God, my fucking heart.
She leaves.
“Please don’t walk away from me,” I call after her, some passerby turning their heads, hearing the hurt break my voice.
But she doesn’t turn her head. She doesn’t listen. And I know this time that running after her again will be futile.
Maybe it was futile all along.
I sigh, running my hand through my hair. Then I turn and go back into the theatre to finish the rest of the film.
She was right about the movie.
I hate it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Brigs
Edinburgh
Four Years Ago
I’ve gone mad. Bloody fucking mad.
That’s what love does to you. Your heart becomes so fucking needy that it siphons energy from everything, including your own brain cells. Your pulse beats to thoughts of her, your veins run hot with need and want. Everything about you becomes so singularly focused on one person that there’s no room for you anymore.
And you don’t care. Because as maddening as it is, love is the only time you really, deeply feel what it is to be alive. And for that, you’ll put up with anything.
I have to put up with a hollow chest filled with hornets. I feel utterly empty because Natasha is back in London, has been for two weeks now. I feel completely ravaged because I still remain married, still lost in what the hell I should do, what the right thing is.
After Natasha told me she loved me in the car, leaving me to soldier the weight of it, I grappled with what to say to her. I texted her that night asking if she was all right and she said she was fine. That was it.
Then on Monday she came to my office as usual. I tried to bring it up but she only raised her hand and said it didn’t matter.
I wanted then to tell her how I felt, that I loved her too, that I’ve been fighting these feelings for months. I wanted to tell her everything.
But I couldn’t. I don’t know why I held on to my truth like that. Maybe I was protecting myself, protecting Hamish. Maybe I was protecting nothing at all and I was just a chicken shit. The latter is probably true. In the face of it all, I just wanted to run and hide.
I wish I hadn’t though. I wish I could have manned up and told her the truth. And because I didn’t, the last week of us working together was strained. The joy, the fun, the laughs were all gone. Natasha completely threw herself into her work, saying she needed to do as much for me as she could, but I could tell she was just looking for a distraction. She laid herself bare to me and I couldn’t do the same.
Coward.
And then the last day we were together, the last time I saw her, she leaned forward, kissed me gently on the cheek, and whispered, “I still mean it.”
And I said nothing.
Fucking coward.
So here I am, in my office at the start of the new semester, wondering how she’s doing while trying to go over my course outline at the same time.
It’s five o’clock. I should be heading back home but I’m spending more and more time at the office, just like before, only now I’m alone. The only reason I head back early is to see Hamish, but even then I noticed Miranda is being more possessive over the amount of time I spend with him, which is ridiculous.
I can’t help but think back to what Natasha said about her parents and how her childhood was tainted with their fighting. I don’t want Hamish to grow up with his parents possessive over him and not even speaking to each other. In the last week Miranda said she wanted a bedroom of her own, and what’s he going to think when he gets older? We don’t talk, we only fight and now we sleep in different rooms? He’s going to realize that his family is irreparably broken from the inside out.
I exhale loudly and stand up, stretching my arms above my head. My mobile beeps.
I pick it off the desk and peer at it.
It’s Natasha.
I’ve barely heard from her, with only the occasional email.
Do you ever get lonely? the message says.
My heart sinks as I text back, Always. Are you lonely now?
Yes, I miss you. I need you.
I miss you, too.
Do you need me?
Yes. I stare at the phone, wanting to say more. But I don’t.
Did you ever love me?
Damn. Damn, damn, damn. I stare up at the ceiling, seeking answers, but there’s only plaster.
I can’t do this over the phone, I text her.
I wait. There’s no response.
I flop down in my chair and stare at the phone.
Please text back, please text back.
She doesn’t.
Finally, I call her. It goes to her voicemail, the same one she never checks.
I text her again: Where do you live? I’m coming to you.
She texts back her London address.
I’m not thinking properly. I’m irrational. But nothing is stopping me as I look up flights to London. I find a thirty pound shitty Ryanair flight that will get me into the city no later than 9pm. There’s no way to get back until the morning, but I can still make my afternoon class. It just means I’ll be spending the night in London.
You’re booking a hotel, I tell myself.
I then text Miranda, telling her I won’t be home until late, knowing she goes to bed early anyway.
She never texts back.
I grab my stuff and go.
It’s crazy, and I’m thinking it even as the plane lands at Stansted Airport. But if I don’t deal with this now, with her, it will haunt me. If I don’t deal with it now, I’ll never be able to let it go. I need to be able to see what can be. I need to look down that path, see where it ends, and make a decision.
If only it were so easy.
The cabbie drops me off in front of a modest brick building in Woolwich, above a takeaway Chinese shop and a nail salon. I ring her buzzer, waiting as a group of college-age kids stumble past, drunk.
She answers it, her voice crackling. “Brigs?” Then she buzzes me up.
I rush through the door and take the stairs two at a time. I was trying to be calm and composed the entire flight down here, but the minute I hear her voice through the intercom, every part of me lights up. Now I can’t get to her fast enough.
