Page 88 of The Attraction

But as the snowstorm starts to ease a little, instead, it’s me standing outside and the flakes are landing on my bare arms. My feet standing in the freezing snow are stuck in one place, and I can’t feel a thing. Why do I feel so cold? Normally by now there is that blanket feeling wrapping around me and the tears don’t hurt so much. Tonight, it’s different. Where is he, why isn’t he coming for me?

Looking up to my window, I see his silhouette. Watching me, with his arms crossed over his chest. Not moving or speaking. Just still and not an ounce of life in his eyes. It’s like he has been stripped of emotion, and I know I did that. I just want that hug, one last time before I walk away.

“Forrest,” I call to him, but he can’t hear me. It’s like he is looking straight through me. Like I don’t exist to him anymore.

“Forrest, please, I need you.” I’m screaming, but as I drop to my knees, he reaches out and closes the curtains, and all the light that was left shining is gone.

It’s so dark, cold, and I feel the wetness on my face.

I’m all alone again.

And I have no one to blame but myself.

There are voices now around me, and I can hear them, but I don’t want to open my eyes. I can’t. I’m in the darkness where it hurts, but it’s familiar, and I’m getting sick of trying to break free anymore.

“Should I call him?” Flynn’s deep voice echoes around in my head.

“No. She won’t want that. We just have to wait it out and be here for her.” Felisha’s sweetness is familiar, and I feel like she has been in my dreams before. But it’s not as soothing as before.

“This is cruel. She needs him. I’m calling Forrest,” Flynn demands, but again she stops him.

“No, she has made the choice to fight this on her own. You need to let her,” Felisha pleads with him.

I can feel her presence, but she doesn’t hold me.

“It’s okay, Felisha, you can touch me, I’ve learned I won’t break,” I tell her, but she can’t hear me.

And the world starts to fade to black again, and the voices are gone.

I’m so weak, but at least I’m about to start sleeping now.

* * *

Waking up again this morning, alone and exhausted, tells me straight away that it happened again. The nightmares. I don’t remember them, but the signs are always there.

My bedsheets are all disheveled, the feeling of dried tears on my face and the feeling that I have survived a storm, barely.

I just pray that Felisha and Flynn didn’t hear anything, and I can keep this to myself. I already feel like a burden living in their apartment, so as soon as I woke this morning, I was up showered and left. I messaged her that I needed to get some plans done for my apartment renovation, which I must admit has taken a back seat in the last few weeks with everything happening around me. Now that I have my own guard watching and waiting for my every move, I don’t need to wait for Felisha or Flynn to escort me to my car.

Walking into my apartment feels strange, like it’s no longer home. I know it is in disarray, but still, it has a different feel to it now. Like it’s too over-the-top perfect. That the redecorating is trying to bring warmth into the home, but it’s not the kind of warmth it was lacking; I’ve learned that comes in the form of a man, a grumpy one at that. Or maybe it’s just that my head is so jumbled from the last forty-eight hours. Yet the contrast is that Forrest’s home, that is decorated in a minimal way, feels more like home than this place does. And I was only there for a few weeks, yet it grew on me. It had life in it—well, one life in particular that made me laugh more than I have in a long time and feel warmth to just be me. It was effortless and easy, I think that’s what I loved about being there.

As the contractors start to arrive, I sort out a few issues that they have been waiting on me to make decisions on. And by the time I make it to the office, waiting on my desk is another brown paper bag, with a purple ribbon this time.

I feel like my feet move quicker than they have been all morning. As much as I have been telling myself I don’t want to see or talk to Forrest, it’s been twenty-four hours since I have had any sign that he is thinking about me, and it almost killed me. People must think I’m crazy when I’m the one that walked away, yet I’m here almost diving across the table to open the bag and see if he has left me a note again.

Good morning, muffin.

Just because I know how much you enjoy avocados.

Eat every mouthful.

It will keep your skin smooth…

Forrest x

“I can’t believe you sent me avocado toast. Seriously, that’s just so wrong, but I like it.” I lift the first piece of sourdough to my mouth, and even though it is a little cold because I didn’t come straight to the office, it’s still got the perfect crunch to it.

Sipping the coffee, I take a seat and just let my mind drift. I should be mad at him for still making me eat every morning, but instead, I’m just so happy to know he still cares. I spend the next ten minutes trying to work out if he is cooking these breakfasts himself and dropping them to reception or if he is getting a courier to pick them up from a restaurant. I quiz both my secretary and the front desk staff who receive the bags, but no one has an answer for me.

---