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But there’s still a part of me that feels like I know him, and this is strange. So off from the version I used to know, the version that could sit in the rain for hours if it wasn’t cold, letting it wash the day and shit mood from him.
“Reminds me of something I lost.” My chest feels tight, the panic brewing and changing from curiosity to pain, growing painful spikes.
“Something you lost?” I ask stupidly, the words barely rasping out through an aching throat.
“I lost everything, Stella. You became my whole world on a rainy day in Ashford, and on a rainy day in Vegas, I lost everything. That night in Vegas hasn’t come back, at least not all of it, but some parts did. It kills me every time, knowing I had you, that you gave me everything, and I threw it away. I threw you away.”
His head turns to me, and I see it there.
The pain.
The loss.
It’s not just some line, it’s real.
“I tried everything to try and move on. I figured you made it clear you were done with me, so it wasn’t fair to keep reminding you of how I hurt you. But god, rainy days…. It’s like a darkness comes over me. That half of me that used to be filled with your sun is cold and dark, and I’m reminded again of how much I lost. I lost you, Stell. I lost you, and it’s all my fault, and I can’t go back and change it, and that fucking kills me,” he says, his eyes on the road as we continue to drive.
I can’t handle it.
I can’t handle it.
I can’t breathe in this car with him confessing everything I once wanted to hear.
I thought we could be friends, but I was wrong. I can’t be just friends with Riggins, and I’m too scared to give him more, which means I can’t be anything to him. That realization tears through me, ripping at the places I thought had healed.
I can deal with the cocky version of him, showing up at my place with a smile and wanting to talk like nothing happened.
I can deal with the version who shows up at my work every day, stubborn as ever, waiting for me to give in.
I can deal with the version that wants to rescue me, that wants to take care of me.
Ican’tdeal with this version full of sorrow and regret and loss. It hurts too much. There were days and weeks and months and years when that’s all I wanted. I wanted him to show up at my house with that look and beg me to listen to him, to apologize or just be there, to care.
He never did.
And now, all these years later, he’s looking at me like that.
“Pull over,” I say through a croak.
“What?”
“Pull over.” My voice is slightly less croaky and more firm, and even I can hear the panic in it as I reach for the door handle. I don’t know if I’d jump out of the car but the way I’m feeling, the way I feel like the walls are closing in on me, I wouldn’t doubt it.
“Stella, what?”
“Pull the fuck over!” I shout. Riggins does as I ask, pulling over abruptly. Before the tires even stop fully, I’m flinging the door open, ignoring his yells as I run.
I run into the empty field, hoping the exertion and the movement of my muscles will get this feeling out of my chest, but it doesn't. It just keeps building and building and building until I slowly realize it’s not just rain running down my face but hot, warm tears.
When I collapse on the grass, the sobs start.
That day in Las Vegas, a rainy day with nothing to do and filling that time by saying vows at a little chapel.
I gasp for air as memories hit.
My mother slapping me, the look of hatred on her face.
I can’t get a full chest of air into my lungs.
