The next morning Connor was quiet. I wasn’t sure why he stayed. Probably to make sure I didn’t die from choking on my own vomit in the night.

Eventually, after we had both lain there for twenty minutes in silence, pretending we didn't know the other was awake, he pulled himself from the covers of my bed and crossed the room, sliding his shoes on.

I would think about it all day: the sound of his socks being pulled onto his bare feet, the sound of him clearing his throat, the jingle of his keys as he picked them up from my desk.

I remember saying I was sorry. He just shook his head, walked over to my bed, where I sat, smelling of vodka still. He kissed me on the temple and left. I didn’t hear from him for two weeks.

The guys were quiet when I brought it up over drinks. They loved Avery. They loved Connor. They loved me. But there was clearly one person among the three of us who wasn’t a complete jackass. Connor.

I wondered why humans applied poison straight to their wounds, without batting an eye. I couldn't stomach healing. I rejected the sun, warmth, comfort. I wanted nothing to do with that foreign magic. It couldn't be trusted. Hurt could be trusted.

And forgiveness was an untrustworthy fellow. I forgave few. It was weakness to do so. That kind of thing can be sniffed out.

I nearly stepped on the camera the day he came back to me. To avoid crushing it, I veered to the right and took out one of my potted plants instead. I stumbled over a few profanities in my morning daze and found my footing. I knelt down to the camera and flipped over the tag attached to it. “I like the way you look at the world better.”

I fought the tears threatening to ruin my makeup and took the camera inside quickly. I didn't have time to stare at it and torture myself. As usual, I was running late for work. I sped out of my trailer park and ran over all the reasons why it didn't make sense for Connor to leave me that camera when I had just pummeled his heart into two or a million pieces. I thought about texting him before I clocked in, but decided not to. What would I say? Thanks for the camera? Sorry I’m a piece of shit? You're wonderful and I suck ass? That would about cover it.

By lunch, I had worked myself into a manic frenzy. As soon as I made it to my locker, I pulled my phone out and texted Connor, thanking him for the camera. I wanted to ask him why he was giving it to me now. Was it a parting gift? I deserved the parting but not the gift.

My lunch was nearly over by the time Connor replied. It was two words. You're welcome. I didn't respond because I didn't want to look desperate. The note had been so nice, so much meaning. Then his text back was final. No room for more conversation.

I wasn’t expecting him at my doorstep that night, saying his soft words, pouring out his soft heart.

“When I saw you for the first time, you had broken glass in your hands.” It was the night Avery dumped me. I didn’t know he had been there. “I thought you looked a little wild, a little crazy. You were falling apart but I didn’t care. I was drawn to you. My life was falling apart too, but I was hiding it. It’s what I always do. You let it all out that night, for everyone to see. You didn’t seem to care that everyone there could see your anguish.”

“I was drunk.” How many times would that be the excuse, the reason, the regret?

“I didn’t care. I captured that moment back then.”

“How?” I was horrified at the thought. My stringy tear-soaked hair, the blood, the glass.

“That’s the summer I started carrying around that old polaroid camera.”

“This one?” I looked down at the relic in my hand.

“Yeah. You’re the artist. It was better off in your hands. Gwen, when I saw you like that I felt less alone. I didn’t say anything to you, but I thought about you the next day. I thought about how much I had been beating myself up over my knee injury. Over dropping out of college, giving up on hockey. I thought that maybe if I accepted it, or raged against the shit in my life that wasn’t turning out right, I could breathe easy again. I didn’t think I would ever see you again. And when I did, all I could think about was getting to know you. Finding out how you handled that heartache. And then I paid for that. For wanting to know you. Because I didn’t wait long enough. For you to move on.

“I keep telling myself this is a stupid idea. I've been doing it since that night. But I can't stop thinking about you. I know you had a serious relationship with Avery and it can be hard to get over. I shouldn’t just expect you to not care about him anymore. I shouldn’t push and I still want to see you. Maybe this will all blow up in my face, a big part of me thinks it will, but I want to try.” He reached out, took one of my hands into his, stared at them.

I didn't know what to say. I overanalyzed the meaning of the camera all day at work, finally working myself up so much I asked to leave an hour early. When I got to my trailer, I drew a hot bath and stared at the framed key on my bathroom wall. I would never find the key to this life. To the way we hurt and ran from each other.

I had just pulled myself from my bath, was dripping warm water and regret onto my rug, when Connor knocked on my trailer door. His heavy fist rattled the rusty metal, sending my heart into a thunderous race.

I was sitting on the edge of my bed when his speech finished. I looked at his knuckles. They were worn, just slightly. The skin on his hands was so smooth, with little hair dusting it.

"So you want to keep going with this?" I asked, tentatively, focusing on the way his thumb lightly trailed my palm.

"Yes. I do. If you're still in it."

"I am. I just, I know I screwed it up. And when I saw the camera I didn't know what it meant to you."

"I didn't know what it meant this morning when I left it, really. I've been thinking about you all day. About us. About this. I've been angry and sad and just confused as hell but when it comes down to it, I want to be with you. I don't want to let my pride take that away from me. I've done that before in the past and I won't make that mistake again."

I thought of all the things my pride had taken from me. What a vengeful thief it could be.

I stood up, let Connor wrap his arms around me. I worked over our conversation. Looked for the catch, the fine print, the trap. I didn't find anything then, but I would soon. Sometimes our intentions are pure, but there is a little animal inside of us who won't let hurts lie and die. That animal will dig everything up – corpse and bone and poison. That animal will not let us live, move on, without seeing the remains of all we have done.

Connor stayed the night. We took turns touching each other. I could feel his restraint. His almost forgiveness, so much paler than his words, paler than his intentions.

I offered my best parts to him. What I had learned were my best parts, and he chose to hold me instead. To save me from regret. He didn't know me well enough to know I no longer held regret on my tongue. I swallowed it down and forgave my flesh for what I willingly gave up.