Orion
8:12 a.m.
Today is the first time I’m positive I will live no matter what, and I never thought it would feel so fucking shitty.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m still not trying to die, but watching Valentino live through his End Day has been rough. It’s hard not to feel like the author of his story is some cruel bastard who won’t give him any wins. There’s so many ways he could’ve died by now—gunshot or beat down with a bat or smashing his head on the curb or that fall back at the apartment or run over in the middle of the street—and he’s surviving for what? To get rejected by his agent, and find out his sister is still stuck back home? I can’t celebrate my life knowing his final hours are not working out for him.
“This End Day can’t get worse, can it?” Valentino asks, staring off into space and fighting back tears. “That’s a stupid question. Of course it can, and of course it will. Death-Cast had no idea what they were talking about when they called Deckers the captains of our own ships. Everything about today shows that I’m not steering my way through this End Day. It’s like my wheel is spinning out of control and I’m about to crash into an iceberg and drown.” Valentino cracks, crying so damn hard. “I should drop dead now.”
That shit breaks my heart.
I try wrapping my arm around his shoulder, and he shrugs me off.
“You should stay away,” Valentino says, getting up from the ground. “Just because you can’t die today doesn’t mean I’m not poison. Everything bad is spreading around me. My heart is probably dangerous too. Orion, I don’t know, you should figure out another solution, or find another donor.”
“Fine, fuck your heart! I don’t care about that. You’re not poison or a ship that’s about to crash or whatever other analogy you’re going to spit out to scare me away. I’m your friend, Valentino, and I’m not leaving you alone on your End Day.”
He runs his hands through his hair as he inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales. He stares at the brick wall like he wants to punch it but his breaths keep his fists down at his sides. He’s unraveling, big-time, but we’re going to get through this.
“There are millions of things you can’t control,” I say as he breathes. “But you can still regain control of the ship and steer yourself—sorry, I’m going to drop this metaphor. I’m starting to really fucking feel like we’re out at sea.” I step to him, proving I’m not scared of us crashing together in the worst ways imaginable. “You can’t bring the photographer back to life or make your sister appear in an instant. That’s the kind of shit you can’t control. But there are a lot of things we can.”
Valentino’s ocean eyes look up at me. “Like what?”
“You tell me. What have you been bursting to do in New York?”
“The photo shoot was number one.”
“Then let’s do it. I’ll be your photographer.”
“The agency won’t accept that. You heard her.”
“Screw their photo shoot. We’re creating yours now. It can be an album about your life in New York.”
“That doesn’t sound like a very big album.”
“I bet there’s a lot of pictures we can take in one day.”
“Good point. Hundreds get taken during a one-hour photo shoot, even.”
“Hundreds? I was thinking like twenty, but okay. Challenge accepted.”
He wipes the last tears from his eyes and smiles. “Maybe we can photograph a lot of my firsts in the city.”
“Yes!” I’m hyped to see him getting into it; it’s like he’s coming back to life so quickly after thinking he should drop dead. “I know your super handsome face was supposed to be all over Times Square; I get that this is different now. But just because the whole damn world won’t see these pictures doesn’t mean the people in your world won’t.”