A Love So Tragic (16 page)

I don't know where it's going, and I'm not going to think about that right now.

Would I do it again? Fuck yes, but I wouldn't let her leave.

Is it right? No. She's married, but the thing that makes Peyton different is that she should be married to me. Isaac had no regard for me, why should I have any for him? I swallow because I don't even know who the hell I am right now. I feel like I'm losing my damn mind. That's what she does to me, what she's always done. She makes me fucking crazy. 

An hour and a half later, the plane touches down at La Guardia. I grab my luggage and turn my phone off airplane mode, and as soon as it cuts on, I have a text from Peyton:

I can't do this. As much as I want to. I don't want to be that person.
 

I stop in the middle of the walkway, people bumping into me and cursing. I close my eyes.

Good for her.

As much as I hate it, she just proved to me that deep down inside, she is the person I always knew she was.

Derrick looks up at me, holding a piece of biscotti inches from his mouth, his jaw gaping open. “I can't believe you said that. 'I want to be the one to save you, or if you want to stay, I want to help you get away with it.' Oh, that is a line they should use on the Lifetime Movie channel.” He flips his wrist and waves his hand through the air. “I don't even know who you are, mister.”

“Yeah, I know.” I flick a crumb across the white tablecloth.

He leans across the table and narrows his eyes. “And then she
seriously
texted you and told you she couldn't. After all that calling and leading you on.” He shakes his head. “Wishy-washy bitch. This is why I don't go for women. They are drama. D.R.A.M.A.” He nods his head, drops the biscotti to the table, and snatches his coffee up. “Men are so much less fussy.”

“Hmmm.” What the hell do I say to that?

“So you gonna call Linds and beg for forgiveness now that the other disaster's over with?”

“No.”

Derrick's jaw drops and his eyebrows lift. “Uh, hello? Why not. She's divine, Nic. You know I love her.”

“I'm not pretending,” I say. “She deserves better than that.” And she does. 

The waiter comes by and tops my coffee off. Derrick winks at him then clears his throat. “Okay, look,” he says. “Maybe Peyton is your soul mate. You love her. She loves you. But, you know what? A real soul mate, we don't spend our lives with them.” He cocks one brow and waits for me to prod.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his finger in my face. “Soul mates. There's too much passion there. You love them too much. You obsess over them. Their sole purpose in life is to teach you about yourself, to change you, break your heart. You never stop loving them, but you have to realize they are not the person you are supposed to live your life with. Life's not meant to be perfect, Nic.” He smiles. “All that lobster bullshit is just that...bullshit. I mean, for fucks sake. They're crustaceans.”

What the hell is he talking about?

His phone beeps and he rolls his eyes when he reads the text. “I gotta go. I'll call you later this week okay? Call Linds.”

He throws a wad of cash on the table, pats me on the shoulder, and walks off. I finish my coffee and take a walk through Central Park. I can’t get her out of my head. The entire way back home all I think about is how right it felt to hold her like that, to kiss her, and as soon as I get back inside my apartment, I go to the closet and pull out that journal. Part of me wants to throw it away, part of me wants to send it to her because that piece of me that I don’t like doesn’t care that she said she couldn’t do it.

I flip through the letters I wrote so long ago. I remember how it felt with her. And the thing I know about Peyton is she wants to do what’s right. She always has, even when it’s meant sacrificing something she wants. It’s one of the things I loved about her and one of the reasons why what she did hit me so damn hard. She is trying to do the right thing, and I should let her. I should leave her alone.

I close the journal and lie back on my bed. I just wonder how long I’ll actually let her do the right thing.

It's been a month since I kissed Nic, since I told him I couldn't do it. And although I should feel like I did the right thing, I don't.

Two days ago, he sent me a letter, and somehow, I have managed not to open it. I shoved it in the back of my underwear drawer, and there it's stayed—until now. As I walk to the office, I stare at my name on the envelope. It looks so beautiful in his handwriting. This has to go. It
has
to go because I'm afraid if I read it I'll do something I know I shouldn't.

Taking a seat in the chair, I pull out the drawer with the shredder nestled inside. I hold the letter over the mouth of the machine. My heart pounds, my stomach knotting when I place the end of the envelope into the slit.
It shouldn’t be this hard.
The motor whirls. The teeth grip the edge of the letter, and I panic, yanking it out. Honestly, I can't stand the thought of destroying his words when I haven't even read them.

I quickly rip the envelope open, and inside are two letters. The first one is dated February 2
^nd
, 2001.

