—Robert Frost

I hadn't been asleep long.

Devon promised the high was better this way, as he found the vein in my neck and shot me up there for the first time. Most of the veins in my arms and legs had already collapsed, so we had resorted to finding other areas to prick and poke. The neck, Devon said, would make the hit feel stronger.

But he had vastly underestimated the power of it.

My vision went out first, as I fell to the floor of my flat, with my knees taking most of the impact. The rush was good, way too good, and I knew it couldn't have been just heroin. My tolerance was too high to lose control like that.

"What..." I could sense Devon standing over me on the ground. "What was that?"

"Just go with it, bro." Though he was right next to me, his voice sounded far, far away.

In an instant, I couldn't breathe. I kept taking huge breaths, gasping for oxygen, but I couldn't get any air. My chest felt heavier and heavier, each second placing more bricks on my torso.

"You alright?" Devon's voice was getting more distant.

I wanted to tell him no, I'm not fucking alright, but I couldn't breathe, much less speak. That was when I felt someone pulling me... dragging my thin, limp body across the floor, and outside the doorway of my flat.

I thought maybe I was swimming, because Devon's voice sounded like he was talking underwater.

"Julian's gone over... He's hardly breathing... No, I'm not ringing the fucking medics, Tommy! The hell if I'm getting locked up over this shit... If you want to help, you come get him and take his arse to hospital!"

Was he talking about me? The way Devon spoke, made it sound like I was dying. But why didn't I feel like I was dying? There was no pain at all. My knees didn't even hurt from taking the impact of my body weight on the unforgiving floor. I just had a beautiful, overwhelming sense of warmth covering me.

Everyone made dying sound like such a drawn out, excruciating ordeal. For me, it felt like being born, in reverse. Like I was getting smaller and smaller, and moving back into my mother's womb.

Instead of panicking, I calmly accepted that my time was up.

I was almost ready to go, but something started to nag my brain. I couldn't remember what it was. Something keeping me from drifting completely away.

"Brooke." I tried to scream her name, but it came out softly.

The rush was pounding my senses, fighting to pull me under.

"No. I need to see Brooke." I wasn't sure to whom I was talking, maybe just myself, but after an indiscernible amount of time, everything went black and I drifted into the deepest sleep.

"CLEAR!" An unfamiliar voice yelled. "We've got him back!"

I screamed at the pain of something lodged in my thigh, then projectile vomited all of the contents of my stomach.

"Two shots of Narcan, successful," the stranger said to another stranger.

"How are you feeling, Julian?" he asked whilst shining a tiny flashlight in my eyes. I felt my pupils constricting, as my headache pounded in time with the sound of the ambulance sirens. "Are you back with us? What do you need?"

"Brooke."

She shook me.

"Julian!" I couldn't see her face in the dark, but her sweet voice brought me out of the nightmare. A nightmare I had lived through once, and never wanted to live through again. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Relief swept through me to realise I was in my own bed, at my flat. And she was here. She was always here.

"You were calling my name," she said. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm perfect now." I rolled over to cover her body with mine. All of my hyper-vigilance washed away.

"Oh my God, you scared me so much." With my ear on her chest, I could hear her busy heart thrumming.

"You never need to be scared again," I promised her in a drowsy voice, halfway between wakefulness and dreamland.

"Are you sure you don't need anything?" She writhed under my body, trying to slip away to fetch something for me that I didn't need.

"I need you to stay right here." I yawned and pulled the thick duvet back over us, which I had likely kicked off during the night.

"What were you dreaming about?" Her voice was soft in the dark room.

"Nothing at all that you have to worry your beautiful head about." I cuddled against her cool skin. "It's all over. The real nightmare, and the dream nightmare."

I felt her tense under me.

"I'm okay, I promise." I aimed to kiss her lips, but got her chin instead. "I would tell you if something was wrong. I don't want to keep anything from you anymore."

"I love you." She aimed for my lips, and got my lips.

"I love you, more than you could ever know," I swore to her. "Now, marry me."

