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The clothes I’ve washed too many times to still bear her scent, still do. Maybe it’s my imagination. Maybe it’s that we ended too soon.I know we ended too soon.
We ended by my own doing.
Do I regret forcing my parents’ hand?
No.
It worked out for her exactly as planned. Though I can admit there were unforeseen flaws in that period of desperation. The main one being that I’m not her boyfriend anymore.
I chuckle, which is rare these days. Boyfriend and girlfriend will never encapsulate what we are . . .weretogether.
Being Lark’s boyfriend was in another lifetime. I wonder if I’d be her fiancé or even husband if I’d been allowed to stay.Husband.No way would I have not locked that relationship down if I had the chance. And she’d be my wife.My wife.
I fucking love the sound of that.
I drape my arm across my forehead, knowing I should get some sleep, but this night wasn’t unique. This is how most of my nights into early mornings play out . . . my days as well. A perfectly executed agenda, covering the same topics in the same order every time. But still hoping I’ll come to a better solution—one that puts Lark and me back together.
Mentally checking that off my list, I move to the next item on the agenda—regret. Regret is a wild card. Some days, I can acknowledge without the emotion attached, and others, those aren’t my proudest moments. Tonight, I’ll tackle that head-on.
I left.
Two words so small that even when they’re together, they are still my biggest regret.
I had no choice.
I’ve justified the decision to leave a million times. I had to, as they say, throw myself on the sword to save what mattered most to Lark. I don’t regret tricking her into medical school. I regret not figuring out a better way of going about it, a way where I would still be in her bed, in her heart, in her life.
The loss threatens to drag me under, so I push to surpass the emptiness I feel inside. But loss and I are on a first-name basis. Lucas and my life at that time. Lark and the life we were building together. I was lucky to survive my cousin, but I think I used up all my luck when it came to Lark.
Dragging my arm back down, I press the base of my palm against my chest in hopes of breaking up this knot that never seems to go away. For more than a year, I mistook it for a hole and tried to fill it. Somehow that made sense, but I guess it would behind the goggles of alcohol. After having been down that road years prior, I steered clear of drugs, but a laziness set in and booze complicated my perspective.
The knowledge of Lark living a life without me was too hard to bear. Didn’t matter that I had chartered this course . . . I never thought I’d see her again, and if I did, she’d hate me anyway. I had nothing left to give, which means I had nothing left to lose.
I was kicked out of my apartment the day after I found a thong of hers mixed in with my freshly washed laundry. I had dumped everything straight from the box, not paying attention. I didn’t take anything of hers, but finding them, smelling them, and not finding her scent did me in.
Guess the landlord didn’t appreciate my design choices. He cited something about a broken table and a chair smashed into the walls of the LA studio I was renting. Some consider that art. I saw it as my anger personified. There was beauty in the destruction—the high I got and then afterward—but it wasn’t satisfying. It didn’t erase her from my memories or fix the pain I caused not only my heart but hers.
How could I make this right?
I could explain my thinking, that nothing else matters.Only she matters to me.
I’ve gotten good at making bad decisions. Self-fulfilling prophecy?Maybe.Shit ton of bad luck.Definitely.If I didn’t lose her before, I would now.
Loss.It’s a real bitch to deal with each day.
Rolling over, I grab the bottle of water from my nightstand and chug the rest of it down. Waking up before sunrise has become my ritual but not by choice. I toss it into the garbage in the bathroom and then walk into the living room of the apartment. I open the windows and the door to the balcony and let the breeze blow through. I still have an ounce of hope left that one day my soul will be cleansed and the good I do now will carry me home.
Home.
Lark.
They’re not one and the same anymore, but my heart still tricks me into believing it some days. I make an espresso and then take a shower. I like the modern amenities tucked inside the ancient exterior of this apartment. At first, it appears worn down with cracks covering the surface and scars from the lack of attention. But at second glance, the beauty is still there. It’s just buried under the years of the life around it.I relate.
I’m like a goddamn philosopher these days. It’d be nice to get out of my head for a while. I dry off and get dressed for a day at the office. Giving up Lucas’s dream allowed me to finally focus on mine.
I had to come to the source to follow my dreams. That meant taking a chance and moving to Italy, the home of Maserati, Ferrari, and Lamborghini. If I want to compete with the big boys, I had to take a leap and invest time and money for this opportunity.
A bonus is that being in the city of Modena has given me an opportunity to slow down and pursue what I enjoy doing. I’ve learned everything I can about manufacturing Maserati vehicles, made connections, and was even offered a promotion and salary to stay that was hard to turn down. But I didn’t come to Italy to stay forever. I came to get away. I came to learn. I came to find myself.
