I Should Die

eyes sparkling like he had just won the lottery. “Vince, let’s go to my room, okay?”
    Vincent must have agreed, because Jules grabbed my hand and we were off, down the hall, up the double staircase and through a door next to the one leading to the roof terrace. I stood gawking at a room I had never seen. Jules’s room was the attic. But instead of being the dark, musty kind it was suffused with sunlight streaming through a large frosted-glass window set in the ceiling.
    Charcoal and pencil drawings filled the room, stacked on every surface and rolled up into tubes along the walls. A bed stood in one corner of the room with more drawings piled on it. The room had a musky, artsy smell, like cologne mixed with paper, ink, and pencil lead.
    Jules led me to a garnet-colored velveteen couch under the skylight. “So how are you?” he asked. I paused, not sure who he was talking to. But the way he sat still, listening, I knew Vincent was answering his question.
    “And you, Kate?” Jules asked, taking my hand.
    “Fine. Thanks for texting with the non-update this morning. The last couple of days have been hellish.” I addressed the air. “Vincent, I was so worried about you.”
    And I you .
    His words were like a caress. But they left me wanting more. “Are you okay? Did Violette hurt you?” I asked.
    She couldn’t do much worse than destroying my body—besides keeping me away from you .
    I began to speak, and then hesitated.
    What? Vincent asked.
    “Does it feel weird to know you’re not the Champion?” I asked carefully. “I mean, are you disappointed? Upset?”
    There was a moment’s silence and then Vincent said, I couldn’t be more relieved, to tell you the truth. If that had been the role fate dealt me, I would have embraced it. Done my best. But it was just one more thing that complicated matters for us. That made our situation even more precarious. So, thinking selfishly, I’m glad to see the title go to someone else.
    Having heard my half of the conversation, Jules jumped in. “I never thought I’d say this, man, but I, for one, am glad you turned out to be just like the rest of us. Otherwise Violette would already be stomping around Paris like some kind of crossbreed numa Hulk. Although the present situation isn’t exactly optimal.”
    We were all quiet for a moment, and then I heard Vincent’s words. I would give anything to hold you right now .
    “Me too,” I whispered. Sadness crushed me as, once more, I realized that touching Vincent was something that would never happen again. I wrapped my arms protectively around myself.
    Would it be okay . . . Vincent paused. Could I use Jules to hold you?
    His words electrified me, striking me with conflicting emotions. I didn’t want Jules. I wanted Vincent. But my need for him was so great that I was willing to compromise at this point. It just complicated things that Jules’s flirting seemed like more than just lighthearted teasing at times. The thought of being physically close to him—like I wanted to be with Vincent—sounded a warning bell in my mind. What if he took things the wrong way?
    If I were completely honest, I knew he had feelings for me. Then again, I suspected that he had similar feelings for half the female population of Paris.
    Seeing the sudden curve of Jules’s lips, I knew that Vincent had asked him the same thing. “So, Kate,” he said, raising an eyebrow and suppressing a full-on grin. “Will you accept me as surrogate hugger?” But his smile disappeared when he noticed my expression, and I knew his joking covered the same loss and pain I felt for his friend.
    “Will I ever have you back again?” I asked the air.
    You have me back, mon ange .
    That wasn’t what I had meant, and he knew it. I felt my eyes sting with tears. We have a lot to think about, came Vincent’s words , but for now let me hold you.
    I nodded my assent, and Jules’s body shuddered as if he had caught a sudden chill. And then it was as if two boys were staring out at me. The eyes of my loyal friend and the eyes of my true love both peered from behind Jules’s boyish face. Unable to bear it, I looked away and leaned forward into his arms.
    It felt like Vincent. The way he squeezed me tightly against himself. I knew his touch; it was Vincent. The exact pressure he used as he kneaded my back with his fingers—I knew those movements and they were Vincent’s.
    And it was my boyfriend’s words speaking in his friend’s voice as we held