After last night’s events, I feel so exhausted as if I haven’t slept a wink. The truth is far from that, I was already deep asleep by ten at night and only opened my eyes at two in the afternoon, realizing I was about to be late. Checking my phone, I saw that even if I had stayed longer in dreamland, I still would’ve had time.

  Elizabeth stayed over longer than necessary on Wednesday, but we had plenty to talk about. She asked a lot of unnecessary questions that required even more explanations, and at three in the morning, she had William, her personal driver, take her home.

  Her first and most important question was whether I had told her about Dante in connection with the house party, because, according to her, she had been under the impression that I had fallen for Mark.

  The emptiness in my brain suddenly became tangible, because, in truth, I had never mentioned a name to her. She didn’t even know that I had met someone weeks ago. Our long conversation finally came full circle at this point.

  Who is Dante Ross, what kind of person is he, and how dare I keep this love a secret from my best friend?

  In the middle of my apology, I pointed out that I genuinely thought I had already told her about him, because, naturally, I would never deliberately hide such a person from her.

  Then came the endless stream of questions from her lips:

  What does he look like? How do you feel when he looks at you? How many times has he hugged you? Have you slept together? How does he kiss?

  As I answered: saying yes, I think he looks incredible; I feel at home in his presence; I find peace in his arms whenever he wraps them around me, I started to feel my blood pressure rising. I shook my head at the question about sleeping together, and when I thought about our kiss, I wanted to dig my own grave. The feeling is indescribable, when your soul trembles, and you fear, you dread, that at any moment it might leave your body.

  As soon as she grasped the weight of my emotions, the cold shower followed:

  What was he thinking when he just disappeared? How does he have the nerve to act like a saint without even apologizing? Why doesn’t he care about what he’s putting you through? How can he even look at himself in the mirror?

  As I tried to explain that university must have drained his energy and that he’s not a bad person, I suddenly realized: I was just trying to fool myself. He stirred the still waters I was floating in, only to vanish in the middle of the biggest storm, tearing my heart out, making it useless, thanking me for it, and handing it right back.

  Sadness consumed me so much that I even forgot to defend Dante’s name and honor. My red-haired friend continued her tirade:

  “He should be treated like freshly washed laundry, hung up!”

  “If he fell from his ego to his IQ, he’d drop dead!”

  “It’s disturbing to think he was the best load his father had to offer!”

  And I just nodded like a robot. I completely ignored her.

  The thought that Mark tried to protect my heart from him leaves some lingering doubt. He knew Dante; they became men together, while I chose to believe Dante…

  Mark knew I would get hurt, and he tried his best to shield me. My sadness quickly turned into disappointment, and finally, into anger.

  Since then, I’ve completely absorbed Elizabeth’s rage.

  Even as I drink my "morning" coffee and eat my food, all I can think about is how I could send the love of my life back to his mother’s womb in literary terms.

  On Wednesday, well, technically, Thursday at dawn, I finally went to bed. I had stayed late working overtime, then collapsed into my bed. I couldn’t ignore the chores in my apartment any longer, I did a load of laundry, cooked for the weekend, washed the dishes, prepared my outfit for today, and now I’m just staring at the bottom of my empty coffee mug.

  My stomach, like a restless child, keeps doing somersaults inside me. I feel like it’s trying to crawl up my throat and escape to start a stress-free life far away from me.

  A wise decision on its part, but I wouldn’t be too fond of it.

  While thinking, I came to several realizations. From the very beginning, it was clear to me that we didn’t have much of a future together. So here’s the question… Then why did he act like he wanted to write his own fairy tale with me? If he knew this wouldn’t work out, why did he spend his sleepless nights obsessing over what had happened between us? Why did he send his soul to me every night? Why did he run to me?

  A man in his twenties entered my life, drowning all his doubts in alcohol, why did I ever think this was what I wanted?

  I feel manipulated and deceived. Did he wrap me around his finger, or was I the one seeking this kind of special impulse in my otherwise peaceful life?

  Either way, we created this fantastic story together, and we have to resolve it together. He can no longer run from the truth—our truth, that we became dangerously fond of each other, knowing we could never truly be one another’s.

  I don’t know what I should be feeling, but one thing is certain, I am angry! Angry at myself, but mostly at him!

  I rip off my pajamas as if they were burning in the depths of hell and throw them into the corner of my room as if they symbolize my troubles. Stomping around in nothing but my underwear, I rummage through my closet for my favorite bra, but when I fail to clasp it, I throw it to the ground as if I were trying to catch a Pokemon.