It started snowing yesterday, and they cancelled school. Everything iced over and damn, you got stuck
at my house. Your mom flipped out. My mom promised she’d make us sleep in separate rooms (like that did any good. I just snuck in there and fucked you into oblivion after she went to sleep). 

We got the neighbor's sled and acted like fucking kids. Hell, I guess to some people we still are kids. You insisted on going down this one hill. I told you you’d kill yourself. You wouldn’t listen to me (of course). So you went down it, really fast, and you ran right into a hedge. Twigs got tangled up in your hair. I thought for a second I was going to have to get scissors and cut your hair out of that damn bush. You banged yourself up, scraped your pretty face. You got embarrassed and cried a little. And, seeing as how I’m a fucking knight in shining armor, I carried you all the way back to my house, nearly busting my ass on the ice. I took you inside and cleaned up the scratches on your face. The point is I realized three things today:

You are stubborn.

You are a sissy.

And I’m fucking in love with you.

I already told you that you’re stubborn and a sissy, but that last thing, I’m going to hang onto that for a little longer. Like maybe when I know you’re good and asleep tonight…

I love you, Peyton. 

Nicolas

I lean back in the chair, twisting from side to side as I stare at that letter. I remember the look he gave me as he cleaned my face—like I was all that mattered to him. I'll never forget Nic waking me up the next morning, telling me he loved me. 

I lay that letter to the side, swallowing hard when I glance at the other note. The handwriting is messy, angry. The ink pressed hard into the paper.

Peyton,

I don’t know how long it will be before I give this to you, or if I ever will. 

You got married today to someone who’s not me. Fuck him! And fuck you for doing this to me. I trusted you.

Tell me something,
pretty girl
, where did I fail? Tell me what the hell I did to push you away? I tried to show you how much you meant to me every second of every damn day. I did things just to make you smile. All I ever wanted was to be the one man who could give you everything—things no other person could, and fuck does it hurt
that I wasn't good enough. 

I always thought you would be the one thing I would never want to forget, but right now, I’ve never wanted to forget someone so badly in my fucking life.

No signature. No closing. Reading, in his own words, how I made him feel tears me up inside. And the longer I think about it, the more I hate myself. I hate myself for what I did all those years ago, and now I hate myself for only kissing him a month ago.

If I thought I hurt before, it is nothing compared to this. Before there was no choice, and now there is. There shouldn't be, but there is.

The drone of conversation along with the tinker of silverware forces me into a haze. I watch the couple across the room laughing with each other. They look so in love, so happy, and I have to pity them because chances are someone will screw up and destroy the other one. I’ve contemplated about love a lot over the past few weeks, and I’ve drawn the conclusion that hardly anyone is with the person they should be with. And that makes me feel better. Selfish? Yes, but it’s the truth.

It's been two weeks since Nic sent those letters. I kept hoping he would call me, but he hasn't. I should be glad he hasn’t— relieved. It should feel like I dodged a silver bullet, but I doesn't. I feel dejected, and all I can think about is him. Obsessively.

Jen hasn’t mentioned Nic since that weekend. She knows I’ll talk to her when I’m ready, and I may never be ready because as long as I keep it all bottled up inside, I’m not acknowledging what a fucking mess it is.  The end was written in mine and Nic’s love story long ago, and you can’t just go back in, haphazardly trying to rewrite the ending.

The waiter stops at our table, but it only occurs to me he wants my attention when he clears his throat. “Would you like another glass of wine, ma’am?”

Ma’am?
I glance away from the couple. The waiter is young, most likely nineteen. His skin is smooth, his face still has a little baby fat on it. He has his whole life ahead of him. His biggest concern is probably making sure he has a condom in his wallet. He’s calling me ma’am…

I look at my empty glass and nod. “Yes, please.” 

He smiles and turns away.

“What the hell was that look about, huh?” Jen asks. “Jesus! You looked like you were about to rip the poor guy’s head off.”

“He called me ma’am! Do I look that fucking old?” I lean my elbows on the table and slap my palm over my forehead. “Maybe I need to start the Botox now.”

“Give me a break, Peyton! What is going on with you? I’m the self-deprecating one, not you! I don’t have the energy to boost your ego and mine, so stop!” she groans, shoving a fork full of salad inside her mouth, talking while she chews. “You know what I've decided. No one is ever satisfied. Satisfaction is like a fucking unicorn that shits glitter and diamonds. It doesn't exist.” She twirls the fork in her fingers before stabbing a pepper on her plate. “At least not in a relationship. Trust me. It’s why I’m not married. It’s just bullshit if you ask me.”