Prologue: A letter to the reader

To whom it may concern, or anyone that has started reading this memoir, I would like you to imagine something for me for a minute.

Imagine the one person or thing that you love most. Your lover, your mother, your father—the one person you know you could not live without. They're so special to you, aren't they? You would risk the world to bring them back, right?

This is how I feel about my most important person. My most special person is my boyfriend, Lars. From the moment I lay in bed after a night of drunk cuddling and lack of sex the night before, I knew that he was something wonderful. From his unbreakable stance to the fine wisps of his hair that escape the confines of the hair gel he uses, he is the most beautiful thing that I believe I have seen.

Now, imagine your special person again. You still love, them, right?

Imagine someone taking them away. Imagine your special person has devised a spider web of lies tied all the way back to themselves so they know that if anything happens, they can just crash through the middle and tear everything down, allowing you to be safe. Imagine that you can't see them again. They give you pictures and a zip drive full of videos for you to remember them by, and maybe a few hints to where things of theirs might be hidden. It's painful to have these things, and not your special person, correct? Your special person gives you a number that's out of the country, somewhere cold. What do you do? Call the long distance number or just wallow in your self-pity and move on after a few months?

What would you do for love? How far would you go in the name of love?

Would you break apart the world itself with your bare hands for love?

Would you risk your own life for the sake of being with your loved one?

All these things are questions I have been asked for a long time.

I will find out how far my love carries me, and how far it will go.

19 March 20XX

-Emma Peeters

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The night before had been a blur. Just flashes of images that Emma couldn't quite remember. As she lay in bed that following morning, she recollected what had went on. She had finally convinced herself that she was ready to go out to the bar to drink. She'd call a friend and go to a club, but it never worked past that moment in time. All her friends were out on winter break still, and they probably wouldn't return her calls anyways, because they were too busy to really care about Emma anyways. She remembered that two drinks in she had been approached by a handsome man with a familiar accent. Dutch, she decided. He bought her two more of what she had been drinking, and a couple shots of gin.

She watched him closely, trying to make sure that he didn't slip her anything in her drink, but things spiraled after the fifth mixed drink that they shared, both of them were giggling and hanging on each other. He called her cute and took a sip of her vodka and grenadine, yet she just laughed in his face and took the compliment, along with his arm around her waist. Both of them were trashed enough to hobble back to Emma's apartment to have the handsome man strip to his underwear and wander to her bedroom and flop on the bed, only to have Emma follow after. She remembered the bed was warm with him in it, and he had such a nice face when he slept.

As thoughts started to bubble up to more recent events, she slowly opened her eyes, expecting to see an empty bed. When the man from last night was still there, she was surprised to see his half-awake stare meet hers. "Good morning...I thought you would have left by now. Most guys do, anyways."

"I wouldn't leave without saying thank you for such a nice bed. This is more comfortable than the one at my apartment...This isn't a memory foam bed, is it?"

Emma honestly didn't know what kind of mattress it was. She picked it up at a yard sale. It was new when she bought it, so she just bought the bed frame and the mattress for one hundred and forty five Euros. Sheets and Christmas lights came with holiday clearance, so all in all, it was just a cheap but good bed. "I don't think it is. It's good for me, though." The woman replied, shrugging her shoulders. "But you're welcome for the night's rest."

He opened his eyes a bit more, hazel meeting the curious emerald orbs of the Belgian woman. "Hn...I think it's even better seeing who I slept with." He seemed relaxed still, looking at her with an expression of interest. "I didn't catch your name last night..."

"Emma." She offered a smile, pulling the t-shirt she slept in down a bit. "I bet I could guess your name..." With a bit of an exaggerated thoughtful expression, she crinkled her nose, pursing her lips. "You look like...a Lyon type of guy...but I hardly think that's the right name, right?"

"You were just a few letters off. Try Lars." The other propped himself up in the bed, running a few fingers through his flat hair. Looking in the dresser mirror on the other end of the room, he flopped back down with a defeated sigh. "Not sure I like your name for me. If I'm Lyon, you look more like a Bella."

"Ew..." Emma snorted, crinkling her nose again. "I'm Belgian, not Italian...you could have come up with a better fitting name. I'm not a 'Bella donna', Sir Lars."

Mimicking her snort, he rolled over onto his side again, tilting his head with a slight smile tugging at his lips. "You know, if you give me a title, you might as well use the full name. It sounds better as 'Sir Lars Van Dijk'."

"Ooh, you sound like such an aristocrat." The woman chuckled, not moving from her side position. "You make me sound like a Plain Jane, Sir Lars Van Dijk. Would the sir like some breakfast with Miss Emma Peeters?"

"I think he would. Right after he gets his clothes off the floor. It's unmodest to blatantly show one's underwear around a woman." Well, he had a point. With a bit of a grunt, she rolled out of bed and looked around, grabbing up at least a pair of pants and a shirt for Lars, tossing them to him.

