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And what do I feel, I’m not sure. Rage, relief, bitterness, anger, desperation, heartbreak. Everything and nothing, all at once.
“I’m doing a three-month intensive culinary internship in Lyon. It’s half-restaurant experience, half-schooling at the most prestigious institute in France. I start this Monday, on March 1st.”
Behind all the anger and resentment, there’s real happiness for him. He’s making his dreams come true, like we always talked about.
“Congratulations,” I say, sincerely.
Inside, the rip in my chest tears impossibly deep, a fatal blow. In the end, he was yet again full of pretty words and of even prettier lies. Minutes ago he was down on his knees, begging me to forgive him and all along he knew that he was leaving the country. He wasn’t going to stay even if I had been foolish enough to forgive him. How many times can I let one person hurt me?
I find my last remaining shred of decency and add, “Goodbye, Tristan. I hope you get to live the life you always dreamed of.”
I walk past him once more and reach for my car door but he turns and grabs my forearm.
Electricity zaps up my body like it always does but this time it’s met with grief. Grief at what we lost and over what could have been.
“Lose that word from your vocabulary when it comes to me, Nera.” His thumb strokes the exposed skin of my wrist. “Goodbyes don’t exist between us. I’ve told you before and I’ll say it again. I’ll say it every day for the rest of my life if that’s what it’ll take for you to believe me – I love you and I’m never leaving you.”
Chapter 45
Tristan
March.
Nera walks out of her apartment building with Thayer, Bellamy and Sixtine following closely behind her. The foursome is chatting excitedly about something I can’t quite make out.
I’m too busy staring at Nera.
It’s a soothing balm to my soul laying eyes on her again after a few days away. There’s an innate sadness to her, not unlike the one she carried when I first met her. It seems deeper now and knowing I’m the sole culprit for it makes me want to take a knife to my own chest.
I miss her like the desert misses the rain. There’s a drought inside me and I feel like I’m shriveling up and desiccating from the inside. Every breath is painful, every step forward agonizing.
We haven’t spoken since I cornered her coming out of practice and I’ve barely slept since. Her words play on a loop in my brain, taunting me and terrifying me with the possibility that she’ll never forgive me.
She seemed resolute and unmoving, but I can’t let that stand.
I’ll get her to forgive me no matter what it takes.
No matter what I have to do.
I exit my car and walk towards her. She’s the first to look up when I’m still a ways away, almost like she can sense me when I’m in her vicinity. Her eyes sharpen and her features tighten like she’s steeling herself for battle.
Her friends’ gazes follow hers over to me, the words dying out abruptly on their lips when they spot me.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in France?” Nera asks tonelessly, like she has no interest in the matter.
If I didn’t know her so well, if I didn’t spot the way the corners of her eyes crinkle like they do when she’s putting on a front, then I’d fall for her unaffected act.
“I was, I just made it back.”
“Back for what?”
“To bring you dinner,” I say, extending the bag I’m carrying towards her. “Sorry it’s so late, traffic was terrible near the border.”
Silence meets my declaration as four pairs of eyes stare at me. No one makes a move to reach for the bag, all of them shocked by my words.
Nera is the only one I see, the only one whose breaths I’m counting. I know her body better than I know my own, I’ve studied it and worshipped every centimeter of it over the past six months.
She missed an exhale after I spoke.