Just as I reach her door, it flings open, and Natasha is standing there, wearing a plain black dress. I’ve never seen her legs other than in jeans, and I take a moment to stare at them, long, incredibly soft, and curvy, before I bring my gaze to her face.
It’s her face that sets my skin on fire.
It’s her lips, full and sensual, that make my heart drum against my chest.
And it’s her eyes, wanting so much from me, wanting to give me so much, that has me storming through the doorway and grabbing her. My mouth is wild on hers, unapologetic, and thirsty beyond repair.
As I’m cupping her face in my hands, she’s digging her hands into my shoulders and kicking the door shut. While my tongue dances with hers, she’s pressing her body against mine. I can feel my erection, thick and hard between us, and my hands slide down the silk of her back to her arse, where I grab and squeeze, feeling more savage by the minute.
We walk, stumbling backward through the unfamiliar hall until I have her back against the wall. My lips go to her neck, licking, tasting her. She feels better on my tongue than I ever imagined, and it’s nearly impossible not to devour her whole while she tastes so sweet.
“Tasha,” I groan into her neck, my hand sliding over her breast as I press myself against her, pinning her to the wall. “I’ve never wanted you more.”
I’ve never wanted anyone more.
She lets out a fluttery sigh, grabbing the back of my neck with her hand, squirming beneath my touch. I pull down the top of her dress, taking her nipple into my mouth and sucking it with one long, hard pull.
“Fuck,” she whimpers, tugging at my hair. “Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
But her urging words make me realize I have to stop. It’
s now or never.
I don’t know how, but I manage to pull away. I’m surprised I have any willpower, any brain power left. All my blood is throbbing in my cock and I’m inflamed with the desire to finally have her, here, now, in any way possible.
What little is left of my morals, though, is coming through strong.
“Natasha,” I say, my voice hoarse. I continue to press myself against her, smoothing back the hair from her face, peering at her intently. Her mouth looks bruised, damp, her eyes glazed by lust as she stares back at me. “I love you.”
She seems to melt before my eyes. “You love me?” she asks with soft liquid eyes. “Really?”
I nod and rest my forehead against hers, closing my eyes as I breathe. “Yes. For a while now. Even before you told me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me then?” she whispers.
“Because I’m a coward. And confused. And I don’t know how to do the right thing.”
“Love is the right thing, isn’t it?”
I sigh and pull back, cupping her face in my hands. “I wasn’t sure. But I think I know now. I’m going to ask Miranda for a divorce.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
I swallow thickly. “Yes. It’s going to hurt her, I think. At least her pride. But I have to tell her the truth.”
“Don’t tell her about me,” she says with panicked eyes.
“That’s not my plan,” I tell her. “But the truth is that I don’t love her anymore. I’m not sure I ever did. I want to do whatever I can for Hamish, but staying with her is not the answer.”
She studies me for a moment, searching every inch of my face, then smiles. “You love me,” she says softly, perhaps finally believing it.
“I love you,” I whisper, running my thumb over her beautiful lips. “You’ve done something to me, awakened a heart in my soul. You have completely enchanted me, my girl, and I am powerless against you. You’ve taken me from the very start.”
“Kiss me again,” she says.
I gently press my lips against hers and pull back. I let out a deep breath. “Until I tell Miranda, I can’t…”
“I know.” Her fingertips trail over my cheekbone. “I can wait. I’ll do anything for you. You know that, don’t you?”
I give her a wry smile. “Oh, really,” I say, brushing the tip of my nose against hers. “Can you suggest where I should sleep tonight? I have to get up early in the morning for my flight.”
“Sleep here,” she says. I raise my brow and she continues. “Take the couch. I have no flatmates. No one will bug you.”
“And if I want you to bug me?”
“That can very easily be arranged,” she says, wiggling her fingers in my face. “You know how annoying I can be.”
“Hardly,” I tell her.
But it’s still early. To be honest, I don’t think I can sleep at all tonight. I’m flying high and brimming with energy. I’m madly in love with the girl in front of me, and to go to sleep would mean missing out on her face, her words, her touch.
So we go into her tiny kitchen to make a pot of tea, then take a seat on the couch. We stay up until 3am, just talking about everything under the sun, my arm around her as she relaxes into me.
Being with her is as easy as it was before, like we were made for each other, but now we’re on another level, another layer. It feels absolutely right, so much so that I can’t even question it. We discuss hopes, dreams, the future, and though everything is up in the air, she’s not. She’s here with me and I’ve got her.
I’m not letting go now.
When she falls asleep, it’s sudden, a ragdoll in my arms. I pick her up and carry her to her bed, laying her down gently. I watch her for a few moments, my chest warmed by the sight, and then head into her living room to catch a few hours of sleep.
The alarm on my mobile goes off at seven, but Natasha is still sleeping, so I quickly jump in her shower. My flight is at 10:30 and I’ll go straight from Edinburgh airport to the university.
