Page 38 of My Infatuation with Isabella

“I said I’ll talk to you when I’m done.”

The hard slam of the door echoes through the room. She’s pissed, but I’ll deal with that later. Right now, I need to clear my head and work off my rage. It takes an hour and a half to get the edginess out of my system and my hands are numb when I finally remove my gloves. Francesca is already dressed and ready to go by the time I go upstairs to our bedroom.

Standing in front of the mirror, she puts on a pair of gold earrings. “Are you ready to talk now?”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Franny. I was just feeling a little edgy.” I’m taking out my bad mood on her and it’s not her fault. Walking up behind her, I kiss her shoulder. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“It’s okay. I know better than to walk into your gym when the door is closed. That was my fault.” She turns around to face me. “I’d hug you, but you’re so sweaty and I can’t get any of that on me. I decided on this dress a week ago, so I’m not changing.”

“And what a dress it is.” I let out a low whistle as my eyes move down her lithe body. “You look beautiful.”

“Why, thank you.” She gives me a quick kiss without getting too close. “Let me get going. I don’t want to be late.”

“How many minutes are you ahead of schedule?”

“About eight.”

“With filtering in time just in case there’s traffic?”

“Yes.”

“Then you won’t be late.” I chuckle because this habit of hers is annoying and adorable at the same time. “And please be vigilant when you’re going back to your car. Don’t walk alone and make sure you scan the parking lot before you?”

“I will,” she says with a discreet groan because this habit of mine to be cautious and overprotective is one thatshefinds annoying. “I’ll be safe, okay? I love you. I’ll be back at one a.m.”

And when Fran says one a.m., she means one a.m. After another kiss, she leaves, and I head into the bathroom to shower. I was craving solitude. I wanted to be alone, but now that I am, I’m finding that my mind has more space and time to wander. And it’s continuously drawn back the same thing. I try to watch TV, find a way to push it out of my head, but nothing seems to work.

I don’t know what possesses me to do this, but I eventually go into my walk-in closet to get the black shoebox that’s hidden right at the back. Opening it up is like a treasure trove of memories. Photos of Isabella and I. Trinkets from our little adventures. The chain with the anchor on it and the little note that came with it.

I know tonight is going to be a bad Friday night, but I got you this so you know that even when I’m not with you, I’m still...wichu.

Old wounds begin to open. Old feelings start to resurface. Like a zombie coming back to life, and I don’t want this thing to live. I want it to stay dead and buried...yet I keep flipping through the photos and more of them begin to rise up from the depths of me.

“That’s it? You’re not gonna say it back? You don’t...love me, too?”

“Meh. I mean...you’re a’ight, but love? C’mon, it’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

“You fucking love me, De Lorenzo! Lying jerk!”

“Of course, I love you. I was destined to. You’re my Queen of Spades. I couldn’t stop it if I tried.”

“Well, if I’m your Queen of Spades, then you’re...my King of Hearts.”

And now she’s got that symbol tattooed on her neck. I don’t even know what to make of that. One by one, I feel them crawling out of their graves. I know I should stop but something inside me is hellbent on resurrecting these fuckers. I reach for my phone and go online to find that video of us when we had the dance battle at the DMV. I didn’t expect to find it all these years later, but it’s still there. The internet has preserved it in a perfect time capsule.

My hands tremble as I press play. I thought hearing her voice fucked me up, but when her pretty face lights up my screen, I’m a goner. I’m instantly sucked in, entranced by her playful energy. Listening to her laughter, seeing her smile, just watching us together reminds me of everything I’ve lost.

The video ends and I play it again.

The video ends and I play it again.

The video ends and I play it again.

I feel like I’ve brought an entire swarm of zombies back to life. I’m trying to kill them, but they’re too strong, and I seem to be making them more powerful every time I watch that video. These undead feelings of mine are different somehow, marred with the scars of what killed them. They’re not what they used to be. They’re laced with resentment, covered in anger and hatred for what she did to me, or rather...what she didn’t do. How the fuck could she lie to me about something like that?

I switch off the video and toss my phone aside. I need to stop obsessing about this. I need to push her out of my mind and stop thinking about what could’ve been. I need to kill every one of these undead feelings. But before any of that...I need to see her.

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