I'm sorry. I apologize to whomever I might offend here. I know there will be people. I warn you now, it is a little more TEEN rated. But not too far. At least, that's what I think.
Read, and enjoy. This is the longest chapter yet.
"So, this is your place?," she asks me, stepping into my apartment with a cute little spring in her step. "You've done yourself well, Lucas."
"Yeah, I'd like to think that too," I reply, my hands deep into my pockets as I follow her. "Bought the two other apartments next-door, had the walls torn down to make more room, so I pretty much have the whole floor to myself now."
"You have a lot of room for yourself," she tells me, peering into every room she passes by, and once she looks inside a room full of my instruments, she exclaims, "your guitars have their own room. Cool. So how many guest rooms do you have here?"
"You think I have guest rooms in an apartment?," I ask, laughing lightly at her curiosity.
"Well, with a place this big, I'd like to think that," she said, going inside the master bathroom, for a second, "Your comfort room's bigger than my bedroom in Canada."
"Thank you, that's my favorite part of the house," I reply, leaning on the doorframe as she makes her way out, "plus, no, no guest rooms here."
"Why not?," she says as she steps in front of me, her hands joint together behind her back and standing on the tips of her toes so her face is somewhat a little closer to mine.
"Well, this is my personal space, and I tend to not like having any people over, it sort of messes up the aura for me," I reply rather coolly. I'm surprised that I didn't go dizzy, like the other times when she's this close, "plus, I don't want to give Joe and Frankie an excuse to come over and crash here."
"I see," she says, nodding happily, before skipping out back into the hallway. Once she was out of sight, I find myself slumping down a little, sighing. So that's where all the air went.
"Oohh, fancy," she says, giggling as she enters the rather large living room (complete with comfy theater-style seats, a couch, and a TV screen as big as the wall, no lie), and settles down on one of the huge leather chairs. "Your own little mini-theater, now I'm officially impressed."
"Thank you, again," I reply, ignoring every want I have to just go there plop down beside her.
"You must have a lot of parties over here, huh?," she says, smiling at me.
"Ahhh, not really. You must have misheard," I say, leaning back on the doorway again, "I don't like having any guests here."
"So why do you have me here?," she asks, pouting a little.
"Well, you're a special exemption," I tell her, giving her a smirk. "I seem to like having you around, even though there's never much oxygen to go around when you're there."
She stops herself from giggling, and instead gives me a small smile, before proceeding to observe the room in its entire fabulous splendor.
Wait. Is she really here? Since when?
"Nick?," she says finally after a minute of silence.
"What? I mean, yeah?," I say, caught off my guard slightly, "what is it?"
"Sit down," she says to me, patting the seat next to her as she straightened up.
What in God's name? "Any particular reason to why you'd want me to sit down?"
"It makes me feel a little uncomfortable, just seeing you stand there" she said, brushing her bangs away from her face, "plus, I just want to tell you something."
Oh shit. This can't be good. "Couldn't we have talked about this back in the reception?"
"This sort of thing isn't something to talk about in a wedding."
"Ummm, yeah, sure."
I walk over a little hesitantly to her in a few strides, and gingerly take the chair beside her. She smiles, a little more sadly than what I would have preferred, sweeps the stray strands of hair away from my forehead, and looks away, setting her hands on her lap.
"So, I just wanted to apologize to you," she said simply, looking down on her fingernails.
"What? Me? Why would you want to apologize?," I ask her, completely not understanding where she's coming from.
"Because you deserve one," she answers, before going on to say, "about the thing five years ago-"
"Wait, you're going to apologize for that?," I ask, a bit more incredulously than what I had intended. "Shouldn't it be me asking for forgiveness?"
"If you'd let me explain, Nick-"
"I know what I said was all just pure crap, and I'm sorry," I tell her, trying to look her in the eye, but she keeps on turning away.
"But-"
"If you're still angry at me for mentioning your dad, you have to know that I regret every word I said-"
"But Nick-"
"I didn't know what I was doing," I say, and I don't know why, but I feel like the waterworks are coming soon. I hate the sap in me.
She gazes at me, looking concerned and heartbroken, but she lays her hand gently on my cheek, and strokes it gently. "Don't you think I would know that?"
"But I never meant to go so far," I said, leaning into her hand. There's nothing more comforting than her palm. "I just didn't want you to leave me."
"I know," she tells me, "that's why I need to apologize."
