My classmate survived the crash but his brother didn’t

 Choosing to Stay

But here’s the thing about sharing your deepest trauma with someone.

Once you’ve both bled all over each other emotionally, you can’t go back to being strangers.

The next seven days were about to prove that I’m much better at saving people than I am at keeping my feelings in check.

And Eugene, he was about to find out that staying put meant dealing with feelings he’d been running from, too.

Third update. Eugene just told me he needs space from me, the person who kept him from running away.

Apparently, I’m becoming his reason to stay, and that’s not healthy.

I’m sitting in my car trying to process how saving someone turned into whatever mess just happened on day 22.

After the cemetery, we didn’t talk for 2 days.

Not because we were avoiding each other, but because what do you say after something like that?

I’d held him while he sobbed about his dead brother. He’d watched me admit my mom abandoned me like I was trash.

We’d crossed some invisible line, and neither of us knew how to walk it back or move forward.

So, we just texted stupid memes back and forth, pretending everything was normal when nothing was normal anymore.

Day 16. He finally broke the silence with an actual text.

“Coffee and before you ask, “Yes, I’ll eat something.”

I showed up to find him already there with two muffins and my usual order waiting.

“Look at you,” remembering I’m lactose intolerant,” I said, sliding into the booth.

“Hard to forget when you dramatically announced it to the entire Starbucks last week.”

We sat there for 2 hours, not talking about Miles or my mom or running away, just existing in the same space without it feeling like we were on suicide watch.

But Eugene was still Eugene. Day 17, he canceled last minute.

Day 18, he showed up but barely talked. Just stared at his phone like it held the secrets of the universe.

“You okay?” I asked after 20 minutes of silence. “Define.”

“Okay,” he said without looking up, “not actively planning to flee the state.”

“The bar’s that low now.” “The bar’s underground, Eugene.” He almost smiled at that. “Almost.”

Day 20. Eugene showed up at my house without warning.

“My parents are having their monthly, let’s pretend our son didn’t die dinner party. Can I just be here?”

We spent the night on my roof, him pointing out constellations while I pretended to understand what he was talking about.

“That one’s Cassopia,” he said, tracing the shape with his finger.

“She was vain and got turned into a constellation as punishment.” “Harsh,” I said.

“Better than disappearing, though,” he said quietly. “Yeah,” I agreed. “Way better.”

I should have known something was shifting when he started talking about the future.

Not in a I’m planning my escape way, but casual mentions.

“when we graduate,” he’d say, “Or next summer, we should like he was actually planning to stick around.”

He even mentioned looking at colleges, all local ones, and my heart did this embarrassing somersault thing.

Because maybe, just maybe, I was part of the reason he wanted to stay.

And that’s when I knew I was in trouble because I’d started noticing things I shouldn’t.

Like how he pushed his hair back when he was concentrating.

How he hummed these random physics equations under his breath.

How when he smiled, one side went up higher than the other.

Stupid things that made my chest feel weird and tight.

The 22nd day was when Eugene confronted me on my feelings.

We were at the park sitting on swings like we were 5 years old when he suddenly stopped swinging.

“Heather,” he said, and I knew from his tone that something was wrong.

“What?” I asked, even though I didn’t want to know.

“I’ve been thinking and I need to tell you something.”

I braced myself to hear the worst news of my life because nothing good ever followed those words.

“You’re my reason to stay in this town,” he said, not looking at me.

My heart stopped. “These past few weeks, you’ve made me remember what it’s like to actually want to wake up in the morning.”

“But that’s the problem.” I was so confused. “How is that a problem?”

“Because I can’t stay just in this town for you.”

“I need to want to stay for myself.”

“I need to actually heal, not just,” he paused as if carefully choosing his words. “Attach myself to you like you’re some kind of life raft.”

The words hit me like a punch because he was right. And I hated that he was right.

“I signed up for therapy,” he continued. “Real therapy, not just coffee shops and midnight screaming.”

“And I think I think I need to do this part alone, at least for a while.”

I wanted to argue to tell him that was stupid, that we were good together.

But I couldn’t because I understood. God, I understood completely.

“Okay,” I said even though it felt like swallowing glass. “Okay.”

We sat there on those swings, not talking, both knowing everything had changed again.

And the stupidest part, I’d fallen in love with him somewhere between the cemetery and the constellation lessons.

But he needed to save himself, and I had to let him.

Some people think that when you ask for space, the other person just sits around waiting for you.

But some people are about to discover that eight days of silence works both ways.

And apparently Eugene’s been busier than I thought.

Stay tuned for what happens at winter formal because day 30 is going to be absolutely insane.

And spoiler alert, I’m not the one who’s been preparing something special, but I might be the one who ends up speechless.

I’m literally crying in my bathroom and my mascara is everywhere.