I put on the same clothes from yesterday and start thinking of when to tell Miranda. I might need a few days to work up the courage, but it has to be done. There will be hell to pay, but for Natasha it’s a fire I’ll gladly walk through.
“Are you leaving?” I hear Natasha’s sleepy voice as I finish my cup of instant coffee in the kitchen. I look up to see her leaning against the doorframe, dressed in an oversized T-shirt and nothing else.
I get up, putting the cup in the sink, and come over to her, wrapping my hand around the small of her tiny waist. “My flight is very soon,” I murmur before kissing her delicately on the lips.
She puts her arms around me, holding me close in a hug.
“What if this is it?” she whispers into my neck.
I shake my head, breathing her in. “This isn’t it. This is only the beginning. Of us. Of a new life together. It won’t be easy, but it will be ours.”
“But so much can happen…”
I pull back and brush her hair off her face. “Tasha. Please.” I plant a kiss on her forehead. “We’ll be together, I promise.”
I walk toward the door, my hand on the knob. “I’ll text you when I land, okay?”
She nods, biting her lip.
“Everything is going to be okay,” I tell her.
I open the door.
There’s a girl standing on the other side, about to knock.
I jump back in shock.
“Melissa,” Natasha cries out softly.
The girl, dark hair, large forehead, and dressed in workout gear looks between us both with raised eyebrows. “Sorry, uh…Natasha, I thought we were going for a run this morning…”
“Oh right,” Natasha says. “I, uh, okay.”
“I was just leaving,” I tell the girl, hoping Natasha doesn’t get in any shit for this. This Melissa is staring at me with an incredulous, albeit slightly disgusted expression.
I walk past her and down the steps just in time to hear Melissa exclaim to Natasha, “Who the hell was that?”
The man she loves, I think to myself. And the man who loves her.
I hail a cab and head back to the airport and back to the life that’s about to change forever.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Natasha
London
Present Day
I’ve never walked so fast in my life, and it’s not an easy feat when your vision is blurry from tears, your chest burning from the desperate need to cry out. Yet if I don’t walk to Baker Street station like my life depends on it, Brigs might catch up with me. And if Brigs catches up with me again, I know I’ll be powerless in his arms.
I’m already regretting it, regretting everything. The things I said—I lashed out like this was only my guilt to carry, that I was the only who lost something. I was trying to hurt him, and I don’t even know why when he’s been through so much pain already.
When he kissed me, I felt the world spin back in time, back to when I loved him. It gave me whiplash. And so much fucking fear. Fear that I would fall again. Fear that the enormity of our past would break us apart within seconds of coming together.
And I guess that kind of happened. Only it was at my hand, not his, and not fate’s. I’m finally in control.
I wish I wasn’t. I don’t always move in the right direction.
I get on the train and breathe a sigh of relief once the doors close, knowing that Brigs hasn’t come after me. It’s fairly empty, and even though my head is fuzzy and my body exhausted, I can’t help but watch a couple a few seats across from me.
The girl is petite with a blue pixie haircut and a nose ring, and she’s sitting in his lap. He looks like the typical jock you’d see in America, tanned with big muscles and a penchant for polo shirts, only I bet here he’s the captain of a cricket team or something like that.
My eyes are drawn to them, not only because of how different they both look, like if they were back in high school they definitely would not be dating, but because of how at ease they are with
each other. They aren’t even talking, nor are they making out. They’re just staring at each other, smiling with their eyes, enveloped in their own beautiful world.
My heart aches so acutely, it burns.
I want that.
I need that.
I could have had that.
Twice already.
The happy couple gets off the train near my stop, so I have to stare at them in jealousy and fascination the entire time. My mind keeps circling over the look on Brig’s face when I told him we were dishonoring the dead. It’s like I slapped him as hard as I could.
And yet he still stood there, wanting us to move on, to have another chance. After everything I said and all that we’d gone through, he wanted us to start over.
Could we do that? Could we really put it all behind us and start from scratch? Forget the old love and build a new one?
I want to believe that, I truly do.
There’s just too much at stake.
It wasn’t just the guilt over Miranda and Hamish’s death that got me in the end. It was that I never saw Brigs after that. That my heart was shattered like glass while I was burning in shame.
He broke me into pieces.
And that’s something that could easily happen again. There’s no guarantee that it wouldn’t. Brigs could freak out down the line as easily as I just did. And if it became serious, what would happen when we meet his family? If he meets mine? Would we ever be able to tell them how we truly first met?
The other thing is, there’s no option for us not to become serious. We may be starting over, but the moment either of us fall into bed with each other, we’re all in. I know he is. I know I’d be. There are no baby steps here. It’s all or nothing.
I’m just not sure I’m ready for all.
And I’m not sure I can live with nothing.
I get back to the flat and Melissa, as usual, is waiting up for me. It’s almost like she stops dating and/or sleeping around the moment I start going on these dates and starts hanging around at home, waiting for me. Like my mother. Of course she thinks I’m going out with fictional “Bradley” from the art history program and had high hopes for me before I left the flat tonight.