"No, you don't," I say, clutching the hand on my face, "I was being selfish. I should've been happy for you, because you were getting your dream, but I couldn't support that. You're a lot to lose, Misa. I just didn't want to be left alone-"
"I know that too," she says, reaching up her other hand and cupping the other side of my face, "I should've seen it through your viewpoint. I didn't put your feelings into consideration-"
"But I never had the intention of hurting yours in return," I say, but she just presses on my face with a little more force.
"I took your words the wrong way," she says, bringing me a little closer to her, so her forehead is resting against mine, "I just assumed, and nothing ever good comes from assumptions-"
"You had every right to," I say, leaning in a bit more. "I knew how important the opportunity was to you, but I went on to bash anyway-"
"And I also knew how much leaving would hurt you, but I did it anyway," she says, drawing even closer.
"But I was being self-centered," I say, clutching even tighter. "I leave all the time for tours and all that, but I never heard you once complain. You were so considerate and accepting of what I did. And when you get the chance to get to live your dream, I wasn't as tolerant. I'm sorry. I went so out of line."
"But I went out of line too," she said, "I should've known how you felt then because I went through it, but I guess I just didn't know how to respond because the roles were reversed."
"But-"
"No, please let me apologize," she says, cutting me off, "I'm sorry. I just didn't know how to hold on to you."
"I wanted to hold on to you too."
I have run out of words to say. I've never been so emotionally drained.
"You know what, for all it's worth, Nick," she says, backing up a tiny bit, but she doesn't release her hold on me, "I would've stayed if you hadn't been so loud."
I smile, holding back the chuckle, and say, "so if I were a bit more romantic, we wouldn't have missed five years?"
"In a nutshell," she says, before stroking my cheek one more time, and then letting go.
I give her another small smile, before turning away and nodding at her words, "wish I weren't so abrasive, then."
She tilts her head, just a little, and giggles delicately, before tousling my hair and saying, "you're a lot sweeter than what you give yourself credit for."
"I'd love to believe that one of these days," I tell her, bending forward slightly. She doesn't say anything, however, and just continues to sweep the tresses off my face. "This is getting awkward for you, isn't it?"
"Not really," she replies, patting my cheek, "awkward's never really that awkward with you."
"Yeah, I'd like to believe that too," I say, to which she reacts with another small laugh, and she presses a kiss to my temple. Her lips stay there for a few more seconds, before she pulls away and rests her forehead against it.
I am a very happy camper at the moment.
"Hey, sorry 'bout the random question," she begins to say, withdrawing her hand, "but do you think we can have some coffee? I'm getting a little tired."
I look up, over to her, quite puzzled, and I say, "are you hung over, because I know coffee isn't exactly going to help-"
"No, I'm just a little worn out," she replies, rubbing her eyes in the process, "besides, alcohol doesn't affect me the way it affects you."
"Right, don't remind me," I tell her, giving her one last grin, before getting up and walking out the door, telling her once I was at the door, "I'll just go make some, can you wait here a bit?"
"Fine with me," she says, before leaning back into the chair.
I nod again, and I walk all the way to the second to the last door in the hall, why I needed so much space for myself, I will never know, and I go inside my very warm-looking kitchen, and approach the counter. I take out the pre-grinded coffee from one of the drawers, which, funnily, these days, is one of my newest best friends (finally got rid of the coffee grinder that never used to work), along with the electric coffee maker I got as a gift a long way back. God bless the person who bestowed me with this wonderful gift, even though I can never remember who gave it.
Oh yeah. That was Macy.
How could I have forgotten that?
I put the coffee in, pour the water in the back, and while waiting, I find myself thinking deeply, only a lot more intense than usual. It's the kind of intense that would give me a migraine, not that I already don't have one. Apologies are serious business. I mean, I knew establishing our friendship (I can't say relationship yet, even if we did sort of kiss) would be a little grave, but I didn't think that it would be so heavy. I would say it's heavy, and this is Nick Lucas talking. Never in a lifetime would I have imagined her ever saying sorry for something that was clearly my doing. I feel even guiltier now than what I had initially felt, and I never wanted her to express regret for following her dream. I know I didn't.
I'm such an ass.
And I don't know why I'm so full of happy, but I like it.
And-
"Aww, who can this little guy be?," a random voice says from outside the room. I look up, and I can see from the little light coming from outside in the hall that Macy was discovering some of the pictures, most of which my mother forced to hang up, that were posted up on the walls. Oh, God, no.
I turn off the coffee maker once I see all the water had gone through (who knows how long explaining will take), and I walk out to see her smiling and giggling over the frames on the wall. And the particular one she's looking out involves a baby in a tiger costume. Oh, Jesus Christ, help me.
