That was eight months ago. Now, Eli is curled up on June’s couch while rain streaks the windows. The pothos—now thriving, thank you very much—trails from a shelf above them. June is reading aloud from a book of queer poetry, her voice drowsy and warm. Eli has her head in June’s lap, and June’s free hand is absently playing with Eli’s hair.

June closes the book. She looks down at Eli with an expression that makes Eli’s chest feel too small for her heart.

Eli thinks about the cliff she stepped off at seventeen. About the fall. About how she thought landing would hurt.

It wasn’t like the first time with Margo. That had been frantic, hungry, desperate for proof. This was slow. Deliberate. June pulled back to look at Eli, her thumb tracing Eli’s jawline.

Strona wykorzystuje pliki cookies w celu prawidłowego jej działania oraz korzystania z narzędzi analitycznych, reklamowych i społecznościowych. Szczegóły znajdują się w polityce prywatności. Możesz zarządzać ustawieniami plików cookies, klikając w przycisk "Ustawienia". Ustawienia Rozumiem i akceptuję