"There we go...one pair of pants and a shirt for you. I'll just go get some coffee going—You like coffee, right?"

"I actually wouldn't mind a cup. I'll be out to help make some breakfast if it doesn't bother you." He offered, turning to the side of the bed to slide on his pants, heading out after her as he buttoned up his shirt. "You do have breakfast things, right?"

"Yeah...of course I do. All sorts of breakfast things. Like pizza from last night and eggs." The pathetically cute expression paired with the small voice she used was just short of adorable. Lars didn't seem to mind as he refrained from rolling his eyes at her.

"Okay then...do you have any pancake mix?" The phrase struck a chord with Emma, and there returned the crinkled nose. "What's with that face?"

"You think I'd insult myself with having pancake mix?" The words slid off her tongue like oil. "Hon, I'll make you some waffles. I'll have the waffle iron warmed up before you could ask me what my original hair color is."

"...Well, what is it?"

"Blonde." She replied with a bit of a smirk, flashing a few pearly teeth. It was a good start. The eggs are in the fridge, mixer is in the cupboard above the sink...we just need the egg yolks."

Within a few minutes, the two of them were having waffles for breakfast, cooking the waffles in an old waffle iron on the stove. Coffee and the sweet smell of waffles wafted through the apartment, giving Lars a bit of time to look over the place. Seemed like a normal bachelorette pad to him, give or take the scenic view. There were a couple messes in the sink, but he couldn't expect too much. "You live alone here, right?"

"I used to have a roomate, but she moved out because she couldn't handle me getting up in the morning. I work a job in the morning, and she worked the night shift. As I woke up, she got to sleep, and she was a very light sleeper." She idly kept cooking, frying up a couple eggs for herself. "You want some eggs? I'd offer bacon, but I ate that after the last episode of Doctor Who I watched recently."

"You like that kind of stuff?" He inquired, curious about her now. "What kind of day job to you work, though?"

"I'm a teacher for an elementary school. I'm a kindergarten teacher, so I get to work with all the little kids." She smiled, glancing back at him. "You didn't answer me, though. Eggs, or no?"

"No thanks, waffles are just fine for me." Poking at the fresh fruit on top, he picked up one of the strawberries and smelled it. Not as fresh as he'd like, but still good.

"What about you? You live and work around here, right?" She wasn't doing so great at frying her eggs, as she felt like he was staring at her sleep pants. There was a hole in the butt, but that was probably besides the point.

"I live downtown in my own apartment. I work at a shipping company all day." That explained the rippling muscles he had...Emma had admired that aspect of him as soon as she opened her eyes. "Hard labor works out...it gets the job done."

Oh, it sure did... "You think you'd want to go out some other time for lunch or dinner? Maybe on the weekend because I've got work all week and such..." She proposed, turning around to look at the other. "It wouldn't be much, just maybe a pizzaria visit. There's a good one down town that some of my girl friends and I like. You'd enjoy it- The dough is so fresh, and they grate the cheese on the pizza right as it goes in."

"Mm...Maybe I should call you and recommend some of the restaurants that I enjoy."

"Don't tell me it's a burger joint."

"It's not a burger joint." He smiled a bit, propping his head up on his fists. "It's actually a very nice sit-down restaurant that serves lots of different food and wines. It's a town over from here, but it's worth the drive."

"...I can't drive."

"I'll have to pick you up, then. Next Saturday at seven?"

Wait, was this already happening? Emma beamed and leaned against the counter, tilting her head. "Um...sure. Fancy dress, or what?" She asked.

"Something mildly dressy. It's a four star place, so I'd recommend slacks and dress," He offered, picking up another bit of waffle. "I'm sure that if you look this good in the morning, you'll have me star stuck by Saturday."

"Ah ha ha ha—You're hilarious." She sighed, rolling her eyes at the Dutchman. "You're just so set on telling me nice things."

"Well, I don't see anyone else telling you nice things, so I thought I'd do that for you." Lars replied, smiling a bit less. "Plus, it's mostly truth."

"Mostly?"

"Just mostly." The breakfast was good throughout the whole morning. It ended up that Emma gave Lars the extra waffles she had made because he liked them so well. He left with all his clothes...except for the tie that had been strung up by the television. She took it gently between her fingers, looking at the silvery pattern on the black silk. This must have cost so much...to get such a smoky pattern on silk was difficult.

"Wow...I bet he'll come back for this...I can just give it to him before we go to dinner next weekend..." She sighed, curiously sniffing the fabric. It smelled...musky. Sweet, with a bit of a bite to it as well. It was like smelling mens cologne with roses and cinnamon. Nah, maybe she'd keep this. It'd be creepy though to keep a tie... "I could keep weirder things guys would leave...At least he didn't leave underwear." The thought lingered in her mind longer than it should have, but then again, who wouldn't want to think about attractive men without underwear on? Emma would absolutely think of that.