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"Wait." Her hand freezes on the handle, waiting. But what is there to say?
"You shouldn't be here," she responds when I don't say anything.
Anger streaks through me.
She's right. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't need to see her, need to hear her voice for even just a minute. I should be able to just walk away from her. I fling the half empty bottle of scotch down the alleyway. It crashes onto the ground in a mess of glass and amber liquid.
"Where am I supposed to go then, Clarissa?" I ask her, desperately. "Where else is there for me?"
"I don't know." The catch in her voice squeezes my heart. "But it's not here."
How can she be so cold?
Because she never felt anything, anyway? It was all a lie?
Her hand pushes down on the door handle, but I grab her wrist, pulling her back
"Tell me. Tell me why did you do this! Tell me why. Please." A week ago she had said the same thing to me.Please, Matthias.
"Why, Matthias? You wouldn't believe me, anyway. You were always just waiting for me to break your trust."
I recoil. "That's not true."
"Isn't it? Didn't you believe everything Gerry said without even giving me a chance to explain? Gerry! The person you hate most. Except for me."
Her hands rest on my chest for a nanosecond and for a moment I think she wants to touch me, but then she pushes as hard as she can. I stumble back a few steps out of sheer surprise.
"Don't come back here, Matthias," she pleads. And when she runs inside, I catch the glisten of tears on her cheeks.
That's it, Matthias. No more.
I slump against the wall outside her club, knowing she's just on the other side. Forever just out of reach.
Chapter 49
Clarissa
"Boss,the—"
James's voice fades into the abyss as I run past him and into my office.
"Shit!" I yell, swinging the door shut with a loud slam. The sound momentarily provides some release, but then the sound of his voice drowns out everything else again.
After a week, I'd finally found a way to get through the day without needing to hide in my office for hours on end, sobbing.
What was he even doing here? Other than to twist the knife. Doesn't he know how much it hurts to see him?
"I hate you, Matthias Baxter. I hate you so fucking much," I sob.
And I feel myself about to slip into another bout of tears when my phone rings.
Composing myself, I answer. "This is Clarissa."
"Clarissa, it's John."
My immigration lawyer. I hadn't heard from him in over a month, since Matthias and I had seen him to submit my spousal green card application.
"I've been waiting to hear back from you," he says.
