On my way up to the cabin today, I pick up a takeout for Ryland and me to eat. After I pick up the food, I make the ten-minute drive up the hill, my heart leaping with excitement the closer I get. It’s the only time my pulse ever does that—usually it’s out of fear. By the time I spot the cabin, I feel elated. Whole. At peace with myself, whoever I might be. I park the car just a ways off, then slip on my jacket and grab the bag of food before climbing out of the car. I take my time walking through the dried out grass, the cool breeze caressing my cheeks and whispering through my hair. I feel a sense of tranquility up here with the town below, in the distance, where I have to live my life as someone I don’t think I am.

“I didn’t think you’d show up.” As soon as I hear Ryland’s voice floating from the cracked window of the cabin, a smile touches my lips. A real one too, not the fake one I show everyone else.

Even though I can’t see him, only hear him, I know he’s inside—he’s always in there and I pick up my pace across the field, feeling myself getting closer to him. “I told you I’d be back,” I call out. “I’ll always come back, Ryland.”

“You say that now, but one day, you’ll stop coming up here,” he utters softly. I see his shadow cast across the window as I approach the front door. There are bits of logs and bricks piled out front in the yard and the entire house looks like it needs a bit of maintenance, but to me, it just makes it look more welcoming—ruined, rundown, imperfect.

“Never.” I duck my head below the low porch and step inside, the floorboards creaking beneath my shoes. The roof showers a bit of dust on my head and I brush some off my hair as I walk toward the living room where there’s a rocking chair and a fireplace, along with a window. Rays of sunlight glimmer through the glass as I take a seat on the floor on the rug. I set the bag down and relax back on my hands, tipping my head back and basking in the warmth of the sunlight through the window as it kisses my face. Then I wait for Ryland to come to me—always do. He’s skittish, something I learned when I first met him and he barely would talk to me or stand near me. He has social anxiety and a bit of agoraphobia because of something that has happened to him in his life—he’s never given me the exact details, only that he never can leave this place. He’s not crazy or anything despite what some people might think—I’ve been coming up here for six years to visit him and he only makes me feel safe and welcome.

“I brought you food,” I entice, without opening my eyes. “You better hurry up before it gets cold.”

I hear him chuckle, this low chuckle that makes me shiver in ways I’m not comfortable with, whether I’m Maddie or Lily because it confuses me. No one makes me feel the way that Ryland does and it seems like every time I come up here, he brings out another new emotion I have to spend days figuring out. And by the time I’ve figured it out, a new one’s arose.

“You really think I mind if my food is cold?” he says and I feel the warmth of the sunlight leave my face and I know he’s right in front of me.

I peek open my eyes and smile up at him. “Took you long enough.”

He shakes his head, almost smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes—never does. “That’s because I was hoping you’d leave me.”

“When will you start realizing you’re good enough for me to visit,” I say to him as I sit up, taking in the sight of him. He’s always wearing a plaid shirt with missing buttons over a t-shirt and his jeans are so worn there’s several holes all over them. He’s around my age with sandy, untamed hair that flips up near his ears and hangs in his eyes. His eyes are actually strange in a fascinating way. Two different colors if you look closely; one green and the other a greenish blue, almost like he could be two different people completely, depending on which angle you look at him. His legs are long, his body lean, he has smudges of dirty skin and the holes in his clothes. If I was an artist, I’d draw him all the time, something I actually looked into after the accident, when I felt this dire need to sketch. Turns out, I was never an artist, or at least said my fucked up doodle of what was supposed to be a tree and some flowers, but sort of looked like a garden gnome stepping on ants when I closed one eye and stared at it.

“When will you realize I’m not good enough for you to waste your time with? You really should let me go,” he replies. I stare at him and he stares back. There’s this unspoken rule that whoever looks away first, loses. He always loses and finally he sighs, sitting down on the air mattress beside me. “Fine, you win for today.”

I grin. “I always win.” I nudge the food bag toward him and he reluctantly takes it, putting it on his lap without opening it up. He gazes off at the window across from us and through it, I can see the quiet city below and the leafless trees.

“Sometimes, I feel like it’s moving farther away,” he utters quietly without taking his eyes off the town.

“Maybe that means you should go down there,” I say, taking in his profile, his nose, his lips, the ones that I want to taste, yet I don’t at the same time because I’m scared. “Maybe it’s time to leave this place.”

“I can’t.” He says it so soundlessly I barely hear him.

“Why not?”

His jaw tightens and then he whispers, “Please don’t start today. I’m begging you.”

I sigh and give him what he asks—he’s the only person I’ll do that with. Silence stretches between us, but it’s comfortable. There are some days where I come up here and neither of us says anything at all to each other. Those are near perfect days.

“So do you want to tell me what’s on your mind today?” he asks, opening the takeout bag and peeking inside.

I shake my head and flop back on the mattress, draping my arm over my forehead. “Not really.” I shut my eyes and relax.

Do you feel that Maddie?

The peace.

There’s a pause and then he lies down beside me, close enough that I can feel his presence but far enough that we’re not touching. We’ve actually never touched and I could blame it on the fact that he’s so skittish, but I’d be lying to myself if I did. The real reason is me. I’m afraid—afraid that the peace I get coming here will change somehow if we touch. “Are you sure? Because you seem sad,” he says.

“I always seem sad,” I remind him. “And so do you.”

Another pause and I secretly hope that he’ll tell me why he’s sad, why he lives here in the middle of nowhere—anything really, because I know nothing about him. I once offered for us to move in together so he wouldn’t have to be so lonely, but he said he couldn’t. So all I can do is cross my fingers that one day, whatever’s keeping him here, will finally let him go.

“It’s getting worse,” I eventually say, cracking the silence. “Lily… it feels like she’s gaining more control over my mind.” It’s amazing how easy it is to talk to him about this stuff, how freeing it is, if only for a moment.

“I don’t think you should worry about her so much.” He never judges, never seems afraid, accepts me for who I am. “You need to stop fearing who you are and just be yourself.”

“But I don’t even know who I am,” I reply, desperate to reach over and hold his hand—finally touch him. But I’m afraid of what will change between us if we touch.... Afraid he’ll disappear... Or maybe I will. “Maddie… Lily… they’re supposed to be two different people, but both of them feel like me…. God, I sound so crazy.”

“Crazy’s not always such a bad thing. You can be two people, Maddie, if that’s how you feel—be whoever makes you happy,” he says, shifting his weight. I feel the sunlight vanish and when I open my eyes I find him leaning over me, eyes warm and caring. “And I think everyone’s got a little crazy in them, but have a hard time admitting it exists.”

“I can’t admit it exists,” I admit, thinking about what he said. Be whoever makes me happy? I’m not sure who that is. “I can only imagine what would happen if I did.”