  Calm down, Nina. Your clothes are not to blame for Dante being a piece of shit.

  I pick up the discarded fabric, force a calmer smile onto my face, and finally put it on, letting out an exasperated sigh.

  This is his fault too!

  I slip into my black turtleneck, pink socks, high-waisted jeans, and take one last glance in the mirror.

  I look awful. My face is drained, as if I forgot how to sleep. Makeup won’t fix this, but maybe I can do something with my hair.

  I head toward the bathroom, but in the living room, I slam my little toe against the coffee table’s corner. The entire apartment building can hear my frustration, my misfortune, and my extensive vocabulary of curses directed at the table.

  “Motherfucker!” I raise my voice and kick it again, but once again, I am the one who loses. Swearing, I collapse onto my couch for a few minutes, fully embracing the moment. As I lean my head back, I realize just how pathetic I am.

  My love life is shit, my personal life isn’t much better, and I’m completely lost in my emotions.

  I get up again and head to the bathroom, switching on the light and standing before the mirror. My baby blue plastic comb looks at me like an old friend, yet… the moment I pick it up, I immediately drop it onto the vanity. Suddenly, it doesn’t seem so friendly anymore. It bounces off, smacking against my forehead. I sigh again and let my eyes drift toward the curling iron.

  No… Not this. I’m not taking that risk.

  I pull myself together as quickly as I can, put on my boots and coat, sling my bag over my shoulder, turn off all the lights, and leave the apartment, locking the front door behind me.

  According to my phone, I’m running late, so I walk briskly to the bus stop. There aren’t many people on board, just six others scattered around the seats. I take a spot at the front by the window, trying my best to calm myself down.

  I can’t just attack Dante, no matter how much I want to. I have to consider that he might have had a long day, that he might be stressed from university…

  My plan is to meet him, talk things through like two mature adults, then go home and leave everything behind. And yet, with these emotions bubbling inside me, such plans seem harder than they should be. If I can’t control myself, I’ll end up slapping him the moment I see him and catching the next bus home.

  My brain and my heart want two different things. As much as I’ve let myself be carried away by the heat of the moment, I need to stay grounded now.

  My train of thought is interrupted by the bus coming to a stop. I glance out the window, but I don’t see his figure among the people.

  Of course… Why would he even show up?

  The whole man is a walking deception, you can’t even believe the questions he asks.

  I erase the grimace from my face and step off the bus, aggressively digging through my bag for my cigarette pack and lighter. Instead, my hands keep grabbing everything else first: tissues, wallet, headphones, pills, phone charger, and a bunch of other junk I had mentally labeled as “Might Be Useful Someday.”

  “Did you lose something?”

  At the familiar deep voice, my stomach jumps. I look up from my bag straight into Dante’s eyes. What a surprise, he just had to make an entrance with his signature fashionable lateness.

  “No… I just wanted a smoke.”

  “You started smoking?” He tilts his head slightly, his blue irises practically smiling at me.

  Not happening, Dante. Not even for a second will I let my guard down because of you. In this battle of emotions, my stubbornness is winning.

  “I wouldn’t say that. I’m just stressed. Aren’t you?”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  There’s a hint of sarcasm in my question, but not enough to ruin his mood. And yet, that’s exactly what happens.

  “Oh, I am. Part-time job, university, and now you, too.”

  “I can go home.”

  “That’s not what I meant!” He flashes a soft smile. I turn my gaze away, but the rust-colored bus stop isn’t exactly a better sight.

  I glance back at him, he is breathtaking. His white turtleneck, paired with a black canvas coat, makes his steel-blue eyes stand out even more. Even though his shoes and jeans are ordinary, his entire presence feels like an art exhibition.

  I slowly step closer, his intoxicating scent hitting me like a wave. As much as this guy sends me to another dimension, I wouldn’t mind rearranging his face structure right now.

  “Does it matter where we go?” I ask quietly, the love-struck girl and the furious woman inside me both desperate to break free. I can barely hold my emotions back.

  “A place that’s special to me.” He gives a slight nod in the direction we should walk, so we set off toward the unknown.

  I pull out my bag again, my plan remains unchanged. I want to smoke. The tension between us isn’t as heavy as it was in the café, so I calmly go through the motions of lighting up. I offer him the pack without a word, and he takes one, making me a cigarette poorer.

