“Shut up.” Artemis responds and drags her by the elbow.
Trying to push through the crowd and escape, I race down the nightclub stairs, running through the entrance, feeling my breath and heartbeat pounding in my throat as I search for him once I reach the street alongside the port.
I keep walking, and then I see him, but he doesn’t see me. His back turned, broad shoulders in that button-down shirt, walking away. He’s so beautiful it takes my breath away, and for a moment, fear grips me, a terrifying feeling that maybe I’m in over my head, that maybe I won’t survive if he breaks my heart.
Instead of speeding up to run into his arms, my body slows down, my feet in heels decelerating, mind over matter, the ground grows sturdy and a feeling of hands grips onto my ankles.
I’m paralyzed.
My hand wants to reach out, but something inside me tightens, racing in a spiral of dark mist. The shadow finds me again. I can’t breathe, overwhelmed by the certainty that if I give too much, he will leave.
They always leave.
An enigmatic river of doubt submerges me as insecure ghosts infiltrate my soul, whispering haunting delusions. A dark vibration dances within my chest with a panic attack taking total control of me.
No, not again, not now.
I watch him disappear into the illuminated streets of Saint-Tropez until all that is left is his shadow. I try to breathe,desperately clawing for control before my panic attack turns into a full-blown showdown against myself. I sink onto the club entrance's stairs, hugging my knees like a shield, listening to the music, and chatter coming from the club.
His Buddha triangle tattoo on his back, which he got after finding peace from it following his father’s death and freeing his mother, comes to mind, as does the taste of him on my lips. I think of every person who’s ever told me to be more, do less, love better, break softer, and somehow, I’m never enough.
I’m a coward. I’ve been begging him to give me a part of himself, yet I can’t even offer myself in return.
Once this stupid panic attack that imprisons my mind and body slows down, I’ll pick up my phone. I’ll call him and explain. He deserves to know that I’m scared. I am broken more than he knows, more than I’ve cared to admit, and more than I ever realized.
When I get home, the house is silent and luckily my mother’s door is closed. Collapsing, I climb back into my bed and stare at my phone. For the first time in a long time, I let myself cry. Cry from not knowing who I am, from missing my brother, my father. Cry the tears I’ve been holding back at the excuse of resilience. But even through the tears, I know tomorrow I’ll see him, and maybe I’ll finally be brave enough to never let him go again.I finally dial his number, but it goes to voicemail.
French light is the ninth circle of hell, especially on a Monday morning, mid-June at school after a night in the club. There's only one week left of this crap, and I’m done, forever.
Feeling like an opened bottle of acetone sitting out for too long, I drift through the day, not entirely useless or entirely useful. I have an urging impulse to go straight to Joe’s house after still not having heard from him. The thought of seeing Joe is clawing at me, and it’s a slow poison in my bloodstream until I kiss him. One slow death I inflicted on myself by not running to him last night.
The room erupts with zippers, clatter, and sneakers on tile when the class is done. I keep my head down, ride the tide of bodies out into the hallway, and collide with…ouch.I look up, and it's a sophomore, Tyler. The only reason I know his name is because a group of girls couldn’t shut up about him when he transferred a few months ago from Cannes.
“Whoa!” Tyler says.
“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” I say, giving him an apologetic look, he could be a hockey player with his build. He glares with his green eyes, but I’m already a few steps away.
As soon as I’m free from school, I glance at my gate and his, and my feet pull me to his while I replay every second of last night watching him walk further from me. Stuck in my stupid panic attack. All I want now is to bury myself in his chest, sit in silence and feel safe in his arms again.
I reach his house and the garden is empty, the gate is closed and I swallow the lump in my throat. There’s no sound from the garage and no messages. First, I tap gently, and then I knock more forcefully. The echo in my chest is ridiculous.
I wait, counting the seconds, but there’s nothing. My heart is pounding. I have been sensing this feeling too many times since last night: something is off.
I peer into the garage, but it’s locked too, and the Ducati is gone. Like a lab rat convinced the next pellet will be the one, I check my phone again. I type out a message:
Me: Hey. Stopped by. Are you okay?
I stare at it for a full minute before hitting send. I hover, waiting. The sunlight is still brutal at six pm, and Joe’s words replaying in my head echoes,
“Do you know what happens when you want someone? they leave.”
Oh God, I’m going to be sick.If I hold still long enough, maybe the universe will answer.
Maybe he will.
Seven
Sara