"I thought you were going to wait for the coffee," I tell her, and I really just find the way she was bending over slightly and prodding at the picture so endearing.
"I can never stay still for too long," she replies, still observing the photograph.
"I was only gone five minutes-"
"I get a little impatient, and that's a record for me," she says, her smile still stretching wider and wider. She gestures to the picture, and asks me, "is this Adam?"
"Umm, no," I answer, not even bothering to glance at it. Bad memories. "That's actually me."
"Aaaww," she says, even louder than the first time, returning her attention back to the photo. "Halloween of '93."
"How do you know about that?," I ask her, staggered at the fact that she knew about that date."
"Joe told me," she answers, standing up straight, "told me that there were pictures of you that I would definitely love to see. He was absolutely right."
"Yeah, well there's no need to keep on-"
"Oh, look at that," she says, going to the next picture, not taking notice of me, "that has to be Adam, it looks a little new-"
"Yes," I reply, my hands back in my pocket, "that was during his first birthday party."
"I'm betting anything Danielle made you hang that up," she said, before moving on to the next frame. I don't bother confirming, she's right anyway. "I'm going to guess that this one is from your first big-time concert. I should know, I was there."
"That is correct," I say, taking a glimpse, "had to do four encore numbers."
"Best way to spend 75 bucks," she says, biting her lip in what I think is happiness. "And this was when Kevin got his first otter-"
"Before we had to give it to the zoo because it was wrecking our home," I say, the bad memories kicking in again, "never knew that there was actually something more high maintenance than Frankie."
"And here's Joe and Stella, and they're kissing," she said, the expression on her face falling once she takes a quick peek at the following photo. "Huh. I don't know why you would have that here."
"I don't know either, it was sort of there when the whole place was finished, I can't ever get it off," I reply, and I feel myself getting a little irritated at my former stylist. "It wasn't my choice."
"Well, are there any pictures that you picked out?," she asks, straightening up and turning slightly to look over at me.
"Well, yeah," I start out, "but they're kinda-"
"Oh, come on, Nick," she says, getting hold of my hands and squeezing them, a pout on her face.
"But it's-"
"Please," she asks me, her eyes glossed over, "I won't tell anyone, I swear."
"Sorry, I can't-"
"Please," she says, stepping a little closer towards me.
I think I just lost my ability to breathe again. And this is a million times more comforting than cake. "Fine, come with me."
I hold on to her hand tightly, and I walk her over to the last door in the hallway. She looks at it a little apprehensively, but I smile and turn the doorknob, then I drag her in quickly. "This is where I sleep."
"Wow," she said, slipping her hand away from mine to walk around and observe the quaint, sky blue-painted bedroom, "it reminds me of the firehouse back in New Jersey."
"Yeah," I say, watching her observe my belongings, "it's the smallest room in the whole place."
"Really?," she says, looking up from my collection of guitar picks.
"Yeah, I don't like big spaces when I snooze," I tell her, closing the door behind me, "you know, I think you're the first person I actually let in here."
"Oh. I'm privileged," she said, smiling, "and slightly threatened."
"You're welcome," I tell her, taking her hand in mine once again, and leading her over to a small table in the corner, just beside my closet. "I only have a few, so-"
"Oh, God," she says, walking forward leaning slightly to get a better look at the framed photographs, "a vintage pic of you, Joe and Kevin, kindergarten days."
"Yup, before they got too annoying," I tell her, smiling fondly at the picture.
"A family portrait, just after when Frankie was born," she observes, touching the frames lightly, "a mother's day photo, a fishing trip with your dad, a group pic when we were at Horace Mantis, and," she finds herself lost for words when she comes down to the last two, like I knew she'd be. She gazes at a picture of herself, kneeling down and grinning widely while petting our family dog at a Christmas party a few years before she left for Vancouver, and switches her view to the photo next to it, a candid shot of her, sitting on my lap and laughing with me, from when Kevin and Frankie were wrestling over the last slice of coconut pie that one summer in LA.
"And me," she ends simply.
"Yup. You," I say, imitating the last photograph and wrapping my arms around her waist from behind her, locking my hands on her stomach to pull her closer to me, and resting my chin on her bare shoulder. She responds by holding my forearm with her hands, saying, "well, at least you picked good shots of me."
"Had to beg Stella to give them to me," I remember all of a sudden, placing my lips on her shoulder.