  “How was your trip?”

  “Quiet and peaceful. How was your week?”

  He hesitates slightly, needing a moment to find the perfect word.

  “Pleasant… I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “It was fine. Just stressful.” I nod a few times. We both fall silent for a moment before he speaks again. “So, you’re a barista.”

  “I can say with confidence that working at that café is not the peak of my career.”

  “I didn’t doubt that for a second.” He chuckles softly. God… That laugh makes me lose my mind.

  “What would you consider the peak of your career?”

  “That’s a tough question. I’m not doing what I actually want, I’m just doing what makes my parents happy. It’s hard to call anything a ‘peak’ when that’s the case.”

  “I think all of you made a huge mistake choosing healthcare. That profession doesn’t suit any of you, and most of you didn’t even stick with it.”

  “Back then, we were kids full of good intentions, wanting to help people. We didn’t think about the headaches it would bring. The others are a bit different.” Seeing my curious gaze, he takes a deep drag from his cigarette, exhales through his nose, and continues. “The others realized it wasn’t for them. Only three of us pursued further studies in it, Mark found another way to make a living, and Conor started a completely different life.”

  “So, you’re the only one torturing yourself.” I draw my conclusion between two drags. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t want this either, yet you still went to university.” He doesn’t answer. In fact, he doesn’t even acknowledge me. The voices in his head are far louder than mine.

  I know full well that he can’t tell anyone else about this, if he could, he wouldn’t have broken down in tears in the car with me. He held my hand as if I could pull him out of this life, as if I was the only person he could truly rely on… and then he was left completely alone. My heart aches for his situation, yet I’m proud of him. But I still hate him.

  If I ever have a child, I want them to be like him:

  Strong, determined, persistent, and generous. He hides from his parents how much he doesn’t want to live this life, just so they can be proud of him. This is how he repays them for all they’ve done for him. Words can’t describe how much I’d want to be the place where his soul can rest, but he disappeared, he didn’t want me.

  It’s hard to help him like this.

  “Where are we going?” I repeat my question, this time in a firmer tone, snapping him back to reality.

  “Relax, honey, I’m not drinking.” His words, combined with my puzzled look, make him nod forward. My jaw nearly hits the ground.

  A bar. It looks small and cozy from the outside, with a massive sign in white letters that reads: Relax Honey, I Don’t Drink.

  “What’s with all these weird bar names?!” The question bursts out of me, and laughter bursts out of him. First, it was I Don’t Know, and now this? I can’t with this…

  “Admit it, you like it.”

  “I love it…” My sigh brings a smile to his face, but his good mood isn’t contagious this time.

  I don’t go inside. Instead, I sit down at one of the tables outside, where, thanks to the large windows, I can see into the bar. The dark brown walls contrast with the white furniture, and the servers, dressed in black uniforms, move efficiently among the patrons. It’s not packed, yet it still gives the impression that there’s barely room to move. Here in Vernon, the golden glow of ambient lighting is incredibly dominant, and this street is no exception.

  Dante doesn’t stay inside long, he orders our drinks and then returns to our table.

  He takes a seat across from me, gently sliding my glass toward me. With a broad grin, he watches me as he lights a cigarette, his gaze drifting over my body. I do the same, mirroring his actions.

  My eyes land on the glass in front of me. Whiskey. Neat.

  Despite the little time we’ve had for each other in the past months, he still remembers how I start nights like this. He doesn’t say anything, just watches me while smoking, as if he’s nervous. His body language is clear; he’s keeping his distance.

  “So…” He finally starts, biting his lip. I do the same.

  “Yes?”

  “How have your… you know.” He looks away, and my blood pressure spikes. I lift my glass and take a deep sip of alcohol. I need this. “How have your past few months been?”

  “You’ve got some nerve…” My thoughts spill from my mouth as if I have no self-control. Dante blinks in surprise. “You fed me lies, then poof you disappeared.”

  “You misunderstood…”

  “Oh, I’m sure I did.” I nod a few times, but he doesn’t react, he’s lost in thought again.

  “When things got complicated… I really did have something important. Really.” When I keep nodding mechanically, he continues. “I wanted to be with you, I really did. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

  “The problems just piled up over your head, I get it.” I take another deep sip from my glass. He pulls his chair closer, leaning onto the table.

  “It was just bad timing.”

