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Life’s too short.
Go get him.
~Colin
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
I’m fuming. I’ve been in a state since Sem left for the second time. I’ve moved past the depressed stage and am firmly in the anger category.
He left me with fucking Colin.
I’d told him if he left that it was over…and heleft.
The reality of this sat like a lump of lead in my stomach initially. How could he leave when it meant the end for us? But then gradually that lump transformed into a burning coal that lit something in me.
When I’d first set eyes on Colin’s note, I’d crumpled up that piece of paper and tossed it in the trash. It sat there overnight, until I’d retrieved it the next morning.
Then I smoothed it out, taped it to my bathroom mirror and plotted.
If he won’t come to me, then I’ll fucking go to him.
Asshole.
He won’t see it coming.
I question my sanity a little, but I know one thing. When I’m done with him, he won’t ever leave me again.
I’ll make sure of it.
“Luke,” I say into the phone, my voice trembling with determination. “I need your help.”
* * *
SEM
“He’s better off,” I mutter, moving back and forth through my RV. I’ve worn a path in the wood floors, but I don’t even care. Nothing really matters much right now. Everything seems a little less meaningful without him.
But that’s my fault, isn’t it?
I made that decision.
A week ago, I’d left for Colorado. Drove straight through the night without even stopping. When I arrived, I parked the RV and slept for an entire day before waking up with an aching chest and a throbbing head.
I debated the merits of staying away, of giving him space, but then a mere two hours later, I drove back home to see him.
I’ve gone completely insane. If I thought it was bad before knowing Maggie, it’s even worse now. I’ve had a taste of bliss, of life, and I gave it up.
If you leave now, it’s over.
I grab at my hair and tug. Pain pricks at my scalp, but I barely feel it. “Fuck.”
I spin and papers flutter around me. He litters my space. Maggie’s face stares up at me everywhere I look. That smile, those eyes, those lips.
I should rid myself of them, burn them all, but I can’t quite bring myself to do it. I’d parted with my original drawings before I’d left and regretted it immediately. I’d missed them. They were a part of me.
So I worked almost tirelessly the past week to recreate them.
I haven’t slept and I haven’t eaten. I’ve just drawn and drawn until my hand cramps.
