Stepping into the confines of the apartment building, I gently shake my head back and forth, ridding my blond locks of the tiny snowflakes that had fell from the night sky. Passing a mirror in the lobby, I take in my reflection. Rosy cheeks, slightly tangled and frizzed hair... Boy, am I a vision or what? I frantically run my hands through my hair, trying to make it look decent, but to no avail. I let out a sigh of frustration at the uncooperative mess sitting on top of my head. Stupid Canadian weather.
I was home. After Sadie finally leaked the news of your prior visit, I tore into her for keeping such an important fact from me. She apologized profusely, insisting that she was only trying to do what was best for me. She didn't want to see me get roped back into the idea of us, only to be let down. She knew what that would do to me. After a week of all but ignoring her calls, I finally saw things from her point of view, and became willing to forgive and forget. But her revelation had changed everything.
Knowing that you came to my apartment willing to take another chance on us made it impossible for me to stay in New York. That's not to say that I didn't try. For the aforementioned week I moped around my apartment in the city, wondering whether or not it was best to give up on the situation. I knew you would be angry with me for leaving so shortly after I had reopened old wounds. Perhaps my bold move didn't sit well with you. Perhaps it was the straw to break the camels back and make you give up on me once and for all.
However, I couldn't let all my negative thinking ruin things for us. Not again. If you were willing to take chances and go the distance, I had to be. As soon as I had come to this conclusion, I hopped on the first flight from JFK to Toronto. Breathing in the crisp Toronto air as I climbed off of the plane, I instantaneously knew that I had made the right decision. There was something in the air that felt right. Something that told me that things would pan out this time.
Realizing that I hadn't moved from in front of the mirror as I contemplated all of this, I quickly took strides towards the elevator. It had taken me over two years to finally find the courage to confront you face to face. I knew that the longer I stood around thinking, the more likely the chance that I would dart out of the lobby and hide away for another few years. It was now or never.
The elevator ride from the lobby to the floor of your penthouse seems to take an eternity. I bounce my leg up and down as I silently count the floors. One...two...twelve...eighteen. Of course, it seems that there are people entering and exiting the elevator on every floor. I huff, silently cursing myself for not running up the twenty flights of stairs. At this point, I'm beginning to think that would have been quicker.
My breath catches in my throat as I see the number twenty illuminated above the elevator door. Twenty. This is your floor. I stand in the elevator for a moment, only to be snapped out of my daze when I realize that the doors or beginning to close again. I quickly yell out for someone to hold the door, as I make my way through the people in the crowded elevator. I step off, silently thanking God that I didn't miss the floor. I would have had to spend another eternity in that elevator before reaching your floor again.
My eyes seem to run over your door frame for twenty minutes. Raise your hand and knock. C'mon.. This isn't a hard concept... raise ... knock. Raise, knock. Finally taking my own instruction, I repeat this action several times. I wait as patiently as I can, before realizing that there are no footsteps coming from inside your apartment. My hand finds its way to my hip, as I ponder over my next course of action. Breaking and entering? I reach out to your doorknob, surprised when it turns with my hand. Once we were back on good terms, I'd have to talk to you about that. Living in New York had made me all too aware of the dangers of leaving your door unlocked. People couldn't be trusted. I was the perfect example of that.
I hear my own sharp intake of breath in your seemingly empty apartment. Closing the door behind me, I survey the living room, seeing nothing but utter chaos. Glass is shattered, tables overturned. I panic as millions of possibilities run though my head. Did someone break in? Seeing as how everything valuable seems to have remained in the apartment, I quickly rule this out. My next concern is about your well-being. Maybe some crazed fan got in?
In a rush to observe the state of the rest of the rooms, I carefully step over objects strewn all over the floor and make my way into the dining room. It is in the same state as the living room was, but something new catches my eye. The doors to your liquor cabinet are wide open. The bottles contained within it are all empty. This concerns me, as I know that you always keep the liquor cabinet full in case of company. I immediately know that you have taken up drinking as a daytime hobby. Either that, or you've been the host of some wickedly wild parties the past few nights.
I see the same destruction in room after room, before I finally reach your bedroom. The door is closed, and I am almost scared to see what awaits my vision on the other side. I suck it up and gently push the door open. It doesn't matter what else is in the room, because all I can see is you passed out on your side of the bed. I smile slightly thinking of the fact that you still slept as if I were there next to you. As I step further into your room, a smell of hard liquor surrounds me, and my smile fades. I glance down at your face, seemingly angelic although I know your fighting demons within. I reach a hand out to you, brushing your hair off of your forehead. My eyes begin to tear once I take in your disheveled state, and I can't help but to think that I caused all of this. I lean over and kiss your forehead, vowing to do everything in my power to correct any wrongs that I had made. I could only pray that God would help me.