Brooke laughed, and it was the sweetest sound I'd ever heard... so perfect that it made my chest hurt.

Quiet moments passed between us in the dark, as we lay entwined under the thick, blue duvet.

"I should've never let you leave after New Year's." The thought had been with me more often as of late.

"I'm here now," Brooke whispered, just centimetres from my face. Her cool breath soothed me. "That's all that matters."

She was right. She always was.

...

Brooke was still asleep when I woke to leave for dialysis. More times than would have been deemed reasonable, I looked back at my bed, with her in it, and considered not going to hospital at all.

What an absolute fool I'd been. For the rest of my life, three times a week, I'd be wasting these precious hours getting my blood cleaned—time that I could have spent with Brooke. To feel better, I reminded myself that I'd almost lost my life from my own senseless stupidity, and wouldn't have had any days to stare at her dark hair swirled in a pile atop my pillow.

So, in the greater sense, I was one lucky son of a bitch.

Whilst sat in the waiting area, I decided to text Mase. I hadn't heard from him since the tour ended, so I wondered if he even knew everything that had happened.

"Miles," the nurse called my name, and I followed her back to the treatment room.

"How are you feeling today, Julian?" she asked, whilst setting my medical charts down and pulling sterile, latex gloves over her hands.

"Better all the time." I rolled up my sleeves.

"That's wonderful to hear." She smiled warmly. "Let's just take your blood pressure before we get started."

The nurse tightened the cast around my arm, secured the velcro, and pumped some air into it.

"One-ten over sixty," she said, as she released the tight cast. "Very good, Julian."

For much too long, I was sat there watching an awful chick flick on the television in the room, whilst my blood travelled through a tube, into a machine that filtrated the wastes, then reintroduced the clean blood to my body.

The longer I watched the film, the more I disliked it. I mean, the acting was fine, but it was so unrealistically ideal. Films often fed these lies to us, that love was meant to be perfect and easy, but any love worth finding and keeping was usually anything but.

In the real world, love was sacrifice. It was worry, vulnerability, and heartbreak. It was hard fucking work, even when two people were perfect for each other—no, especially when two people were perfect for each other. Because, if it were anything less than a perfect match, one or both would have taken the easy way out and given up long ago. That proved just one thing: two people who were truly in love could navigate the darkness and come out better on the other side, together.

When it was all over, and I was driving back to my flat, I passed a new jewellery shop and took note of its location. Maybe it was just the fact that I'd nearly died months earlier, combined with the realisation that Brooke was just minutes away from me, but London looked especially beautiful that day. The shining sun was casting gleams on the River Thames, and though the air was nippy, it was warmer than usual for mid-November.

I almost called her name when I unlocked the door to my flat, but I heard Brooke speaking, so I remained quiet at first.

"I know that, Ma," she said somberly. "And I'm sorry to disappoint you, but he needs me here right now. Maybe for Christmas or something."

I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but the whole flat was silent apart from her voice, which made it difficult to not listen... so, I did. For a fair few seconds.

"I want you to meet him, too. He's my everything," Brooke said, and my heart jumped.

Straight away, guilt began to consume me for overhearing her private conversation with her mum. I made some noise in the kitchen to alert Brooke to my arrival.

"I gotta go, Ma. I'll call you later, okay?" Brooke said from the bedroom, and moments later, she was gliding across the kitchen floor to wrap her arms around my neck.

"How did it go today?" She planted a kiss on my cheek before letting go.

"Well enough." I smirked. "What have you been up to here?"

"Not very much." She looked inside the fridge for something to snack on. "Just writing. And I called my mom."

"Ah." I pretended to have been unaware of the latter part. "Loads of excitement then."

"I know you don't celebrate it here," Brooke said between chews of blueberries. "But, do you think we could have our own little Thanksgiving?"

"There's the merciless American that I love." I pulled her in for a long hug and sniffed her sweet smelling hair. "Of course we can. What do we need?"

"A turkey. Potatoes. Flour. Spices. More apples." She took another peek in the fridge, then eyed the open cabinets. "We should have everything else we need."