"Oh, I was always wondering why she always had that camera," she said, tingling a little.
"Sorry, am I making you tremble?," I whisper in her, clinging on even tighter.
"Don't be too smug, there, Lucas," she said, patting my cheek lightly. "You're not as dashing as you think you are."
"Are you sure?," I tease her, pressing another kiss on the spot near the corner of her eye. "Because I know I've been told otherwise."
"Well, who tells you that anyway?," she asks me, and I know that she's distracted as she keeps pausing every now and then.
"Well, I know you did, once," I tell her, and she hangs her head slightly at the revelation, and I also heard her emit a soft 'oh.' I chuckle quietly, and she reacts by nudging at my rib with her elbow, but I try not to respond, even though it hurt. I notice that her hair has covered her face, as well as her shoulders and any skin, so I proceed to brush the locks away gently, and I can't help but take note that somehow, even though she's been stuck in a tundra for quite some time, she managed to get a little more tanned. And her skin's still flawless. How does that happen?
"Ummm, you can let go now, Nick," she tells me, but I can't somehow to keep my focus, because every time I breathe, the vanilla and floral scent coming from her brainwashes me. It's that addicting.
"No, I don't think I can," I say, my eyes closed, and I go on to pepper kisses on her shoulder, her neck, and her cheek. Oh my God, this is happening.
"Uhh, Nick," she tries to start out, turning into my arms to face me, but before she can even get another word out, I shut her up again with a kiss, the explosion of pineapple and coconut filling my mouth again. I press my lips against hers, a little rougher than the first time, but much to my displeasure, it takes her a little longer for her respond. But when she does, oh, holy shit. She snakes her arms around my neck, pulling me down so that she can get more coverage, her hands scrunch up my locks and don't let go, soon, our tongues our dancing together, and she unbuttons the first few buttons of my polo. I lift her slightly by her legs, which she wraps around my waist so that she's off the ground, and I don't know how we did it, but we eventually crash unto my bed.
You could probably tell that there wasn't much talking after that.
I wake up after what seems like hours, even though I know it's only been around two. I'm not exactly tired, but something in me just wants to sleep all day, and nestle there under the covers (there goes the sap in me again), and maybe just spend it with her, envelop my arms around her and listen to her breathe, then I'd murmur little things that I would normally think was just plain crap, but I'd figure it was the best thing to tell her. It's a bit weird, most especially for me, but I can't think of any other thing I want to do more.
But, much to my disappointment, when I turn over slightly to drape my arm around her, I find no one there to cuddle with. Just some air, and an empty space. So, whether I want to or not, this is my cue to get up, because God knows where she could be right now, hopefully, just not completely out of sight.
"Ah, jeez," I mumble out once I finally sit up. It didn't hurt, but I've never felt so strained. My neck's not really in the right place, my arms feel a little awkward, and God, my legs are aching like anything, but a certain feeling, I think it's called bliss or elation, take your pick, just washes over me.
I really want to lie down again all of a sudden.
"No time to lie down now, Lucas," I tell myself, and I know that I'm officially lost my mind. But you know what, I guess I'm finally somewhat okay with the idea. I take a quick glimpse around me, the bed, the rumpled up covers, the floors, and I see that my shirt isn't there. I chuckle to myself, shaking my head, and I promptly slip on a pair of shorts from my closet. I look over to the other side, and then take one of the wife beaters on top, just examining it, and it gets me thinking. Should I put a shirt on?
Nah.
I walk out of the bedroom, disheveling my curls while I'm at it, but not before I taking a quick peek at myself in the full-length mirror just outside the door. Only now do I notice that I am a little more buff than what I credit myself for.
Joe was right. This is sort of fun.
I continue down the hallway, but it doesn't take me very long to hear some sort of activity going on close by. I hear a lot of moving about in the kitchen, so I'm not surprised to see Macy bustling around, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the pot. I'm also not surprised to see her dressed only in my long-sleeved polo, but now I really, really can't help it; she's never looked more radiant, because she's glowing again, or stunning, or picturesque. I almost want to grab my camera, but I control myself. I can see it's big on her; the sleeves hang a little past her hands, and it's certainly long enough to cover what needs to be covered, but it doesn't seem to hide her gorgeous, bronzed legs. Her hair is also a little messier, but it didn't make the locks any less flouncy.
I have to keep telling myself that pictures never really compare to the real thing.
"How do you want your coffee?," she asks me all of a sudden, not taking her eyes off the coffee maker in front of her.
