Page 29 of Forever and Always
28
DARKE
I’m stranded at my front door, a fortress of loneliness. My phone, once a lifeline, is now a cruel mockery. Repeated calls and texts go unanswered by Bobby, each attempt a fresh wave of despair. I know he’s angry, and rightfully so, but the truth is buried beneath his mistrust.
That text was a beacon of hope, a message from my mom finally accepting our relationship. The joy of that breakthrough was meant to be shared with Bobby, a celebration of our love. The misunderstanding is a monstrous shadow, consuming everything.
With each passing moment, fear gnaws at me. What if he won’t believe me? What if our love story ends here, a victim of this cruel twist of fate?
29
BOBBY
Idon’t read any of Darke’s text. I text Jenny instead:
ME: He’s seeing someone, he lied to me.
She responds back immediately
JENNY: Oh no, Bobby! I’m so sorry! Where are you? Do you need me to come pick you up?
I type out a response, tears still streaming down my face.
ME: I’m at home. I just need to be alone right now. Thanks, Jenn.
JENNY: Okay, babe. I’m here for you. You deserve so much better than a cheater. Let me know when you’re ready to talk.
I appreciate her kindness, but I just need time to process my emotions. I can’t seem to catch my breath, after what Darke and I had together. It’s all been a lie, and I’ve should’ve notice it in the beginning.
As I sit on the floor, surrounded by tears and heartache, I wonder how I’ll ever be able to trust anyone again.
30
DARKE
Itossed and turned through the night, my mind a relentless carousel of Bobby and the cruel misunderstanding that had torn us apart. The accusation of infidelity was a dagger to my heart. He couldn’t possibly believe I’d betray him; he’s my world.
Desperation clawed at me as dawn approached. I paced my room, searching for a solution, a way to make him understand. My phone was a silent companion, its screen a constant reminder of his absence. Helplessness consumed me as I realized I might be losing the love of my life over a stupid misunderstanding. The urge to confront him was strong, but I knew I had to give him space.
Morning brought no solace. Breakfast was a tasteless ritual as my thoughts remained captive to Bobby and the haunting image of his wounded expression. The weight of the situation was unbearable. I abandoned my meal, driven by the need torectify this mess. Another attempt to reach him was met with the cold indifference of voicemail.
A letter seemed the only path left. With trembling hands, I poured my heart onto paper, explaining the absurd misunderstanding and professing my unwavering love. Tears blurred the page as I wrote, each word a plea for understanding and forgiveness.
The letter clutched in my hand, I stood before Bobby’s house, a battleground of emotions raging within me. The impulse to knock was overwhelming, but reason prevailed. I retreated to my car, the letter my last hope.
The drive home was a torturous journey through a whirlwind of hope, fear, and longing. Would he read the letter? Would he believe me? The ache of missing him was a constant companion.
Distraction proved futile as work and television were mere backdrops to the Bobby-sized void in my life. My phone became an obsession, each ping a potential lifeline. As hours turned into a day, a gnawing unease settled in. What if the letter was lost in the abyss of his indifference? The thought of losing him forever was terrifying. I love him.
To combat the despair, I clung to memories of our shared happiness, laughter, and dreams. But as darkness enveloped the world, so too did uncertainty. Would tomorrow bring a dawn of hope or the final chapter of our love story?
31
BOBBY
Days without Darke were like trying to breathe underwater. The apartment, once filled with his laughter and warmth, felt like an echo chamber of loneliness. Every corner held a memory, a phantom of his presence. How could I have been so foolish?
The arrival of the mail was a daily ritual, a fleeting hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there would be a sign of him. Today was no different, yet as I approached the mailbox, a flicker of dread ignited within me. Bills, junk mail—the usual suspects.
