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Ray regrets the question as soon as it leaves his mouth. He sees her tense, sees her fear of judgement, feels the walls she puts up. He sees it, but can’t help reflecting her hurt back to her. This matters - just in this moment he’s realizing that she matters more than anyone he’s known before. If Heather thinks he’s the same with everyone who came before, that he’s a hammer and she’s just another nail, they aren’t on the same page.
He doesn’t need to be her first; he’d be a hypocrite when they both know she isn’t his [though her thinking a hundred stings]. Heather has had all of Ray’s firsts that matter. First girl he actually wanted to call his girlfriend, first girl he brought out to the boat to spend time with his friends, first person, outside of his family, he told about his grandfather.
[Oh he’s brought girls to the boat, but that was never about hanging out in the sun, laughing and splashing, and quiet moments of conversation knowing he’s being more real than he’s ever been and having it returned.
They were always girls chasing an edge - too hungry, gobbling up love that couldn’t fill them up, or rebelling from the too perfect world their parents set in front of them. That was private and quick and left him feeling empty. Those girls worked him out of their system and he didn’t mind when they stopped looking back at him, when he became just a story they told their friends about the bad boy who had taken them out on the water.
With Heather he wants to have her fit into all the pieces of his life he hadn’t realized needed her until now. He would sand down his corners to have her slip in easily and find a home. If all she asked for was honesty, he would be willing to open up that curtain for her, unlock the closet full of skeletons and sweep it out.]
He already knows he would do a lot for Heather, but he’s been hurt by too many people to let her hurt him too. He may have thought this girl with wings could show him how to fly, but her words remind him that his are made of paper and glue and she won’t be there to catch him when he flies to close to the sun. He will only be burned on his terms. So he walks away.
It’s only after he leaves her, trying to smoke out his sorrows and seeing Graybill House go up in flames that he takes that burning literally. It just takes a second of knowing she’s still in there to send him running toward the fire.
The flames dance and the smoke fills him in an entirely different way than it had in the basement. He can feel it burning his lungs, no longer the comfort of fading out, but a darkness quickly rushing in. He screams her name, panic adding in another layer of black. The flames force him back towards the door. He lingers in the hallway, one last crying of her name as he considers letting the fire burn him up too. And he doesn’t let anyone call him a coward, but he thinks it to himself as his feet carry him outside.
As Tyler runs up, ushering him toward the other players, Ray curses the hope Heather had lit inside of him. He should’ve known this good thing would just leave him worse off than before. When the bell tolls, he feels nothing at all.