Read Online Love Is the Higher Law by David Levithan - Free Book Online

said.
    “Hello,” he said.
    Little simple words.
    “Isn’t the couch comfy?” I lifted myself a little so I wouldn’t crush him, then eased back down.
    “I guess,” he mumbled.
    I was still going back/forth, yes/no, leave/make out.
    Finally I pushed it.
    “But why are you sleeping here?” I asked, falling back on flirtation. When I didn’t get a response—yes, he was a little miffed—I stood up, gave him my hand, and told him to come on. I was still searching for that current—or maybe I was trying to manufacture it. But even as we walked to my room, holding hands, I felt the voltage start to diminish. We veered toward the open window and stood there silent for a little while. Even on a regular night, hard rain like this would have made us notice. But now it seemed almost biblical in its appearance. Wash us clean, maybe. Or drown us all.
    I’d let go of his hand without really meaning to. It’s just hard to hold a hand for that long. But then he made this completely obvious move to take it back, and I thought he was finally going to push me into something. Instead he backed away.
    I goaded him. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?” A line I’d used before.
    And it worked, because almost immediately he was leaning into me. And it didn’t work, because the emptiness came back.
    It made me angry. Mostly at myself. And also at him. For his stupid innocence. For making me think I could be woken up by a kiss.
    I found myself saying, “Is that all?” Goading him again. Pushing him harder. Letting it be like that.
    And he heard that. He kissed me again.
    I wanted to feel something. But I couldn’t get to it. Maybe with someone else, someone yet to be found. But not with him.
    “What’s going on?” he asked. Like I knew. Like any of us knew.
    “I guess it’s raining,” I said, wanting him to find me on his own, because I couldn’t find myself.
    And I got that disappointment again.
    “That’s not what I meant,” he said.
    What did I feel? Something between sleepwalking and defeat. Something between victim and victimizer.
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “This was a bad idea. I should have left you alone.”
    This was not what he wanted to hear.
    “I’ll just go back to the couch,” he said, already moving to leave.
    “No,” I said, trying to stop him. “You can stay here. We can just sleep.”
    Not sex. Just us next to each other.
    But he couldn’t see it. He insisted on returning to thecouch, and I felt he was giving me my own punishment, one I deserved. I tried to hold him—I tried one more hug, tried to get what I needed there—but it didn’t last for long. The night was over. He stared out the window, and there was nothing to see—not Manhattan, just Brooklyn. Nobody working around the clock, nobody digging, nobody searching for a miracle. Just rain and lightning and darkness.
    I could hear him after he left. Back on the couch, shifting from side to side. I stayed standing by the window. I had no idea what had just happened, and I knew he didn’t, either. I had never felt so much like my life was not my own, that I was just a vessel for things I would never understand. I didn’t want him … but if I didn’t want him, what did I want? I didn’t want to be alone … but if I didn’t want to be alone, then why didn’t I want to be with anyone else?
    Limbo is the state where there are only questions.
    That was as far as I’d gotten.

I CAN’T SLEEP
Claire
    I can’t sleep.
    It’s not just the sound of the rain outside. It’s not the unfamiliarity of the bed I’m lying in. It’s not my mother’s deep, uneasy breathing next to me. It’s the thoughts. They will not go to sleep, so I cannot go to sleep.
    The bedroom we’re sleeping in was once Rana’s. Now it’s a guest room. You can only find traces of her in the folds, the corners no one cares about. Even though this is our third night sleeping here, I’m still not used to it. Nor am I used to sharing a bed with my mother. I