Page 62 of Don’t Forget Me

“This is better than the party downstairs,” she chuckled.

I couldn’t have agreed more.

“Why did you leave?” Lysandra questioned, her voice soft along with her eyes.

“I didn’t think anyone would notice,” I replied with a shrug.

“I did.”

My heart skipped a beat. What was she doing here? I didn’t blame her resentment, but I wasn’t in the right state of mind to take her contempt.

“I thought my existence was unbearable,” I said bitterly

“It wasn’t my intention for you think that,” she paused. “I’m sorry.”

“Your actions talk, Lysandra.” Although there’d been a hint of sarcasm laced in my voice, Lysandra beamed, tipping her head.

I could feel her easing back into comfort.

“What if I said that you’ve become… bearable? Just a bit, though, so don’t get too cocky.”

The switch in her demeanor caused a change in my own. She was teasing me, which meant it was a moment of relapse. Giving me an opportunity to show her just how much I longed for her.

“Is that so?” I smirked. I stood straight, sauntering toward her. She remained still, her gaze tempting me to pull her in.

“Yeah, you’re like a chair. I don’t hate you, I don’t like you, you’re just… there,” she argued. I was able to sense the doubt in her statement.

“I’d like to refute your claim.” I smirked.

“What’s your defense?” she snapped.

“I think you might be falling in love with me. Again.”

She let out a laugh—not in a mocking tone, but tired. “You are so far off.”

“How so? Explain,” I said, as she continued to chuckle.

“Because I doubt the existence of love. Which makes me incapable of it.”

I felt myself shatter when she said that. Did that mean that what we had wasn’t real? Was it all fake? I had no right to be upset anyway; I pushed those questions out of my mind. I couldn’t resist my curiosity about whether her fiancé was responsible for her harsh ideals.

“Why?”

“I used to believe that every human being on Earth had the birthright of experiencing love at least once in their existence,” she began, her eyes glistening under the moonlight. “But not me.”

Her last words trembled in her throat.

My hand found hers, and she jumped at the graze of our touch. I watched as she gulped, regret painting her features. Lysandra shut her eyes and breathed through her nose. “I should go.”

“No, wait⁠—”

“It was nice talking to you.”

Lysandra rushed off the terrace and jumped behind the door. I watched silently as her figure disappeared down the stairwell that would lead her back to the celebration.

I stood there, alone, without her. Again.

twenty eight