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My body roars treacherously to life in response.
“I thought you weren’t coming back,” I say, the words tumbling out of me.
It’s not what I should say. His comings and goings don’t matter to me anymore. They shouldn’t.
A frown creases his brow, as if the very thought of not coming back is incomprehensible to him. He steps forward, the snow parting gracefully around his body like it answers to him.
“Who told you that?” he demands, huskily.
I shrug and look away. He takes another step forward and I feel his gaze heat the side of my face.
“I quit,” he announces.
“I don’t care,” I lie. Quietly, I revel in the fact that I managed to sound as dispassionate and detached as I’d hoped I would.
He doesn’t let my tone deter him.
“Teaching was nothing more than a farce. It wasn’t me. The only reason I lasted this long was because I got to see you every day.” I scoff but he forges on, taking another step towards me. “I stayed in London longer than I was supposed to because I was getting my mum settled into her new place.” Against my will, my eyes widen in surprise and snap back up to meet his. “She left my father. She finally did it. Turns out, all it took was me telling her I’d lose the girl I love forever if she didn’t. She was out of the house before nightfall after that,” he says with an easy grin, like it’s that simple.
My heart aches in my chest, brittle and hollow.
“I’m happy she’s safe, I’m glad she’s never going to be in harm’s way again. I really am. But you already lost me, Tristan.”
He takes another step, continuing like I didn’t speak.
“I told my father I didn’t want it. Any of it. Not the money and certainly not the company. So I’ve been cut off, I’m unemployed and I’m homeless now too. I had to give up the accommodation when I resigned.”
I look off to the side, dreaming of his little apartment. Our very own sanctuary where nothing could touch or break us.
Just him and I in a world of our making.
Gone now.
My posters likely in the trash along with all the trinkets I bought that he never wanted. He did tell me it wasn’t his home and I, foolishly, didn’t listen.
I whip back to face him, anger lashing through me now.
“Why are you telling me this?” I snap.
He’s above me suddenly and clasping my face in his large hands, his thumb rubbing soft circles on my skin. He inches closer until his warm breaths hit my frozen cheeks.
“Because I have a plan,” he breathes, vehemently. “For us.”
The words I’ve been waiting for, the ones he should have said to me a week ago.
They feel empty now, worthless.
I laugh, humorlessly. “Too little, too late for that.”
“Don’t say that,” he begs, turning me towards him, towards his mouth.
I rip my face out of his hold and step back, the heat of my anger keeping me warm even as my hair becomes slick with snow.
“Did you think you’d come here, lay out whatever this plan is you just cobbled together, and that I’d just forgive you? Is that it?”
His jaw twitches. “I thought you’d at least hear me out.”
I grin bitterly and shake my head. “I don’t owe you that, Tristan. I don’t owe you anything at all. You lost the right to anything from me when you lied to me for six months.” I glare at him, crossing my arms over my chest. “Are you done? Have you said everything you need to say?”
