Page 38

Okay…

Main menu.

Music.

And the moment of truth… Playlists.

Let’s see what we have…

Oh.

There’s only one playlist, titled Memento Mori.

That’s unexpectedly morbid, even by my standards. Which is saying something, considering I’ve spent my entire life idolizing the likes of the morbid, sarcastic queens who hailed the silver screen before me: Lydia Deetz, Morticia Addams, Lily Munster, and Daria Morgendorffer, to name a few.

I spin through the song selections, of which there are plenty—two hundred thirteen, to be exact.

Overwhelmed with the song choices, I take the floor beginning to rumble beneath us as my cue to get a move on and select one at random.

My Chemical Romance’s “The Ghost of You” fills our earbuds as we stand stiff as two boards staring at one another, waiting for one of us to make a move.

It takes a few seconds but we eventually meet each other in the middle to dance together. Though there’s no denying that this dance feels very different to what a dance years ago would’ve felt like.

The lyrics drenched in grief, that I’ve belted out since the album dropped years ago, whether in the car, the shower, or crying all alone, take on a new meaning as we find ourselves swaying as one to the music.

I’ve always found this song to be romantic.

As sad as it is to lose someone, whether to sickness, natural causes, or in our case a sadistic computer simulation straight out of The Twilight Zone, is a tragedy. But to have felt a connection with that person that surpasses life, that sticks with you until there’s nothing left, as tragic as it is, it’s still special. Think about it, there are so many people that waltz in and out of our lives, some for a season, some for longer, but how many waltz into our lives and embed themselves in our hearts? That mattered enough to have left a lasting impression on our lives?

That’s what Rennix was—and will always be—for me.

He was a soundboard for when I needed to go through my talk-out-loud-to-process-things moments.

He was a shoulder to cry on when I needed it.

He was someone to laugh with, to pass the time with, to sneak out after midnight on cool October nights to explore haunted, abandoned houses with.

He was all the good I had in my life.

And when the bad thoughts crept in like they always did, he was the only reason I was able to believe that things would be okay, even if my broken heart wanted me to believe otherwise.

The song ends, bleeding into another classic, Avril Lavigne’s “I’m With You,” and we progress from softly swaying with hands awkwardly interlaced to his hands on my hips—where they belong—and mine clasped around his neck, with a view I’ll never tire of—him looking at me with nothing but love. It doesn’t have to be said. It’s there. I can feel it. In fact, I can feel it so intensely that it is overwhelming me with a level of confidence I can’t ignore.

He’s all I’ve ever wanted, and I’m not letting another moment go by without saying it. I’m not leaving here until I tell him what I’ve held inside. No, fuck that. I’m laying it all out on the nonexistent table. Right. Fucking. Now.

Rennix

This isn’t good.

She is giving me the look. Albeit the look I’m referring to is different than I remember it being. Usually when Lia scowls at me it’s playful. But this time? Playful is the furthest thing from my mind to describe how she’s looking at me.

It’s angry. Intense. Unbelievably sexy. Yet the longer I gaze into her irises, the more I’m reminded this will be the last time I’ll be able to look at her like this, and I can feel my heart breaking all over again.

“I’m not leaving.” The intensity in her stare revs up as the words hit the air.

I had a feeling this was where she was going. I open my mouth to speak, and she lunges at me, pressing a finger to my lips. “I’m not done.”

“Go on,” I mumble against her finger, barely able to get the words out with how firmly it’s pressed against me.