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I came here to feel again. Angelo has given me that in more ways than I ever could have imagined.
Sitting down at my computer, I decide I need to focus on what I came here to do. I need to write my book.
With my emotions so mixed up, I go over the journals both me and Angelo wrote in. With my heart bleeding for the man I unintentionally hurt, I write. I write for myself. I write for Angelo. I write for Annie. I write for Jonathon. I let the words bleed onto the screen without allowing myself to overthink or second-guess what I’m writing.
They say the best writers focus on things they know. I know heartache. I know love. I know overcoming. I know more than I thought I did about romance, emotions, and the tangled mess they can make, as well as the beauty they can bring out in another person.
Hours upon hours, I write.
***
Two days later, I find myself sitting at the coffee shop, leather bound journal in hand. My phone has been silent, except for Melanie checking in. Not a single text or call from Angelo. I picked it up many times and typed out message after message, my thumb hovering over the send button, but I never quite made it press down. I pulled up his contact countless times with my fingers hovering over the green button to make the call. Again, I couldn’t actually make it happen.
Hesitation, guilt, sadness, heartache; it all mixes together with my own wishes for what might have been.
My strength lies in researching. It’s why I love to write non-fiction. I deal in facts, realities. This emotional mess I made out of things is why I never wanted to write fiction.
Annie and Jonathon will get their happily ever after, but what about Angelo and me?
I watch the barista and wonder if he’s seen Angelo. I shouldn’t care. After all, Angelo said he’s done, and he is a man of his word. Except, it is like with Gregory—I can’t leave things unfinished.
I close my eyes and push down the emotions.
When I came to after being shot, the first thing I was aware of was my pinky locked in his. I can’t help feeling like Gregory thought we were dying together. An eternal link of sorts.
It has taken me years to change my thought process from being one of death and dying with the man I loved to having hope and him linking our pinkies in a way to hold on to the hope I would survive. I believe in my heart of hearts that Gregory wrapped his pinky in mine to give me the love, courage, and strength to move on.
Time heals all wounds, they say. It’s taken time for me to know I need to move on.
I didn’t come to Detroit for love, lust, or anything to do with finding a man. No, I came to write a story on the beauty and the beast that is the city of Detroit. I came here to see what Gregory wanted me to see.
Could it be that he wanted me to see the beauty in Angelo instead of the monster the man sees in himself?
The more my mind tries to make out the real meaning of this trip, the more I go back to Angelo. I can’t let him think it’s his fault I fell so hard and so fast for him. After all, this was my idea. It was supposed to be a simple proposition.
Opening the journal and grabbing a pen, I decide I need to leave this city behind, but not without being clear with the man who calls this place home.
Dear Angelo,
Where do I begin? I hate to leave this city and think of our time together with anything but adoration. More so, I hate to leave and think that you have any additional ugly moments in your beautiful life.
Yes, Michelangelo Mazzini, you are a beautiful man, inside and out. You are a saint, and not a sinner. You are loyal, loving, giving, kind, and so very strong.
People say your past defines your future. Angelo, please let it be your beauty in the pain. You couldn’t save Maria, but you did avenge her death. You couldn’t, and honestly, it wouldn’t change taking the man’s life, but it is a beautiful thing to love so deeply, so powerfully, and to know that, although society may find it wrong, it was right. If he had lived, there would be many more Maria’s in his future. There is not a single doubt in my mind of that.
I want you to know that I sent my research into your case to the Attorney General. I don’t know that anything can be done about the time you lost, but it is my sincerest hope you are punished no more. If your parole is dropped, shortened, or should your time expire, it is my wish for you, Angelo, to see the world.
