Within/Without

chapter thirty-five.

Simon - present day 

Val can barely contain her excitement as I hand her the room key and let her do the honors. I, on the other hand, am holding my breath.

    I asked, of course, for two separate beds. But asking does not always mean receiving.

    The door clicks open, though, and all the tension filters out of me. The hotel room's narrow, but has more than enough space for the two of us. Two queen-size beds complete with fluffy white comforters and that typical ridiculously soft hotel mattress sit on either side of a nightstand, a flat screen television set up across from them. From the room's edge branches the balcony. If I close my eyes, I can hear the rise and hush of the ocean on the shoreline. If I open them, I see the stars and the moon rippling in the water. The beach. The sea, the sand, the sun. Last time I was here was spring break in tenth grade. Last time I was here, I didn't have Val with me.

    Nothing is the same anymore—not that I'd ever want it to be.

    Val claims one of the beds by walking over to it and flopping down harder than a rock. She sighs and blinks up at the ceiling, and I just watch, trying to figure out what I did to somehow deserve this. To deserve her.

    "Simon?" she says, her voice splitting the silence. "I want food."

    I chuckle. "I doubt anything's open this late."

    "Nuh-uh. The bellhop said room service is open 24/7."

    "Those poor chefs," I say, wandering over to the desk, where in fact the room service menu lies. I page through it, searching for the only food I ever crave. "Having to put up with late night snackers like us."

    "Snack? Who said anything about a snack?" Val repeats, astonished. I glance back at her, and she's halfway sat up, grinning at me. "I want a full course meal."

    This is how we end up on the balcony at four in the morning with a bowl of spaghetti, two different sushi platters, and a bread basket between us. Everything seems out of place. Us, the food, the time. And yet nothing feels more natural.

    Val takes off her sweatshirt and hangs it over the railing, basking in the moonlight in only a tank top and a pair of leggings. I pretend to be unperturbed. "I still have so many questions for you, you know?" she says, twirling her fork around in the spaghetti. "About your shapeshifting, yeah, but also just about you. You and me and all the memories we have together that I don't know we have together."

    I place one of the sushi rolls—tuna and rice—on my tongue extra slow, just to watch Val's face as she laughs at me. "Is that so?" I say, still with my tongue out. "Ask away, then."

    "I don't know where to start."

    "Start anywhere."

    "You said I met you for the first time as Oliver. And if Oliver was, you know, my first ever boyfriend—"

    "And the first time you ever went on a date," I add. "And your first kiss—"

    "Then all that really began with you?" Val finishes, and when I nod, she shakes her head. "Crazy."

    "Crazy," I agree.

    "Freshman year," Val moves on, "Eli Perez and Jack McPherson both ran for class president. Both of those people are you."

    I shrug. "It was a social experiment. When Jack won, it proved my theory that student politics is really just a popularity contest."

    "You sicko," she says, but laughs again, warm and genuine. She reaches to tie her hair back, then leans forward, staring at me. If I look hard enough, I can see the moonlight reflected in her eyes, turning them both to precious gemstones as I watch. "I just don't get it. I just don't get you, Simon St. John. Isn't it hard? Juggling all these different versions of yourself? Like, you can't be two places at once."

    "I'm really good at scheduling," I tell her, and while she's close, I place a roll of sushi in her mouth. "Guess."

    She frowns. "Salmon?"

    "Okay, fine. That was too easy," I say. I reach for another, but she stops me, her hand finding my own and pulling it back.

    "Simon," she says, scooting closer to me, so close, even, that I hear the soft breath as it leaves her mouth. "I love you."

    I touch her cheek, trying to ignore the constant thrumming of my heartbeat. "You told me that already, beautiful."

    "But I really mean it."

    "You don't have to tell me a million times for me to believe you, Val," I say. "You've shown me well enough."

    The ocean is a constant harmony in the background, a dark, undulating sea of black in the night. I listen to the waves rise and fall, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself be truly at peace.

    Until Val is on top of me. And then I can't think straight.

    I'm still reclined in the balcony chair, but Val has left hers behind, straddling my waist instead and holding my face in her hands and tilting my chin up. There is no more sea, there is no more moon, there is no more sky. It is Val and I and nothing else, and willingly, I drown.

    Her voice is hush, almost inaudible. "Do you regret any of it?" she asks me. "All these years you switched and switched and switched. Do you regret it?"

    I don't think you can regret something that was never a choice in the first place. I tell her, "I only regret not telling you sooner," I tell her, as she slides a hand beneath my shirt. "Could you imagine that? We'd have done so much more."

    "More what?"

    "More this," I say, and she giggles as I crane my neck forward a little, sealing her mouth with mine. She comes closer, wrapping her arms around my back, cushioning the back of my head with her hand. Her chest is warm and alive against me, her hair coming down around us in a curtain of black as she kisses me, breathes, kisses me again. I realize I could do this for hours. She tastes like everything I've ever needed.

    I'm so lucky. I'm the luckiest man alive.

    Val kisses me and I kiss her until we both run out of oxygen, and then we rest in each other's arms, Val draped over me like a blanket, my arms holding her firmly against me. I sit there and listen to her pulse and listen to the ocean and I almost think the two match for a second.

    "One thing," Val says.

    "What?"

    "I'm just—" She sighs, burrowing her face in my neck. "I'm missing so much class for this."

    I wait a moment, and then I laugh, moving one of her dreadlocks behind her ear. "Yeah?" I say. "And does it matter?"

    "Nope," she says. "Not one bit."