  “I agree. We should’ve met in another life because I clearly don’t fit into this one.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” His gaze fixes on his drink, his long fingers wrapped around the glass, but he doesn’t lift it.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I had so much going on, so much studying, and when I finally had time, I had already promised my family. I had no choice but to cancel.”

  “That happened quite frequently in September.”

  “I know.”

  “More specifically, every single weekend.”

  He says nothing, just takes a sip from his glass and flicks his ash aside.

  “I understand why you’re sad…”

  “Me?! Sad?!” My sudden reaction makes his body tense. “I just don’t understand you! I’m not upset, I just don’t know anything about you! Am I supposed to read your mind?!”

  “Of course not!” He raises his hands in defense, and my body tenses even more. “Look, I canceled so many times that I just didn’t dare to reach out again.”

  “And from my perspective, you aggressively ignored me and then didn’t even try to reconnect.”

  “That’s not what I wanted.”

  I nod again. He rolls his eyes.

  “Sure. That’s just how life played out.”

  “Okay, fine. I should’ve reached out after that.”

  “Judging by your words, someone held a knife to your throat and forced you to choose.”

  “Almost. Something like that.” My eyebrows knit together. “I lost my phone…” His weak excuse makes my jaw drop. That’s the best he could come up with?! “Okay?! I lost it! I don’t know where or how, it just disappeared! I bought a new one and texted Mark. I even came up with a phenomenal lie that I didn’t reach out because of that. But you never replied… Though I get why, I wouldn’t have responded to me either.”

  I dig through my bag for my phone, checking my messages, but I haven’t received a single one from an unknown number. Without a word, I hand my phone to him.

  His eyes widen as he scrolls through my messages, but of course, he finds nothing. His expression twists, and finally, he pulls out his own phone. He types something, sends it, but I don’t receive anything.

  “What the fuck?!”

  His crude language makes me burst into laughter, I’ve never heard him swear like that before.

  “Are you sure that’s my number?” I grab his phone in one swift motion, and he hands it over without protest. Ah. I see the problem… “This is my old number. No idea why Mark gave you this one.”

  “He never told you I was trying to reach you? I mentioned I couldn’t get through.”

  “No.”

  “Open my messages with Mark.”

  I comply and scroll through their conversation. He’s not lying, he really did try to reach me. But that was when Mark and I had already drifted apart.

  “Well, you’ve slightly redeemed yourself…” We swap our phones back. “But this mess is still on you.”

  “I ruined it?”

  “Have I mentioned I love your voice? Probably not, but sometimes, you should just shut the fuck up.” His mouth drops open, and before he can say anything, I cut him off. “I wasn’t desperately looking for you because I needed you! Rumors were spreading, and I wanted to clear things up.”

  “What? What rumors?”

  “And when… When I waited for you for four hours in Vernon… I’m sure you remember. I won’t forget it.”

  “I’m so sorry about that too!” He bows his head in apology, but honestly, he could break his spine for all I care, it wouldn’t fix anything. “I saw the message too late. I thought you had already gone home.”

  “People in Clinton are incredibly patient, Dante.” I take another sip from my glass. I hadn’t even realized, I’m down to my last sip.

  “What I did was awful.”

  “That’s an understatement. And all I wanted was to clear things up.”

  “Right. So, the rumors…”

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, and what you’ve been saying about me.”

  “From who?!”

  “I have my sources.” I look away, resisting the urge to light another cigarette so soon after finishing one.

  Before I start explaining, I hand him some cash to get us another round. Like a gentleman, he obliges.

  While he’s inside, I place a cigarette beside his seat and light one for myself. When he returns, he doesn’t say a word, just downs his entire drink and lets me speak.

  I tell him everything I’ve heard, without naming names. His face twists into different expressions, some rumors make him blink in disbelief. When I mention that people claim he’s still a virgin and that I tried to seduce him, he even drops his cigarette onto his foot.

  He apologizes, asks me to continue, so I do.

  Time flies without us noticing. The bartender reminds us it’s closing time, Dante hasn’t even had the chance to react to everything I said.

  “Closing time…” I mutter, resting my elbow on the table.

  “Yeah. It’s already ten.”

  “What?! I missed my bus!”

  “It’s not like you could go home, we need to talk about this!”

  “It’s not like I can go home!” I push my hair back and lock eyes with him. It’s insane how calm he is.

  “You’re not going home. You’re coming with me. I need to explain that this isn’t what you think!”

  “What?”

  “I was the one who kissed you. I wanted you! I still want you.”