Me-Before-You-by-Jojo-Moyes

possibility. I let him know a hurt had been mended in a way that he couldn’t
have known, and for that alone there would always be a piece of me indebted to
him. And as I spoke I knew these would be the most important words I would
ever say and that it was important that they were the right words, that they were
not propaganda, an attempt to change his mind, but respectful of what Will had
said.
I told him something good.
Time slowed, and stilled. It was just the two of us, me murmuring in the
empty, sunlit room. Will didn’t say much. He didn’t answer back, or add a dry
comment, or scoff. He nodded occasionally, his head pressed against mine, and
murmured, or let out a small sound that could have been satisfaction at another
good memory.
‘It has been,’ I told him, ‘the best six months of my entire life.’
There was a long silence.
‘Funnily enough, Clark, mine too.’
And then, just like that, my heart broke. My face crumpled, my composure
went and I held him tightly and I stopped caring that he could feel the shudder of
my sobbing body because grief swamped me. It overwhelmed me and tore at my
heart and my stomach and my head and it pulled me under, and I couldn’t bear it.
I honestly thought I couldn’t bear it.
‘Don’t, Clark,’ he murmured. I felt his lips on my hair. ‘Oh, please. Don’t.
Look at me.’
I screwed my eyes shut and shook my head.
‘Look at me. Please.’
I couldn’t.
‘You’re angry. Please. I don’t want to hurt you or make you –’
‘No … ’ I shook my head again. ‘It’s not that. I don’t want … ’ My cheek was
pressed to his chest. ‘I don’t want the last thing you see to be my miserable,
blotchy face.’
‘You still don’t get it, Clark, do you?’ I could hear the smile in his voice. ‘It’s
not your choice.’
It took some time to regain my composure. I blew my nose, took a long deep
breath. Finally, I raised myself on my elbow, and I looked back at him. His eyes,
so long strained and unhappy, looked oddly clear and relaxed.