"Huh? Oh, umm, just make me a black," I reply, startled a little. Women really have a way of knowing if you're checking them out. I take a second's hesitancy before making my way to her, snaking my arms around her once again, just like yesterday, before things got a little too out of hand, and kissing the top of her head. I only noticed now, and I'm an idiot for even mentioning, but she's a little shorter without the heels. Makes it a lot easier for me.
"Not again," she says, but I know that she's smirking in front of me.
I pull her a bit closer, inhaling the jasmine in her hair, and I say to her, "I won't try anything, I promise."
"You're tickling me," she manages to murmur out, giggling a little as my arms move a bit higher so they're just under her bust, and I plant a small kiss to her cheek. "Let go-"
"Make me," I tell her, proceeding to let my fingers do their work. She giggles again, a little shriller than before, and she turns in my arms and holds my hands down, so I have no choice but to stop. I laugh along with her, before tugging away from her grip, and instead enfold her in my arms, clasp my hands together and place them at the small of her back. She grins sweetly, and then wraps hers around my waist as well. We're really just leaning against each other now.
"Hmmm," she mumbles, lifting her head a tiny bit, so I go on to press my forehead against hers, "since when did you get those really nice abs?"
"We don't really need to mention that, but thank you," I say, planting a kiss on her nose, and then releasing her to get the abandoned cup she left on the counter. I sip and let some of the severely bitter liquid go down my throat, but then again, I can't really focus on the taste because she's poking on my arm.
"It's still firm," she notes out, feeling around my arm. I really have to hold the coffee down, because now I just feel like I'm going to spit it out. I swallow, and I ask her in an effort to avoid the subject, "why'd you get up so soon anyway?"
"I guess it was just restlessness," she said, resting her head on my shoulder, "and we never got around to drinking it a while ago, so I thought it would just go to waste-"
"Couldn't you have waited for me?," I ask her, glancing to her quickly.
"Well, you looked so cute when you were sleeping, so it seemed a little rude to just disturb," she answers, getting her mug and drinking from it as well.
"How poetic," I reply, taking another sip, "I am depicted as a puppy."
"A very cute puppy," she said, and I know she's keeping the giggles back.
"I was going for macho, but okay," I reply, smirking a little. She replies by kissing my bicep, (because I have a nice bicep), and I just move slightly to face her properly, and I hold her waist with one hand, pulling her closely. "Can I have my shirt back?"
"No," she says, shaking her head as I move my hand to her neck, playing with the collar, "you said I could borrow some of your clothes when mine got ruined-"
"I didn't think you'd take this one-"
"It's sort of like a rule," she tells me, patting my cheek, "the girl has a right to take the guy's shirt after, don't you know that?"
I look over to her, and take another mouthful from the cup. "How subtle, Misa."
"Sorry, didn't intend that," she says sheepishly.
Ahh, adorable. "Don't worry, I'm just playing with you," I say, sweeping some of the wilder stray strands from her face, and going over to the fridge at the farthest corner from the room. "So, I'm gonna ask you something."
"What is it?, "she asks, daintily sipping from here mug while leaning against the counter.
"Umm," I begin, opening the refrigerator door, "I was wondering, if ever, you know, would you want to go to Washington with me? Be my date? Because I sorta don't want to go alone, it would be a little humiliating to go solo in front of the President-"
"President, as in, the White House?," she asks, holding down the cup.
"Yeah, I was picked to honor Tony Bennett, just got the call a few days before the wedding, so it's pretty last minute-"
"I'd love to go, Nick, but I have to ask," she says, sounding a little hesitant, "when's it gonna be?"
"Umm, a week from now, why?," I say, not looking up from the fridge. Where in God's name is that leftover donut?
"Oh," she said, and just by her tone, I know that something's wrong. I sneak a quick peek at her, and she's slouching slightly, her expression a little crestfallen, and her grip on her mug unusually rigid.
"What's wrong?," I ask her, getting up from my position, and just observing her.
Her fingers just fidget around the cup, and she doesn't even look me in the eye, before she says, "I can't go."
"Oh, okay, that's fine, I'll go embarrass myself instead," I tell her, trying to reassure her, but she doesn't look exactly comforted by my words. "You know, if anything's wrong, you can just tell me."
"I know, it's just that, I'm not sure how you're going to take this," she tells me, the cup just shaking a tiny bit in her hands.
I know this isn't going to do her well, so I go over to her, take the mug and set it down on the counter, and pull her into a swift hug. "What's wrong?"
