Page 80 of A World Without You
His words are loaded and I squeeze his hands tighter. He lets me hold them, but he doesn’t squeeze back. The absence of affection in his touch makes my heart hurt more. I run my thumb slowly over the back of his hand twice, and then he flinches and pulls his hands away. I meet his gaze. His eyes are stormy and dark, and the line of his jaw pulses. All I want is to be close to him, and I can tell he hates every moment of this.
“I’m sorry...” I begin, wishing there were a stronger word for sorry.
In Spanish, they saylo sientowhich sounds too pretty. In French, they sayje suis désoléwhich sounds far too romantic. In Italian, they saymi dispiaceand even that isn’t enough. I’m finding that in every language I could apologize in, the words are too short and too simple. Because when you say sorry and truly mean it, it’s like saying, these are the only words I have left. These two pathetic words pulsing off my lips like heartbeats.I’m.Sorry.
I hope he knows that. I hope he sees the ache and throb in my chest each time I say it. I hope he knows I mean it.
“Colin, I hurt you in the worst way possible, and I’ve never understood why I did it. But I want you to know that if I could change it, I would. I would have come home. I wouldn’t have stayed in Roslyn. I wouldn’t have married Graham. I would’ve married you...” I let out an uncomfortable breath, worried I’ve gone too far. “If it ever came to that.”
To anyone else, his expression would seem bored, but I know the lines of his face, and I know the look in his eyes. He’s trying not to let me in. He’s begging me not to cross a line and get too close, but all of my heart wants to break through each invisible boundary with enough force to change the direction the world spins.
My bottom lip trembles, but I continue, “I hope you can forgive me. Not because it’ll make it all okay, but because I want you to know how much I regret it, and how sorry I am.” I swallow hard. “Because I made a mistake that December, and I’ve missed you more than I ever thought I would.”
There’s a lengthy pause, and his gaze searches my face.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to accept your apology,” he says.
I nod. That’s fair. Painful but fair. “You don’t have to, but I hope one day you will. And if you ever want to be friends again—”
“Friends?” he scoffs out the word, practically glaring down at me. “I’m still trying to figure out how to look at you in any other context than you being the woman who broke my heart in half on Christmas Eve.”
I let out a slow, shuddering breath. He has every right to feel this way, and yet, there’s a part of me that always wondered something about that last conversation we had. “Then why didn’t you come for me?”
He raises his eyebrows, disbelief etched into his expression. “And have you devastate me in person?”
A part of me understands. He’s right. The humiliation would have just thickened and ran over our wounds like sap on a tree. Even still...
“But we were together for years. You knew me since high school,” I argue, remembering why I felt the way I did back then. “You didn’t even try to win me back. It confirmed my biggest fear—that only your job mattered and you didn’t really love me.”
“You can’t pin this on me—”
“I’m not,” I cut in, even though I am. “But after that last conversation, you let me go so easily. I said I wanted to stay in Roslyn, and we fought, but you didn’t fight for me. You hung up, and you blocked my number and my social media, and two weeks later, you mailed me my things. You were done with me so fast—”
“You betrayed me!” he says, voice rising.
“I needed you!” I shout back.
“I needed you too!” He doesn’t let up. He never has. He’s always said exactly what he wants to say. He’s never glossed over details or swept indiscretions under the rug. “Maybe I should have fought. I should’ve reminded you of all we were, but I didn’t. And I didn’t because everything we were burned down the moment you moved on without a second thought.”
I sit back, defeated and knowing he has me pinned in a corner of truth. “I wish I could undo it.”
“You can’t,” he responds, definitive, a hand slicing through the frigid air. “We had dreams. Remember that? Maybe they were a bit untraditional, but they were ours. We could have had it all.”
I nod, swallowing hard against the memories. Knowing every dream I had then feels so unattainable now.
“Do you even care that you fucked it all up?”
His words hit my chest with a blow, and I flinch, before nodding.
“Do you?” he presses, his voice becoming more angry. He wants me to say it out loud. He wants me to take the blame.
And he’s probably right.
But I just want him to forgive me, knowing there’s no world where he has to.
“What do you want me to say?” I ask, voice pleading. “Sorry isn’t enough. I know that—”
“Say that you know you destroyed me. Say you know you stomped on everything I wanted to give you. You can point your fingers all around at every extenuating circumstance regarding how unhappy you were all you want, but just know you’re unhappy now because you chose something impulsive that would never last at the expense of everyone who actually loved you.”