The idea came to me. "Do you think I could invite Mase over as well? It'd be nice to see him."

"Definitely." She grew excited at the idea. "We'll have more than enough."

"I don't doubt it." I swung her around and watched her cheeks redden. "Do Italians celebrate Thanksgiving?"

"Italians living in Italy do not," she teased back. "Italian Americans, on the other hand, do."

"What about Italian Americans in England?" My tongue played behind my teeth as I smiled at her.

"I suppose they do, don't they?" She was so beautiful in simple, black jeans and a jumper—my jumper—with her arrow necklace lying over the fabric.

"So, our children would share three nationalities." The thought slipped out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying.

"Our what?" Bloody hell, she'd caught it.

"Nothing." I laughed nervously and scrambled to change the subject of conversation. "Right, so... erm... I have physical therapy tomorrow at two."

"Yeah?" She was looking down at the worktop, but her eyes were glowing from the last thing I'd said.

"Yeah, it sucks." I pretended to be more agitated about it than I actually was, to distract her. "I don't see why I can't do those simple exercises here at the flat."

"So you're monitored by a professional and can't hurt yourself." She nudged my arm softly. "And to make sure you actually do it. It's working wonders, though. Just need to get through a few more weeks of it, Jules, and you'll be back to normal."

"Yeah, nearly Popeye, aren't I?" I teased her by flexing my rather unimpressive biceps. At least I'd successfully diverted her attention.

"Close enough." She sighed, and leant her forehead into my chest.

...

The next week, I surprised Brooke by stopping at the barber shop after dialysis. I got my ultra shaggy hair chopped off. It was long overdue. The length of my hair had only been serving as a reminder of the worst time in my life, so I didn't mind being rid of it.

Sort of like a fresh start.

After seeing the barber, I went to the supermarket. There, I picked up the final ingredients that Brooke needed, in order to make her own Thanksgiving nosh-up for us. Mason had agreed to come 'round for the planned celebration, making it a dinner for three, but the turkey alone could've fed ten.

When I walked into the door, Brooke gasped at my appearance.

"What did you do?!" she asked excitedly.

"Got the turkey." I held the grocery bag up, jesting with her. "Oh, and some Cadbury's. 'Bout time you tried some real chocolate, instead of the edible plastic that you call Hersh—"

"Your hair!" She walked closer to get a better view, ignoring my teasing remarks.

"Don't you like it?" The look on her face had me second guessing my decision.

"It's not that. I love it." She got closer to me and ran her hands over my smooth face, then through my shorter hair. "It's just that, it's been a while since I've seen you like this."

"Clean shaven?" I pulled her hips into mine. "Not looking homeless?"

"Stop." She tried to hold back her own smile, as I grinned at her. "Like how you looked when we first met. Just a little more mature."

"Mature meaning old." Really, I loved her compliments. It was just so easy to turn them into pseudo-insults and watch her get frustrated with me. I loved sparking that feistiness in her—the kind that she normally kept hidden, under the surface.

"No, more mature meaning more mature." She gripped a wavy curl on my head and gently pulled it upward, to straighten it, and tested the new hair length. "Dignified. Sexy."

"Sexy. I'll take it." I brushed my fingertips along her goosebumped arms. "What exactly do two people do, that find each other sexy? Hmm..."

"Hmm..." She repeated and touched the tip of my nose whilst standing on her tiptoes.

"Have anything in mind?" I gripped her full hips.

I could tell that Brooke was trying to play along, but I was already having an effect on her. Fuck, if it didn't kill me to know how easily persuaded she was by me. Watching the most beautiful shade of pink flush her face made the adrenaline course through every part of my body, as I wanted every soft centimetre of hers.

Brooke frowned in concentration as she bit her lower lip, driving me absolutely wild. My mouth pulled itself to the most sensitive part of her neck, decorating her simmering skin with kisses. When I peeked up at her face again, her eyes were loosely closed and her lips were slightly parted.

As odd as it was in the moment, I wanted to tell her. Right there, right then.

