Page 87 of Was I Ever Here

“Getthefuckoutof here!” Lenix squawks.

It’s the middle of the afternoon and we’re the only ones sitting at the bar in a neighborhood restaurant we often frequent.

I can’t help but to laugh. “I’m dead serious Lenix, I swear to god.”

Byzantine and I came back from Midnight Cove on Sunday night. I could tell he wanted me to stay over but I needed a breather. I needed time away. Not away from him particularly but just—away. A little distance, if only for a couple of days.

I needed to find comfort in my own room, with my own things and my own mess. I can never tell how clearly I’m thinking when I’m around Byzantine, when my feelings for him always feel so heightened. Like holding onto a live wire.

It’s now Wednesday and Byzantine has given me the distance I’ve needed. And I’m grateful. But I miss him. Of course I miss him. But I also missed Lenix. And after everything that happened when I was away, I knew she deserved the truth. Especially about my sister. She gave me a long hug when I told her.

She didn’t try to fill the silence with pleasantries either, like some people would, as if trying to comfort themselves more than me. And that’s why I love her. For those moments where she understands me, just like River did.

Then I moved on to what happened over the weekend. And that’s when Lenix couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“So you mean to say,” Lenix pushes on. “That this dude was looking for you for five fucking years? Not only that but he believes you guys have been together before? Like in another life? And youbelievehim!?”

“It sounds insane, I know,” I reply, trying to quell that nagging part of me that feels protective, wanting to defend something so outlandish. It doesn’t change the fact that I believe Byzantine. Even if his methods to reveal it to me were shoddy at best. But I also know Lenix will believe it too—eventually.

“I don’t know how to explain it other than I could feel it too, Lenix. I might not be able to remember like he does but in a strange way it’s like my body remembers what my mind doesn’t. And how can you explain my dream about that same cliff? Even you have to admit that that’s pretty fucking freaky,” I continue.

Lenix just stares at me, a million counter-debate points flashing behind her eyes but she doesn’t utter a single one. Instead she leans her elbow on the bar and signals for another round of shots. The bartender has been lingering on the opposite side trying to give us some privacy while I tell Lenix about the boyfriend I knew from a past life.

I cringe at the word boyfriend. Is this even a relationship? It just doesn’t sound right for what I feel for him. And it’s also not because of some patriarchal belief that calling him my husband would somehow make it better.

Nothing like that.

It just feels like there’s no one word that properly defines what we are. What’s the term for two souls forever destined to meet, fall in love, fuck up and then meet all over again? Yeah, that.

The bartender slides the shots towards us with a grin and a wink, then slinks back away.

“He told me he loved me,” I tell her as we clink and raise the shots to our lips.

“Oh I’m sure he did,” Lenix says after swallowing the alcohol down.

I shove her and she pretends I pushed her much harder and almost falls off her stool. Rolling my eyes, I fight the grin pulling at my lips. “Can you be serious for one second please?”

She laughs, “Okay sorry, sorry. But I mean of course he loves you. Have you heard the story you just told me?” She eyes me, suddenly serious. “Well? Do you?”

“Love him?” My knee bounces as I start to sweat.Fuck. Am I really getting a visceral reaction to even admitting it? “I think so,” I end up muttering.

“Youthinkso?” Lenix scoffs. “How romantic.”

I fight the urge to pinch her and drum my fingers on the bar top instead. “It’s just…I guess I’m scared okay?”

“Scared of what? Loving him or telling him?”

“Both?” I answer while staring at the ground, hoping the wobble in my voice isn’t that obvious.

“Well you’re just going to have to get over it,” she sniffs.

“Gee, thanks,” I mutter.

“I mean it babes, let’s say all of thisistrue, and you two have been basically boning for centuries,” she quirks a smile while I roll my eyes again. “And you say you do feel that connection with him, then what’s holding you back?”

“Everything. Literally all of it.”

How can I explain that the fear leeched onto me like a fucking parasite stems from the belief that maybe loving him is just opening myself up to more pain? How can I not automatically think of the worst case scenario when I’ve already lived it? What would happen if I let Byzantine in? Truly let him in and then he just fucking—dies. How could I not think of that?

---