She doesn't really say anything for a while, and just taps her fingers on my bare chest, but a minute later, she says in a hushed voice, "I got an offer to go to Madrid, one of my old teammates was there for soccer training for the national team, and she told her coach about me. They saw some videos of my games, and they called me a few weeks ago. I leave in four days."
"Oh," I say, and I can feel my insides plummet a thousand feet. I can't seem to register a sensible reaction. "For how long will you be gone?"
"Three years minimum," she replies even more softly.
Wow. Didn't really see this coming. I unravel my arms from her, and, because I don't really know what to do with them, I just stick my hands in my pockets, taking a small step back, and she just looks at me, a knowing look on her face. "That's some curveball."
"Nick, I'm sorry-"
"No, it's okay, follow your dream," I tell her, but it sure as hell isn't okay. I've never wanted to die more.
"Nick, please-"
"No, it's fine," I say, shaking my head at her, "not that big a deal."
"Nick," she says more forcefully, stepping in front of me and staring me straight in the eye, "can you please talk? Are you mad at me?"
"No," I tell her, meeting her gaze to know that I'm just as serious as she is, "I'm not mad, Mace."
"Then why does it seem like you are?"
"Because I would've appreciated it if you told me a little earlier," I tell her, a bit more stoically than I wanted it to sound. "Then I probably wouldn't have done what I did then."
"I know, and I'm sorry," she says, inching a little closer, but still avoiding contact, "I was really going to tell you, but things got a little too far-"
"Too far?," I ask, repeating what she said, "I would think that things got a little too good-"
"Nick, I tried to tell you," she tells me, "but it was a little hard to focus when you were kissing me-"
"Can you tell me one thing?," I ask, staring at her intently, "are you sure you left Enzo because of the wedding, and not because of this offer-"
"No," she replies adamantly, "I wasn't even sure that I was going to accept it, and I forgot all about it for a while. After I left him, only then did I remember about the whole soccer thing. I only called in to accept it when I was on my way to the reception; I never knew that this would happen-"
"So you didn't think that we would get along?"
"Nick, no," she said, shaking her head vigorously, "I'm sorry, I know I should've told you sooner-"
"Yeah, I guess I do too," I cut in, "that way, maybe we wouldn't have done anything-"
"So you're regretting this?," she asks me, and I can hear the remaining strength she had wavering.
Oh, God no. I would never regret the best thing that's ever happened to me.
"No, never in a million years," I tell her, and I cup her face in my hands, "you have to know that I'm thankful that it was you. But was I thinking and daydreaming of having the girl I gave myself to spending every moment she can with me? Yeah, I do, Mace. I'm not sure if this is just as important to you, but losing this ring is a really big thing for me."
"Nick, this isn't any easier for me," she tries to stop me, but when I silent down to hear what she has to say, she comes out speechless, and just looks down and grips my wrists.
"Mace," I say, holding her even closer and letting my nose touch hers, "I'm not mad at you. I would've liked a heads up, but I do know that I love you more than anything."
She stays silent, but a small tear falls from the corner of her eye. I wipe it off with my thumb, and continue to say, "I don't want to make the same mistake twice. You can go knowing that I will be there to cheer you on, and I want you to do what you've dreamt for the longest time. I'll be the number one fan this time, okay?"
She keeps silent for a few seconds, before telling me, "what if I just stayed?"
"No, don't do that," I say, "I'll be fine."
"You're not okay," she tells me after a minute of quiet. "You're upset."
"Maybe," I reply, embracing her again, and setting my chin on the top of her head, "but it will be a whole lot worse if you just didn't go, on both our parts. You go for me, okay? I want to see you get a medal, and I'm tired of fighting and arguing."
Nothing comes out of her mouth, but from the little tracks of water running down my torso, I can tell that she was crying. She grips me even tighter, and says delicately, "I'm so sorry, Nick. I wish there was a way I wouldn't hurt you."
"Well, things aren't really going to turn out simple for us."
She sniffs a little, and tells me in response to my words from quite a while ago, "I love you too."
I squeeze her in my arms, press a kiss to her forehead, and I say quietly, "I know you do."
I'm not sure why, but I feel something wet coming down my cheek and falling into her hair.
WOW. LONG. :)) I acknowledge that the conversations in the beginning and the end are rushed, but I really don't have the time to make it super duper long and in-depth. I've only got three days left to write the last chapter, and then I leave for a special place. :)) It's a secret (eh, not really. It's school, I get really busy then).
I hope you enjoyed, and please REVIEW. I really, really, REALLY want to read a lot. :))