Eugene just did something on the day of winter formal I never saw coming and I can’t breathe.

Two months ago, he wanted to leave everything behind. Tonight, tonight, he just changed everything.

Days 23 through 29 sucked. There’s no poetic way to say it.

Eugene kept his word about needing space, which meant complete radio silence.

No texts, no memes, not even the stupid Tik Toks we used to send at 3:00 a.m..

I saw him once at the grocery store, and we both pretended not to notice each other, which was super fun, and not at all like being stabbed in the chest repeatedly.

I spent most of the week in bed re-watching The Office and eating cereal for every meal because apparently that’s what you do when you’re in love with someone who needs to heal independently or whatever.

My dad kept asking if I was sick. I told him yes because heartbreak probably counts as an illness, right?

Should be covered by insurance, honestly.

Day 27. I actually typed out a text to Eugene that said, “I miss you.”

But deleted it because what was the point? He needed space.

I was giving him space even though the space felt like it was killing me slowly.

Day 30 was the day of winter formal, the official end of our deal. I wasn’t going.

30 days ago, I’d torn up Eugene’s note and promised him 30 reasons to stay in town, one per day until winter formal.

Well, here we were. I’d kept my promise, given him every reason I could think of from midnight swimming to playing in the park.

And it worked, I guess. He was still here, not on some train to nowhere.

I was trying not to think about how I wanted to go to the dance with him, how I wanted to celebrate making it to 30 days.

Instead, I had my whole pity party planned out.

sweatpants, ice cream, maybe a good cry while watching some terrible romcom where people actually end up together.

But then the doorbell rang.

My dad was out, so I had to drag myself downstairs, fully prepared to tell whatever girl scout was selling cookies that I’d take 50 boxes of Thin Mints because emotional eating is valid.

Except it wasn’t a Girl Scout. It was Eugene in a suit.

An actual suit that fit him properly and everything. He was holding a journal and his hands were shaking.

“Hi,” he said, and his voice cracked like we were in middle school. “Hi.” I managed.

Very aware that I was wearing Spongebob pajama pants.

“So, I’ve been going to therapy, right?”

“Like real therapy with a real therapist who has degrees and everything.”

He was talking fast, nervous. I wondered where he was going with this.

“And she made me write things down. Homework, she called it.”

He held up the journal, still talking fast.

“I was supposed to write reasons to stay. My own reasons, not for anyone else.”

“I have 30.” He opened the journal with shaking hands, flipping through pages covered in his messy handwriting.

“There’s simple ones like number seven. The way rain sounds on the school roof during chemistry.”

“Ones that took so much courage to write like 18.”

“My parents need me even if we don’t know how to talk about Miles yet.”

His voice got quieter. “Number 29 was the most eyeopening.”

“This town has all my memories of Miles. The good ones, too.”

“And leaving wouldn’t make them hurt less.”

He looked up at me then, and his eyes were wet. “But I have a 31st reason.”

“One I wasn’t supposed to write because it’s about you.”

“But I wrote it anyway because some rules are meant to be broken.”

My heart was pounding and hands shaking.

“Reason 31,” he said. And his voice was shaking, but he kept going.

“I want to love you the right way.”

“Not because you saved me or because you’re my reason to stay, but because you’re stubborn and ridiculous and you pushed me into a pool in October.”

“Because you can’t understand constellations, no matter how many times I explain them.”

“Because you saw me at my absolute worst and didn’t run away.” “Eugene,” I whispered.

“When I think about the future now, I don’t think about leaving.” “I think about being here in this town.”

“I wanted to escape, but with you.” And somehow that makes everything different.

I was crying, full-on crying on my doorstep in Spongebob pajamas while Eugene confessed his feelings with a journal in his hands.

“So, I’m standing here in this stupid suit that took me 3 hours to pick out, asking if you’ll go to winter formal with me.”

“Not because it’s day 30 or because we had a deal, but because I can’t imagine going with anyone else.”

“I can’t imagine doing anything without you anymore.”

“And that doesn’t scare me like it did 8 days ago.” “It just feels right.”

I looked at this boy who’d wanted to disappear, who’d been so broken he couldn’t see a future.

This boy who’d learned the difference between needing someone and choosing them.

“You bought a suit,” I said, which was stupid, but my brain wasn’t working properly.

“I bought a suit,” he confirmed.

“The guy at the store said it brings out my eyes. I don’t know what that means, but it sounded important.”

I laughed through my tears. He was right.

“I like you, Heather,” he said suddenly. And so I kissed him.

I just grabbed his stupid suit jacket and pulled him down and kissed him right there in my doorway.

He dropped the journal and his hands went to my face and we were both crying and kissing and it was messy and perfect and everything.

10 minutes later, I was in a dress that matched his suit, and we went to winter formal.