Page 88 of Conflagration
I give her a shove as I get up from the table. “I seriously didn’t need to know that,” I say, laughing. She grins. “I know you’re right. I’m not going far, and I won’t be gone long. Things have just been intense with us from the beginning, and maybe a little bit of space is what we need. What he needs. I can’t jump right back into his arms because I want to forgive him. He needs to figure this out on his own.”
“Yeah, but how can he figure it out if he doesn’t have the full story?”
“I’m leaving before you start making more sense. Thanks for last night. I’ll call you when I get where I’m going.”
She gives me a hug then tugs on my hair. “I love you, Ariana, and I long for the day a man looks at me the way Branson does you. Keep that in the back of your mind, okay?”
I nod as a lone tear slides down my cheek. “I love you, too.”
I force myself out the door. My feet feel heavy as I walk to my car, but I know I’m doing the right thing. So why does it feel so wrong?
AS I drive out of Atlanta, I can’t help acknowledging the parallels of how this whole thing began. I know that Alyssa’s right. I’m running, but this time, it’s not to get away from an unwanted future. I’m doing it to determine how I can save the one I want more than anything.
When I come to that same choice, north or south, there’s no hesitation. I go north. There’s a gravitational pull that has me steering towards Belle Meade, towards Branson, and I have to force myself not to drive there. Instead, I drive towards the mountains, to the perfect place for my seclusion.
It reminds me of our honeymoon talk. It feels almost like a betrayal going there without him, yet it seems like the perfect place for me to figure out where to go from here.
OF ALL the things I’ve been labeled, ‘psycho stalker’ has never been one of them. But as I throw my phone on the couch next to me, I have a feeling that moniker might soon stick.
Thirty-six unanswered calls. Thirty-six unanswered text messages. Thirty-six long, excruciating hours since I discovered that Ariana was gone. Thirty-six hours since I left my house silently, foolishly hoping she’d walk back in that door. Thirty-six hours to replay over and over in my head how terribly I reacted. Thirty-six hours wasted when I should’ve been chasing after her. If she won’t talk to me over the phone, then I’ll find her and make her listen even if I have to tie her up until she agrees to stay.
Rushing to my room, I quickly pack a bag and hop in my car, racing towards the interstate. The last thing I want to do is spend four hours in the car with the faint scent of coconut teasing my senses, but it’s the fastest way I can get to her.
My nerves are practically fried when I pull up to her condo, and the closer I get to her door, the more my heart begins to race. How do I make her listen? How can I make her tell me the truth? Do I even deserve the truth? Does it even matter? Hell, what I deserve is a door slammed in my face, so I have to figure out how to keep that from happening. I’m unsure of what to say, unsure of what I’m going to hear. The only thing I’m sure of is that I have to fix this.
Bracing myself on the doorframe, I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. I knock once, quickly and deliberately, waiting a beat, but no one answers. Two more knocks. Nothing. Fuck this.
I pound on the door, feeling as if the world’s caving in on me as I wait for her to answer. What if I was wrong? What if she’s not here? I have nowhere else to look, and I can’t accept that. I can’t accept that I’ve lost her forever.
My heart falters when Alyssa answers the door, her expression tight. “Can I help you?” she asks coolly, and I know she’s talked to her sister. Even though she’s glaring at me, that gives me hope.
“I need to see her,” I say, my voice low.
She sets her chin and doesn’t move or open the door to let me in. “She’s not here, Branson.”
My eyes narrow, challenging her, and she doesn’t flinch.
“Let me in, Alyssa,” I order gruffly.
She rolls her eyes but moves aside. I rush past her, taking in my surroundings. As I stalk through the condo, there isn’t a single sign of Ariana and I know Alyssa’s right.
She’s not here.
I’ve lost her.
Pain rushes through me, one unlike any I’ve ever felt before. This can’t be it. This can’t be over.
I fall onto the couch, running a hand through my hair, trying to figure out where to go from here. Alyssa interrupts my thoughts by handing me a cup of coffee.
I look up at her in surprise. “What’s this for?”
She gives me a small smile. “You look like you could use it.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“That you look as much like shit as my sister does.”
“You’ve seen her? Is she in Atlanta? Tell me, Alyssa. I can’t fucking sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t do anything without her there. I need to see her. To talk to her. I know I fucked up. I need to fix it and I can’t do that if she won’t answer my calls or see me.” There’s a hint of desperation in my voice, but right now, I don’t care. I’d do anything at this point.
