Page 170 of Callan

Something made him change his mind, so he followed me around or put someone to do it for him, and he knew where I was.

He knew I was in that Italian store and wanted to have a few more moments with me and make it look like it hadn’t been the heartbreaking separation that it was.

And his ploy worked.

I felt so much better when I got home, that I chided myself for being a dramatic queen and a silly worrywart.

For taking everything so seriously.

For thinking that he had put little hooks into my heart and I’d be forever bound to him.

Much of that hasn’t changed.

Not so far, it hasn’t.

These past few days, the idea of him has haunted me all the fucking time.

He was with me when I slept, ate, and showered.

I couldn’t not think about him.

I couldn’t not have him in front of my face.

I couldn’t not hear his words in my head.

The fact that he’d made a forbidden thing out of us drove me up the wall.

The fact that I agreed to do that with him didn’t change how I felt about us in the slightest.

I have become obsessed with him, but not for the best reason.

It’s like he’s next to me, and I can’t touch him, and then he pulls away from me. Over and over again.

I climb out of the cab and wait for the driver to pull away.

The city has sucked in all the noise of the New Year’s Eve celebration, leaving streets like this to the hands of silence.

A few dimly lit windows glow behind the trees while the cars that haven’t been moved in a while look like snow-capped hills.

The snow crunches under my boots as I take a few steps, hands tucked in my pockets and eyes trained on the park.

A woman, a kid, and a dog leave the park as I near the entrance. She tosses a glance at me, offers a faint smile, and, after a moment of hesitation, wishes me a Happy New Year.

I wish her the same.

No one knows what the New Year will bring. All we do is hope for the best.

I enter the park but stop not far from the entrance and look around. A few lights glimmer in the dark, but it’s not enough to dissolve the gloomy, dreary feeling.

The snow looks gray in the dark, and the trees have the appearance of frozen giants.

I’d take a few more steps, but something stops me. There’s no one in the park. Not a soul.

It’s usually a safe area, but for some reason, my hackles rise, and unease trickles down my back.

Why am I so stressed out about an empty park?

Why shouldn’t I be?

---