and then you swallow even though your throat does not want to close and you look at the person who loves you and smile.
He flashed his crooked smile, then said, “I lit up like a Christmas tree, Hazel Grace.
The lining of my chest, my left hip, my liver, everywhere.” Everywhere.
That word hung in the air awhile. We both knew what it meant.
I got up, dragging my body and the cart across carpet that was older than Augustus would ever be,
and I knelt at the base of the chair and put my head in his lap and hugged him by the waist.
He was stroking my hair. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said, his voice calm.
“Your mom must know. The way she looked at me. My mom must’ve just told her or something. I should’ve told you. It was stupid. Selfish.”
I knew why he hadn’t said anything, of course: the same reason I hadn’t wanted him to see me in the ICU.
I couldn’t be mad at him for even a moment, and only now that I loved a grenade did I understand the foolishness
of trying to save others from my own impending fragmentation: I couldn’t unlove Augustus Waters.
And I didn’t want to. “It’s not fair,” I said. “It’s just so goddamned unfair.”
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색