Page 41 of Rich and Rotten

Stepping into the living room, which had been transformed from the small space with the brown suede couch, I recalled how we used to sit there for hours, taking in the view her condo offered. Her head on my shoulder, her legs thrown across me––peace filled my entire being whenever we shared those moments. Even after all the years that had passed, that same feeling was still there. It was different, even heavier. But it felt real, like the place remembered me, too.

It had gone through a transition, too––becoming larger than it used to be, breaking down walls, and adding more elements of luxury to it.

Like me.

No matter how long I had been gone, my peace had remained behind these walls, residing in the heart of this home. The couch that had always been a source of comfort was now gone, replaced with a soft cream sectional facing an even larger view. The lights were off, the room only being illuminated by the city’s lights and a lit candle that was on the coffee table. I walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window, almost afraid to be in that space.

“Don’t blow out my candle,” the voice said.

Before turning around, I looked out at that view.

“Our flight is early tomorrow. You should be asleep,” I replied.

When I turned around, I finally saw her curled up on a chaise lounge behind a plant. The enclave was designed to be hidden, perfectly tucked away from the rest of the living space, but the view was still visible from there.

“I don’t sleep much.”

“Why?”

She cut her eyes and scoffed. “As if I’m going to give you the million reasons why I don’t sleep much.”

Her tone was sharp, but I accepted it because I felt I deserved it. Tatiana was broken, and I was the fucker who broke her.

I watched as she twisted the edge of her silk robe between her fingers––a nervous habit that only I knew about. She used to hold eye contact like it was a weapon. Never backing down, always staring straight through your soul. That stare could make the most confident man question his own existence. Now her gaze bounced from the floor to the walls, everywhere but on me. She couldn’t give me the eye contact I desperately craved. She couldn’t give me what I wanted from her because I was causing her pain just by existing in the life she had created without me.

For all the words she wanted to scream, she stayed quiet. I could tell from her body language that she wanted to scream at me that I broke her and call me a pussy, a liar, and anything but a child of God.

But her heart wouldn’t allow it.

Despite the pain I had caused, her heart remembered the good times––the better version of me before it was tainted by my actions. The version that made her laugh and hugged her when no one else knew she needed one. The one who could read her like her favorite novel without her having to say a word. The man who whispered our future into her ear before I kissed her head and left.

Tatiana wanted to hate me. Everything inside her was torn between what she needed to do and what she wanted to do. She hated herself because she couldn’t give me the hate she so desperately wanted to give. It was something I had to carry with me––something I wanted to work so hard to change within her. I was here to pick up the pieces and rebuild the heart I had broken. I’ve always been told to clean up my messes, and I had made a mess of the woman sitting in front of me.

Tatiana didn’t cry. She didn’t shout or slam her fist against my chest while demanding answers. She sat still. Almost too still. Behind that reserved look was a woman trying to hold herself together while quietly unraveling at the seams.

“That’s fair,” I muttered, because that was the only words that made sense in this moment.

Tatiana snorted, low and bitterly, as she reached for her laptop like the conversation was already done.

“There isn’t anything that’s fair,” she said flatly, finally standing.

Her wide hips filled out the silk robe, forming perfect parentheses. I didn’t move. Instead, I remained in place, wishing she would just brush against me once. I’d settle for that. I watched as she retreated into the kitchen as if searching for something––possibly peace amidst the chrome appliances and white marble countertops.

She placed her laptop on the island, flipped the screen up, and clicked a few buttons before turning to the espresso machine as if it was routine. One foot pressed on top of the other as she fidgeted, her fingers trembling enough to make my heart ache.

I moved closer, close enough to smell the steam from the machine mixed with her perfume that clung to the silk of her robe.

Tatiana didn’t take her eyes off the espresso machine. I didn’t need her to.

I stood behind her, saying nothing. Just standing there with my hands extended on either side of her and resting on the counter. My heart calmed because she was near.

Her ass was pressed against me as she kept focused on her cup. The machine came to life, spitting out the espresso into the mug. The bitter concoction was a reminder that she still couldn’t sleep.

I shouldn’t have cared what she drank or when she drank it. But who was I kidding? Everything about this woman was my business––the curve of her back, the weight in her silence, and the way she bit down on her bottom lip whenever she was deep in thought.

Like now.

I wanted to be with her, love her, and heal the wounds I caused within her, but she wouldn’t let me in. Her vulnerability came at a cost, and no matter how much I had or acquired, it would be far too expensive for me to buy.