’s chocolate eyes are focused on me. I take a few shaky breaths, then walk back over to her. I drag a chair from against the wall over to her bed, sitting down in it slowly. I don’t meet her eyes, instead let my eyes focus on the straps that are holding her arms down. Surely Delaney couldn’t have been giving them that much trouble that they’d have to restrain her. As long as I’ve known Delaney, going on sixteen years now, she’s never physically fought with someone. I, of all people, would know. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve had to get a blade out of her fingertips, but she never, ever fights me. Her fingers clench, but she doesn’t say a thing.

“Hold on,” I whisper, moving my fingers from her palm to the strap used to restrain her arm. I know I shouldn’t, but I find myself removing them. I slowly crawl onto the bed next to her, being as careful as I possibly can. She’s probably not as fragile as I’m making her out to be, but still my fingertips barely touch her skin as I move her into my arms. On instinct, she arches away from me, but then she pushes her forehead against my chest, the way she’s done it since we were young. She’s always loved the smell of my cologne, always described it as comforting.

“You came,” She says after the longest silence. I smile, burying my nose into her hair. Normally, Delaney smells exactly like apples, all the time. Or at least, her hair does. Her skin smells like the peach stuff I picked out when we went shopping together after she moved in with me. Right now, she smells like a mixture of the soap hospitals use, the kind that actually makes you smell worse than you’d smell covered in your own sweat, and the smell of hospital sheets that I’m not so sure have been washed lately.

“Of course I did,” I whisper, moving my lips to that space behind her ear, the spot that makes her shiver and curl against my chest. Instantly, my arms tighten around her. The words I should be saying linger on my tongue, apologies for what I’ve done to her. But I can’t bring myself to apologize. She shivers in my arms, and I bring the scratchy hospital blankets up around her. I should have remembered to bring her blankets from home, the nice soft ones that we use when we curl up on my couch watching our favorite movies. But it’s too late now, because soon I’ll be taking her home, to our new home. Soon, I will be asking her to be my girlfriend, for real this time. And not long after that, I will be asking her to marry me.

The best part of my relationship with Delaney is that I don’t have to use words with her, not if I don’t want to. We’re both completely content lying here in silence for the two hours before a doctor finally comes in, and allows us to sign the necessary discharge papers. Delaney tries to insist on walking, but it’s hospital policy that she has to leave the building in a wheel chair, and we’re accompanied by a nurse that can’t quite figure out what I am. I don’t blame her. With me dressed in my black, skinny-fit jeans with holes in the knees, a button up shirt, and hair that hasn’t been brushed in a week, I’m sure she sincerely believes that I’m a pathetic, low-life who still lives with his mother. But then, her eyes fall upon my car and she just can’t quite figure it out. As she reaches down to help Delaney into the passenger seat, I step in front of her, effortlessly lifting Delaney in and buckling her seatbelt in one fluid motion. As I plant a kiss on Delaney’s cheek, she lets out a small giggle.

I barely toss out a “Thanks,” towards the nurse before I’m walking past her and slipping into the drivers seat. I turn the key, listening as my engine roars to life with a small smile on my lips. My eyes drift towards Delaney, her fingers drifting towards the bandages on her arms, and the fraying edges of them. I know how much she wants to take them off. Here’s the thing about Delaney, when she cuts, she often finds them beautiful. I can only guess that it’s killing her to not be looking at them right now.

I slide my car into reverse, effortlessly backing out of the parking space without taking my eyes off her. After I put my car into drive, I let my foot linger on the brakes, giving me enough time to reach over and grab her hand. She barely looks up at me, a small smile on erupts on her lips as she interlaces her fingers with my own. I bring her hand up to my lips, kissing her knuckles. She looks away quickly, but I almost see the way her cheeks redden. She turns her body, still leaving her hand intangled with mine, and curls up in the seat so she can see out the window. I wait until we pull up at a stop sign and press play on the stereo, adjusting the volume until the soft melody fills the car. She closes her eyes, she hates car rides. They make her both anxious and nauseous. My thumb traces circles on Delaney’s hand, trying to soothe her but still I can hear her unsteady breathing. She opens her eyes again a few minutes later, and looks over at me confused.

