“Hazel, you can’t deny the sex was amazing...”
“I never said it wasn’t,” I interrupt him, avoiding his gaze. “It was the best sex since... since I slept with you last. But I don’t want to keep this up only for you to abandon me again.” Brushing my hands down my sides, I straighten the wrinkles before I meet his gaze. His upper lip is curled, and he frowns in confusion. “Yeah, Vincent, I know it’s been five years, but exes are exes for a reason, and I’m not about to make the same mistake twice.”
Marching around the room, I find my panties, purse, and shoes. I have to sit down to slide the underthings up, my legs still not trustworthy.
“Wait.” He follows me, dropping to his knees in front of me. The old dream of him proposing flashes in the back of my mind and I force that memory away, to the darkness it needs to be locked in. “I didn’t abandon you.”
“Oh, no. You just moved. Without a word.”
“You knew I was moving,” he insists. “And you were supposed to think over if you would move with me or not, and you didn’t let me know.”
“Oh, I fucking did, Vincent.” I jump to my feet and wobble for a moment over my heels. He jumps up and keeps me straight, steady fingers around my elbows. “I fucking thought it over and I wanted to go with you. I told my parents, and I was ready to pack my stuff, but you never even showed up to bid your farewells.”
His face drops, blanching two shades. “I didn’t?”
I roll my eyes, shaking his hands off and snatching my purse. “Selective amnesia? Really? You were never one to do that.”
“I would have never left you behind, Hazel.”
“You can say whatever you will, Vincent, you left me behind.” I stomp to the door, my heart suddenly heavy inside my chest with the words I never got to tell him. “Never received a word. You might have died, and I wouldn’t have known. I wouldn’t have known, Vincent.” I whirl around to face him, and he still holds the same pale, astonished face. “What’s wrong, are you going to tell me you suffered an accident and doesn’t remember this stuff?”
He snaps his jaw shut and closes the distance between us in two strides. “I don’t remember because I didn’t do that, Hazel. I waited for you, I called you, and I sent you letters. And every single time, all I got was one of your parents telling me you didn’t want to speak to me. They forbid me of seeing you again, or they’d call the cops and put a restraining order on me.”
His words hit me like a slap. “What nonsense is that?”
“I always knew something was wrong, which is why I came back as soon as possible. I never stopped loving you, Hazel.” He reaches out and cups my face and his touch sears my skin. “Not for one second. I haven’t kissed or slept with any other girl. You’re the only one I want, the only one I’ll ever want. The day your parents said they’d call the cops on me because I was stalking you was the hardest day of my life. I walked away because I thought you hated me.”
I pull my face from his clutches and stumble to the door. Five years and he wanted me to believe my parents somehow kept all of this from me? No.
No, it can’t be. They were harsh, but not like this. They had been choleric and locked me in my room the day I told them I wanted to move out, but they wouldn’t have done this. They would have been honest, at least. They would have told me they sent Vincent off. Wouldn’t they?
Maybe Vincent’s in town for some days and wanted some easy girl for him to ride. I had believed in him once... Maybe he’s just playing me.
He’ll be off in a week and I’ll be left behind again. The heart I worked so hard to fix, broken once more. By the same person.
“I have to go.” I turn to the door and grab the handle.
“Hazel, please,” his voice breaks, and I don’t dare to look up.
If I see the pleading and the affection across his face, I’ll buckle. Round, and around we’ll go again.
So I open the door, and say into the air, “Goodbye, Vincent.”
I deserve a fucking Oscar statuette for my acting this week.
A smile across my face, I looked up every time the bell over the café door rang, my heart half-skipping in expectation to see Vincent walking in. He never did. Friday night, I met my best friends, Lis and Christine. I got filthy drunk but didn’t spill a word about Vincent and our whirlwind fling.
Being my best friends, I know I should tell them. But I am not ready to receive the judgmental looks and the warnings. They still believe I’m dating the guy that dumped me earlier this week. They always praise me for being so empowered and sexually assertive. I don’t want to ruin this image they have of me.
Earlier today, the most beautiful Sunday in a while, Christine came to work part-time with me in the café. She has problems of her own and they’re written across her face. As her friend, it’s my duty to keep the spirits up and help her through her shit. For a split second, I contemplate telling her about Vincent, and how he swears it’s all been a misunderstanding, but I bite the story back and swallow it.
Now, a huge moon shines above me as I lock the café door and stroll to my car. Christine’s already inside a bus — she never lets me give her a ride. Slipping inside the car, I shut the door and make myself breathe for a moment.
Was Vincent lying? Or were my parents?
Pressing my fingers over my eyes, I let memories flood me. Memories of his kisses and his words, and how much fun we used to have. How much we used to dream.
And my parents... I remember how my mom left me to stand fifteen minutes outside the house with her cake. In a phone call with a telemarketer, she said. And she looked like... Like she was lying.
Straightening my spine, I turn the engine on. Was the phone call from Vincent? Did he believe I lived with my parents because mom had told him so?
Letters. I remember how mom always got the mail herself. I never minded, but now it makes sense why she was so careful with them. That is... If she lied.
Pumping the gas, I drive away from the curb and take the streets to my mom’s house. My heart slamming against my ribs, I chew on my lower lip until I park outside the place. The lights are still on, and I leave the car in strides.
Pressing the doorbell hard, I let it ring until my finger cramps, until I hear her scurried steps inside the house.
“Coming!” She cries out. “Coming!” She opens the door in a jerk, her face always pinched in a scowl. “Hazel? What do you think you’re doing, have you lost all the education we’ve ever given you?”
She’s already in her pajamas and a night robe, and I inch closer, forcing her to step back. “Mom. I have an important question.”
“And you couldn’t have called? Couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, or visited earlier?”
“I was working—”
“Well, that’s not my fault.”
I release a shuddering breath. “Mom, this is vital. And I need you to be honest.” Before she can utter another word, I resume, “Has Vincent ever contacted you about me?”
The name has the same reaction as a punch. She stumbles back two steps and presses a hand to her chest. “Vincent?”
I step inside and shut the door behind me. “Yes. The boy I used to date in high school. Did he ever call or send any letters?”