Page 3 of The Likelihood Of You

But, like I’m wired to the storm, I feel like I’m somehow wired to him, too.

Hearing that playback in my head sounds ridiculous. I’m not wired to the man in front of me. It’s impossible. Isn’t it? No, I’m being insane. I have to be.

A wave of common sense crashes down on me, forcing my eyes into a stare-off with the patent tips of my shoes, removing everything but his pristine white high tops from my line of sight. I feel like slapping myself in the hopes that it will snap me out of how weird I’m feelingthis morning and, at the same time, remind me and my silly little brain that this was precisely not why we flew halfway across the world to restart our life.

We left to focus on us for a change, not boys. To pick up the shattered pieces of my naive heart, not hand over the remains to someone else just for them to shatter even more. To reimagine my dreams. To be independent. To figure out how to function like a regular human being after walking in on—

The text tone of my phone startles me, distracting me from my internal pep talk. I dip my hand into my coat's deep pocket, looking around for the thing that made me jump and pulling it out into the open.

Then, wishing I never had.

Hugo <3

Today 8:37 AM

CALL ME, FLORENCE!!

I blink, then blink again, before bringing my phone closer, squinting my eyes as I take in the pixelated words and pink heart next to his name that washes a wave of nausea over me, reading them over and over again in my head, to make sure I’m not hallucinating from the buttery pastry smell. I drag my eyes to the name attached to the text again.

Nope. Nothallucinating.

It’s Hugo.

It doesn’t surprise me that his text is plastered with just as much concern as there is anger, like running away was my fault. To him, it most definitely was. He’s probably already found a way to blame me for what he did. It’s also ironic how there’s even a dose of concern in there anyway. He didn’t seem worried about me when I caught him that night. Nor did he seem to care that I was in the room whilst he did it.

Which I can’t dwell on for too long; otherwise, I’ll fall into a rabbit hole and come out the other end realising just how delusional I was and how saying yes to marrying him was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done.

Considering this man was my fiancé, it’s laughable that it’s taken him this long to reach out. I was six weeks away from marrying a man who had reached out to me once after disappearing off the face of the earth, and he didn’t even ask me where I was. He didn’t use his manners either, which always bothered me and should have been the first red flag. But he was clever, and knew exactly how to make me believe those red flags were, in fact, the prettiest shade of green.

And, as per usual, he’s demanding something from me. No asking if I’m okay. Or safe. No actual acknowledgement of what he did. Not even a hint of an apology.

Not a cursory, ‘I’m sorry, Florence’.

No polite text to say, ‘I am so sorry for fucking your sister Flo’.

Radio. Sodding. Silence.

But the thing that hurts me most, more so than the fact that in the space of a few seconds, I lost, and had been fooled by, two of the most important people in life, was the harsh realisation that out of everyemotion that shone on my face when I caught them, relief was the one that triumphed them all. My heart sighed the feeling, rolled around in it, wrapped itself up in the sensation and lay to rest, knowing it was free.

I’d known for a long time that I had to leave Hugo, and that things wouldn’t change unless I took that leap of faith, but something in me told me to stay, for what I wasn’t sure. Maybe I was holding onto his promises that had masqueraded as lies. Perhaps I was hoping he’d one day wake up and see that I was serious about what I wanted to do with my life and help me have the life I saw for us.

Or perhaps I was just an idiot who didn’t realise that living on a diet of corrupted promises was as good as her life was going to get, and to suck it up and get a real job like everyone else on this fuckin—

“You okay over there?”

Oh fuck.

I hadn’t realised that my eyes had drifted off, out of focus and probably making me look like I was trying to check if my table was still freeandsee today’s dollar pastry at the same time. With my mouth parted, too.

Oh fuckity fucking fuck!

I shake my head, bringing my eyes together and meeting theman’sgaze. Who is staring at me with a weird combination of intrigue and disgust splashed across his face. Given how I was looking, with one eye roaming east and the other looking west, I don’t blame him.

Wait. How long have I been staring at him?

I look around, and the line has shrunk considerably, so much that there’s only one person ahead of him now. I sneak a glance towards the window, and my table is still free, thankfully.

I look back at him, all the while trying to think of something, anything to say in response, but his stare has zapped all the words out of me.

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