Concentrating on my breathing, I kept going until I found a kind of medium that I could manage. And then, again, I listened.
Almost immediately, I smelled it.
Strange, the things that mean the most.
I didn’t need to open my eyes to know it wasn’t a New Orleans smell. No.
It smells like ho —
It was the smell of Lincoln’s warehouse. Basil. And the sounds … Cooking. Glasses clinking. A coffee machine steaming.
I could feel myself smiling all the way to my core. I remembered every little detail about the many days I’d sat at his kitchen bar and watched him cook. The way he’d prepared fresh meals for me and insisted I eat more than two-minute noodles. But also that he’d always kept a packet of my favourite chocolate biscuits in the cupboard even though he never ate them.
The memories fell like a landslide. Running every day. Feeling strong. Needing his friendship. Trusting him. The late-night talks. Dreaming of more. The confidence being around him gave me. The hand-holding. The smiles. The honesty.
And I remembered the feelings of betrayal when I found out what I was and that he’d always known. I’d been so tough on him. I was young. I knew that now. If I could go back and do things differently, tell him I understood and not hurt him, I would.
Finally, I remembered the promises. Him to me, that we would find a way. And then there was my promise to him. The one I told myself was impossible to keep. The one night we’d made love … I could still feel his fingers combing my hair as we lay in the bed.
‘I want you to know: you’re it, everything I want.’
I remembered how his words had morphed into a long, toe-curling kiss and then he’d said: ‘No matter what happens tomorrow – no matter what – tonight was exactly what I wanted and for all the right reasons. For you. Because I love you. Promise me, Vi. Promise me you will always remember that.’
And I’d stared back into his intense eyes, and I’d promised.
My eyes opened slowly and I found myself staring at something floating in the river that had not been there before.
I stared at it for a time, taking note, before I stumbled to my feet, propelled by a force that was beyond me. Relieved when I hit the cover of the streets and roaming people again, I pulled in a trembling breath and wrapped a hand around my stomach.
I was broken.
I loved him so much but I was so afraid that it would be me who would cause his end.
Tears slipped from my eyes. I couldn’t stop them. And suddenly, I was running.
Yes, I’m broken.
But he loves me anyway. And he wants to save me. I know he does.
And I love him. So much I can barely contain it.
My feet moved faster. I knew. I knew now.
I love him enough …
I burst through the gates, waving at the guards so they knew it was me as I threw myself through the front door and took the steps three at a time until I barged right through his bedroom door, skidding to a halt, panting like a crazy woman.
Lincoln was leaning against his windowsill, looking over papers. He looked up, startled and then just wary.
The silence beat hard around us.
Finally, making the choice that was more daunting than jumping off any cliff … I leaped.
‘I need you to fix me,’ I blurted out.
Because I love him enough … to let him.
His eyes darkened as he put down the papers and took a tentative step towards me. ‘Your injuries?’ he enquired.
I shook my head slightly. ‘All of me.’
His breath stuttered and he slowly took another step. ‘Do you know what you’re saying?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened?’ he asked, looking around as if expecting to see more than just me. ‘Did the world end while I was having a shower?’
I shook my head.
‘Well, something huge must have happened to change your mind.’
My heart was thudding, trying to jump-start. ‘Actually, it was the quiet. I found my life in the quiet.’ Tears welled in my eyes. ‘And all I could see and hear and smell and feel, was you. Us.’
Seconds felt like hours as he stared at me, straight into my soul that belonged to him. I waited, my heart thumping hard. But when he moved, it wasn’t to me; he strode straight towards the door and disappeared.
My hand reached out for the nearby desk to steady myself; without it I would have collapsed to my knees. I heard talking out in the hall, but everything was a distant buzz compared to the deafening truth from which I could no longer hide.
He doesn’t want me.
And I couldn’t even blame him. I’d left. I was the one who had taken the knife and severed the ties.
I was having difficulty breathing, my throat had tightened and my vision was blurring at the edges. None of that mattered.
Then suddenly the door was open again and I didn’t need to look up to know it was him.