"I want a family with you." I sighed into her waiting mouth.

Since I didn't have one of my own, perhaps Brooke and I could've made our own family. It only made sense.

Before, I wasn't sure if I would have known how to love, or how to be a good father. But the thought of feeling anything less than pure adoration for a miniature version of Brooke was suddenly preposterous to me. I could see it then—shiny black hair, gorgeous brown eyes, her mother's wit, charm, and heart of gold...

"Our own family," I whispered.

Brooke's lips closed as her eyes opened. She stared at me as if I'd just grown a Medusa head.

"What?" asked Brooke.

Her beautiful eyes were saturated with confusion as they poured into mine, quietly seeking clarity.

"I'll marry you in Italy. I'll have ten kids with you," I promised her. "Anything you want. So long as we're a family."

She was tongue tied and I could hardly blame her.

"I can't lose you. I won't." I kissed her lower lip, then her upper lip. "Not again."

"I'm not going anywhere, Jules." Her voice was shaky with an emotion I couldn't recognise. "I'm not giving you any stipulations or ultimatums. It doesn't bother me anymore—the titles, the names... the words."

"But it bothers me. I want those." I tried to convince her. "I want to tie myself to you in every way possible."

"You've had a long couple of weeks—" She stopped to correct herself. "A long couple of months."

"But I'm ready." We stole a passionate kiss. "I am, Brooke."

"We can talk about this later. There's no rush." Brooke smiled, but I could tell that she didn't really believe me.

Unfortunately, I had nobody to blame that on but myself. I'd made such a big deal about calling her my girlfriend. How could she have believed that I'd magically changed my mind, wanting to run off to marry her and start a family?

But that was exactly what I wanted.

Nearly dying could really open one's eyes, I learnt, and I didn't want to wait anymore. But I would for her. As long as she needed me to, I would.

"You okay?" She drew me out of my reverie.

"Yes, I just love you. So fucking much." I kissed her, breathing in her barely audible moans, whilst leading us both over to the sofa. She must have started the fireplace whilst I was gone, since I heard the wood crackling beside us.

All of those months spent away from her, I'd dreamt of making love to my beautiful girl, although I never expected to again. The way the setting sun shone into the wall length windows and kissed her soft, pale skin ensured what I'd always known—she was an angel. A living angel. Mine. Mine completely, and I would spend every remaining day of my life being better for her.

Being someone worthy of her.

Gently, I pulled her hand from my hair. My ears soaked up the soft sounds she made as I brought her wrist to my mouth. So tenderly, I kissed along the faintly raised scars of her skin, hoping my lips could somehow melt all of her pain away—past and present—through the surface.

I'll be better for you, Brooke, I thought to myself. I'll be better.

Her eyes remained closed as I ran my calloused fingertips down her sides, relearning the delicate curves of her gorgeous body.

My touch was tender. I knew how to be nothing but tender with her. But, no matter how gently I caressed her, it would never have been tender enough. My skin was rough—a veritable shield between myself and the outside world.

Brooke was the only one I had ever fully allowed in. The only one I ever would.

Somehow, she accepted, even loved, my rough hands as they travelled her. If only, back then, I'd have known this day would be waiting for me, I would have never had a reason to risk it all. I would have known what I'd been waiting for, all along.

There, in the fire-lit warmth and golden light of the lounge, our bodies promised themselves to each other between breathy sighs. I melted around her, between her, and through her—not even trying to ignore the fact that she had me tightly wrapped around her tiny little finger.

My beautiful Brooke wore only her glimmering arrow necklace, whilst I wore only my inked anchor. Both a promised permanence in their own rights. I stared at her, reflexively smiling when she finally opened her gorgeous eyes to meet my gaze, and offered me a grin of her own. Nothing in the world could have been more beautiful than her relaxed, vulnerable, satisfied smile beneath me.

Her hair, the shade of a warm summer midnight, framed her eyes.

Her eyes, like fireflies that would put all of the glimmering stars in the sky to shame, glowed.

Her glow, that radiated within me, quickened my thrumming heart.