“Excuse me, Sophia,” interrupts the waiter. His name is Marco and he knows our little group pretty well. He’s asked me out a couple of times, but I always say no.
“What’s up, Polo?” I say with a smile. He hates his nickname.
“Very funny. Somebody asked me to give you this,” he says and hands me a piece of paper.
“Ooooh, a secret admirer!” Claudia says. Both Marco and I blush, but only Marco has the luxury of walking away from an awkward situation.
“You’re a jerk, you know that?” I say to Claudia, but she just smiles.
I open the note and I only have to read the first sentence to know whom it’s from.
I can’t imagine what you must think of me…
I stand up so quickly, I knock over the pitcher of sangria and it shatters on the floor. My heart is beating in a frantic, but familiar rhythm. Claudia is up on her feet, trying to get me to acknowledge her, but I’m too busy scanning the crowd for him. He’s here somewhere. He’s here! I don’t see him and I want to scream. I can’t lose him again. I can’t! Already, there are tears in my eyes. I look down at the note:
And I don’t expect you’ve forgiven me. Still, selfishly, I have to ask you, are you glad I made you get out of the car? Was I right? Was everything you felt for me on account of my manipulation? If so, please know I am deeply sorry. That I will NEVER bother you again – I swear you’ll never have cause to fear me. But if I was wrong, if you still care for me – meet me? Paseo de Colon, San Sebastia tower, eight o’ clock tonight.
- C
“I have to go, Claudia,” I say.
“Wait! What happened? Talk to me, Sophia,” Claudia shouts after me.
I’m already half way down the block. As I run, I look around me. Is he watching me? Is it really him? Should I call Reed? It could be a trap, but I don’t think so. Only Caleb would know about our last conversation. It’s him. I know it in my fucking bones.
I’m in tears by the time I reach my apartment. I look at the clock. It’s only four o’clock. I have four whole hours to wait. I’ve waited an entire fucking year, but these last four hours are going to be torture.
Epilogue
James swallowed thickly as the stared at the words on the screen.
As I walked, I could feel his eyes on me, the way I could always feel his eyes on me. Tears ran down my face unabashed, but I didn’t move to wipe them away. I had earned those tears, and I would wear them as a symbol of everything I had been through. They represented all the pain I had suffered, the love I felt, and the ocean of loss sweeping through my soul. I had finally learned to obey and never looked back.
The End
Sophia had written a very tragic love story, but it was a love story just the same. She had been very generous to him, painting a far better picture of the man he had been than he would have. She’d been working for weeks, sequestered in her little room upstairs. He wasn’t allowed in there, and though he didn’t like it, he respected Sophia’s wishes. He respected all her wishes these days.
Several hours ago, she’d flown into the kitchen and thrown her arms around him.
“Why are you smiling, Kitten? Did you finally finish?” James asked.
“Yes! I finished,” she said and followed up with a little dance. She’d immediately dragged him upstairs and planted him in front of the laptop so he could start reading. There wasn’t another chair, so she’d gotten down on her knees and rested her head on his knee.
As he read, he stroked her hair. James had been scared to read everything from Sophia’s point of view, but he was glad he’d made it through and discovered just how Sophia remembered everything. She loved him, he was sure of it and while he still didn’t think he deserved it, he was happy about it nonetheless.
He once again gazed on her sleeping form, unable to resist shifting her hair away from her face and behind her ear. Her mouth was slack, and he was sure she had drooled on him, but it didn’t matter. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He couldn’t help but stroke her. He loved the soft noises she made when he did. He didn’t deserve her. He never did.
She’d been with him for over a year now, and secretly he always hoped she would tire of him and decide to leave. She told him she loved him often, and each time, it cut him down to his core. He didn’t deserve her love. He couldn’t bring himself to pretend he did.
When he’d learned she’d been writing their story, he helped her in any way he could. It was his outlet as much as hers. He needed to see it in black and white, the pain he put her through, the monster he had been. He never wanted to forget what he could never allow himself to become again.