Page 16 of Escaping the Bratva

“I’m here for you.”

“Why? It's been twelve years. What have you been doing for twelve damn years?”

None of this makes sense. In the normal world, if you want to get back together with your ex, you’d send them a message on social media six months after the break up, not disappear for twelve years with no contact and randomly pop back up.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I did a lot of bad things that I’m not proud of. I made a lot of money and I served my time. That part of my life is over now. I’m starting over. I’m launching a business in just a couple months.”

“And what? You thought I’d just be happy to jump into a relationship with you because you decided to finally change your life around? Why couldn’t you do that twelve years ago when I asked you to?” My voice catches on the last sentence, and I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat. Twelve years of pain and hurt try to surface, but I cram them back down. His eyes fill with regret, but I can’t fucking look at him, so I look down at the table. Why the hell did he have to show up like this? My life is perfect. I have the career that I built for myself. My days look how I want them to, and here he comes, trying to throw a wrench in everything.

“I was stupid then—”

“Yeah, you think?”

“I felt like I didn’t have any other choice, and after I lost you, I didn’t have a reason to go straight. What was the point in living an honest life when there was no one to live it with?”

“So what about now? If I say I don’t want anything to do with you, you’re going to go back to getting in trouble?”

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t go back if I wanted to. I’d be dead. I have too many enemies. I’m not going to give up on you. Even if you were married with a couple kids, I wouldn’t give up on us.”

I scoot my chair back and stood from the table. “You’re wasting your time.”

He grabs my hand before I can storm off. “Tell me right now that you haven’t been thinking about me for these last twelve years.”

I want to tell him that I haven’t. I want to tell him I’ve completely forgotten about the short time we had together, and I’ve had better, more passionate, and stable relationships, but I won’t lie.

His lips turn into that stupid smirk of his and he lets me go. I rush into my bedroom, feeling like a child running away from my problems, but I don’t care. I don’t know how to deal with him right now. Once I’m inside the room, I let my tears fall down my cheeks. I hear him gather up our trash, and not long afterwards, the front door shuts.

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