Page 50 of Was I Ever Here

What hurt the most was the inability to mourn you publicly. To our peers, we were merely business partners. Not lovers. What we shared was whispered in the dark of nights as I thrusted into you. The feeling of you so hot and tight and perfect.

No one could know. And now? No one would ever know. You were perfect Gabriel. And so young. So full of life. Why did you have to leave me like this? Who was I now without you?

I was a pit of secrets. And you had been my most prized one. You had loved me so freely and I never knew how to reciprocate, the tight confines of society like a shackle to my throat.

I stood in my room, lost in thought, trailing my fingers against a book sitting on the table. I opened it and found the pressed flower hiding between the pages. Your voice floated back to me. Memories of the day you had gifted it to me.

You seemed so humbled by your love for me while I sat beside you, holding your gift in my hands, unable to feed you the words you so desperately needed from me.

“It’s a blue windflower,” you had said in a low whisper as if not to disturb the silence coiling between us. “It means ‘I am faithfully attached to you.’”

You had looked up at me with adoration and I had cowardly looked away, your love like honey to my sore throat, so sweet and yet, so overwhelming.

“Legend has it, the flower was created by the goddess Aphrodite when she sprinkled nectar on the blood of her dead lover Adonis,” you continued. “It became to symbolize her eternal grief, representing Adonis’ life—beautiful, graceful and short-lived.”

I had smiled back at you, brushing my fingers into your blond curls.

“Only you would find such a tragic story romantic,” I had said softly.

You chuckled, looking down at your hands.

“Thank you Gabriel.” I had leaned into you, touching your lips with mine. “I will cherish this book, like I cherish you.”

You had beamed so brightly and I kissed you once more, chasing the feeling of the moment into the next.

Now, I looked at the pressed windflower and wanted to scream my pain into the very pages of the book you had so lovingly given to me. How ominous your words now rang in my ears.

Beautiful.

Short-lived.

Eternal grief.

I lay in bed, unable to sleep. I’m not even trying to distract myself, just staring at the wall, so full of thoughts, it feels like they’re seeping out of my pores like noxious fumes ready to kill me. Sunny asking about the significance of a windflower has left me agitated and battling memories from so long ago that I can’t seem to suppress. All they do is hurt like a sore that never heals, reminding me of all the ways Sunny and I have failed each other over the centuries.

Even saying that sounds ridiculous, but finding it fantastical has never quelled the pain before and certainly doesn’t now.

I swipe my hand over my scruff, sighing loudly into the silent room. I throw the duvet off my body and climb out of bed, feeling more restless by the second like an electric charge radiating through my veins. I pace around the room, my muscles tight and corded, with nowhere to go so early in the morning. My mind is eating me alive and all I do is feed it more and more and more.

Sunny’s still resisting me, but I won’t relent. I’m not letting her escape now that I have her in my grasp. I can tell that she's still grappling with what I’ve done to Gary. She won’t let herself open up and trust me completely. And it grinds on me more than I would think.

And yes, maybe objectively, I’m not a good man. She deserves so much better than what I have to offer. But I’m not ashamed of who I am. I don’t fear the darkness inside of me, I never have—and one day soon she won’t either. One day soon she will give in to me, to us. No matter what it fucking takes, I will have her, mind, body and soul.

Chapter 29

Sunny

Ihearthebuzzof my phone on my nightstand as I walk out from the bathroom, my wet hair sticking to my shoulders, cinching my towel tighter around me. I’ve been off for a few days and for a split-second I wonder if it’s Byzantine calling.

But when the same number I’ve been avoiding for over a year flashes on the screen, my throat closes up and my heart squeezes hard inside my chest.

It’s my mother.

I could ignore it. It’s been established that I’m quite good at that—ignoring things. I could just let it go to voicemail.

Yes, ignore it. Easy.

But my hand reaches for the phone anyway, ultimately making the decision for me. I don’t know what compels me to pick up now but I do. I tap the screen and answer the call.

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