Page 158 of Callan

My arms wrap around his neck when I breathe into him.

“I’ll miss you,” I say, our lips almost touching each other.

My heart beats, panicked in my chest, while I await his answer.

“I’ll miss you too.”

And that’s it.

My heart shatters like glass thrown at a wall.

I’ve come to learn that some things in life are just not possible, so I remain stoic, holding my tears back.

I can let them run free later when I enter my place.

He studies my face for a few long moments and places another kiss on my unresponsive lips.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say in a strangled voice. “I’ll walk from here. Thank you for the ride,” I say, filled with icicles.

I squeeze his hand slightly before tearing my eyes away from him, pushing the car door open, and rising out of my seat like my rear is on fire.

I can’t look back as much as I can’t ignore the memory of his hand falling off my thigh as I climbed out.

My resolve dissolves when I turn my back to him, and my cheeks get wet.

So many emotions have been suppressed these past few days. So many things have happened.

Of all the things I could’ve done, why did I have to fall for a man like him? A villain he is, isn’t he?

Despite everything he’s done for me.

Despite all the memories we’ve created.

Despite his promise to make it up to me and gentlemanly erase the memory of the other men.

He treated me so nicely that no one could stand a chance.

The noise of his car pulling away never travels to my ears for as long as I should normally be able to hear it.

I imagine him sitting in the driver’s seat and watching me walk away. A gray silhouette, barely visible in the colorful twilight.

I imagine him being pensive and thoughtful, maybe having second thoughts about letting me go.

Or even pinched by regret that we had to do this––have some good time only to wake up to the bitter taste of estrangement.

But how estranged can we be if we had laid naked in bed, next to each other, almost bearing our souls bare?

He might not have said a lot about his family’s history, but he has said enough. And I might not have had much to say, but he knew exactly where I was.

We didn’t have to talk at length about these things because we had so much in common. I knew his pain as much as he knew mine.

We had experienced similar things, maybe on a different scale. Perhaps that’s why he felt so familiar to me, and I felt so attracted to him.

Who knows?

My steps leave marks of desperation on the thin layer of snow, moving quickly away from him.

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