62 | Step 34

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No. No. This can't be happening. We'll figure it out. We have to. It can't be over.

But what if it is? What if it ended when I left him, or even before, and the last moment passed me by unnoticed? What if no matter how long and hard we try, no matter what either of us does, no matter our course, it never works? It feels like we were meant to be together, but that tells me nothing. Cinderella and Prince Charming knew they were soulmates, but so did Romeo and Juliet. Romances and tragedies both start the same way. For all I know, it's already over for us. Even if I knew, I'm not sure how long I could stay away. I've tried giving up, and it doesn't work.

What if the problem isn't with the way I'm trying to communicate, but with what I'm trying to express, with what I'm feeling? There's a painfully simple solution to that problem. I can communicate anything I want, anything I have to. I want to communicate the truth, but keeping Scott is more important. I can worry about making it true later. Resolve settles in me like lead. I will not let him go.

He's not looking at me anymore. He's cutting his portion into even smaller pieces, and I can't see his face at all. His knife is shaking. "I don't understand," he tells his plate, eyes downcast.

I try to compose my face, but I don't know what I'm supposed to look like I'm feeling. I try to speak, but what can I say? There's nothing. If all it took to fix this were a lie, I would have solved it a long time ago. He even asked me to lie to him, to tell him he was right about Alex and me, but I'm glad I didn't. He already believes enough lies.

Maybe the time hasn't come yet. Maybe I need to give Scott more time. Maybe he can get better faster if I take a few steps back, make things simpler.

"It's you?" Even now, he isn't certain. "You're Mitchell Lover?"

There are only two L's in @mitchellover, so it's more like Mitchell Over, but it's an easy mistake to make. "Yes."

"I don't understand. How?"

"I'm so sorry. I tried to tell you." I could have tried harder. "I literally told you, and you thought it was a role play chat. Scott, I—"

"No, I mean, how could you say those things? They're not true."

"Did you not just see me eat that, Scott? Would you even believe me after I turned over my kidneys?"

"No, not what you'd do, who I am. I'm trying to understand. The things you said about me, though, they aren't true anymore. I'm not who you knew. I was—"

"Scott, no. Literally every single thing I said is still true. I mean, I don't know if you're still good with kids, but I don't doubt that you are, and everything else I've seen with my own two eyes in just the past week." There's not even a hint of understanding in his face. "Listen." I pull up the list and read the whole thing again, this time with examples. He's still hardworking; he just dropped his third album in three years. He tries to tell me he didn't do it alone, like there's nothing special about him. He's definitely still humble; case in point. He's a leader; he got his label to let him keep his album secret, and he got his team to keep their mouths shut. He's still a child. He's never stopped maturing, and his struggles have forced him to see a darker side of life, but it doesn't change the way he couldn't wait to show me his album, or how he dragged me to his studio for karaoke, or the way he pouted at me until I agreed to try a chocolate dipped pineapple. He's still smart, still funny when he's in the mood, more talented than ever, still sweet and beloved and everything else. He's still Scott.

I tweet from my side account to prove it's me, and even log out and log back in again. He's still confused. "How did you figure out it was me? When did you know?"

"I already knew when I started tweeting you."

"How?"

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