“Where are we?” She asks, noticing that I’ve turned in the opposite direction. Her brown eyes focus on me, and for once, I can’t tell what she’s thinking.

I let a small chuckle escape my lips. “I… uh, moved?” I shrug, pretending to be focused on the road, even though I keep my eyes on her.

“You love your apartment,” She points out, and she’s right. I did love my apartment. Did being the key word here. I loved it before her blood stained the walls and the carpet and the furniture. Up until that point, it was the perfect place for me.

I shrug again. “It’s a little small for two people, don’t you think?” This is true. In my new apartment, there are three bedrooms. Enough room for us, if she says yes, to start a family if we want. I didn’t want it to be my apartment anymore. I wanted it to be hers, too. I wanted her, for the first time in her life, to have a real, stable home. I wanted to take care of her, so nothing would hurt her anymore.

Her skin pales. “I… You didn’t have to move,” She insists. “I won’t be there that long, Will!”

I squeeze her hand to reassure her. “Won’t you?” My lips pull up teasingly, and I wink at her. “I thought, at our age, most people who are dating live together.” Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say. She frowns at me, jerking her hand away.

“We’re not dating,” She says defiantly. I watch as she looks down at her lap. I know she’s wondering how long it’ll last until I’m with Rebecca. I want to reassure her that Rebecca and I really are over. That we’d been over since she showed up at my apartment the day after Delaney was admitted to the hospital. That we’d been over since Rebecca had tried kissing me, trying to sleep with me, and I realized that it was all a game to her. But I don’t. I can’t bring myself to bring Rebecca up. I reach over, grabbing her hand again. She looks up, catching my gaze.

I push my fingers in between hers, and she doesn’t bother fighting me. “But what if I want you to be my girlfriend?” I smile, looking directly into her eyes. Her gaze is still intimidating, but she doesn’t let go of my hand, instead tightens her grip.

“How…” She whispers, shifting her body in the seat so her legs are pulled tight against her chest. “How do I know you’re serious this time?”

I bite my lip. This is the point I knew she’d bring up. I don’t exactly know how to prove to her how much I need her. I don’t exactly know how to put into words the way that my skin feels when she touches me, or the way she makes my heart race when she says my name. I don’t exactly know how to tell her that I’ve never felt like this with anyone, and that for a long time I thought it was just because she was my best friend and she knew me better than anyone. I don’t know how to say that while she was gone, when I was on the verge of losing her, I figured out exactly how much I love her, how much I need her.

“You just have to trust me,” I murmur, even though we both know that I’ve given her no reason to trust me. But instead she leans over, presses her lips against my earlobe. I shiver in my seat as she whispers a simple, “I do trust you,” into my ear.

I pull into the parking lot of my apartment building, throwing my car into park. Delaney reaches over, twisting the key. She yanks the key out of the ignition, and a low growl escapes my lips as she pushes the keys into the front pocket of her jeans. I roll my eyes, pretending to be unaffected by this. I slide my hand over into her lap, but her thin fingers close around my wrist. She smiles playfully. I know this game. I lean in, pulling her in close to me and kissing her softly.

“I love you,” I whisper as I’m pulling back, my index finger reaching into the front pocket of her jeans and pulling out my keys. “Although, Miss Delaney, if you want a kiss all you have to do is ask,” I tease. She rolls her eyes. “You don’t have resort to stealing.”

She leans in close, until our lips are barely touching. “Maybe I didn’t want a kiss,” She murmurs. I arch an eyebrow and she lets her hand slip and come to rest on my thigh. She bits her lip, eyes nervous and even though we’ve done this so many times before, she always looks so nervous. So vulerable. She looks so afraid that I’m going to say no. But I don’t, instead I gently push her against the passenger seat and tangle my lips with hers.

“Wait,” She says after a moment, tangling her hands in my hair. I pull back, breathless and confused. She smiles at me, and leans in so her lips are barely touching the side of my mouth. “I forgot to say that I love you too,” She whispers before moving back in to kiss me.