Everything You Never Had

Make-believe

"It's okay. It'll be okay." He sits you on a couch and keeps an arm around you while you sob.

"I can't do this any more." You say.

"I know."

"All I can think of is her - how I keep fooling myself." You get out.

"I know." Noah's arm tightens around you.

You're gasping for air between sobs, but you manage one last phrase. "It's my fault!"

"Y/N, listen to me." He says forcefully, and looks at you with intent. "It is not your fault. This isn't anyone's fault. It is painful, but as time goes on, so will your acceptance of it."

Between sobs, you let out a short sound of laughter. "Where did you read that?"

"I don't know, some article." He briskly says, gently smiling. "But it sound good. And true."

You look in his kind eyes, and deliberate, before a careful smile crosses your face. "Yeah..." You say as you wipe away your tears. "...I guess you're right."
__________

Weeks turn into months, and before you know it, you've traveled to eleven different countries, your best friend always by your side. It's over now, the job, and you've both retreated back to England. The sum of money you've gained from this half year is more than you'd have ever guessed. So much so, that it is time to say goodbye to your old apartment, and find something new.

You succeed to find a suitable place after a couple of months. An apartment, just like before, but this one is larger, and newer, and more luxurious.

After a hectic day full of photography, and meetings, you retreat back to your new space.

You unlock the door with a silver key and step inside. The lights come on, revealing dark wood floors, and clean marble counters, lush curtains and furniture that still looks unused. A high-backed chair. A cream sofa. A bookshelf neatly stacked with books.

You take of your heels, step out of them beside the door, and pad barefoot through the apartment, tossing your jacket over the arm of a chair. In the kitchen, you poor yourself a glass of merlot, find a block of camembert in a fridge drawer and a box of gourmet crackers in the cupboard. You carry your makeshift picnic into the living room, the city unfolding beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. You sift through your record, put on a pressing of Billie Holiday, and retreat to the cream sofa, knees tucked up beneath you as you eat.

The apartment stretched out around you. Too silent and too large for one person. The high floor and the double-panned glass combining to block out the sounds of the city, reducing London to a picture, still and gray, beyond the windows.

You try to imagine what the blue-eyed woman would say, if she could see you now. But every time you try to summon those keen eyes, that knowing mouth, you see only the way Cate looked at you in those last moments. The way her face furrowed, and showed sadness.

No, you should not think of Cate.

Sometimes when you're alone, you take the ring from where it now lives in your pocket, and try to remember the woman with the ethereal beauty, the strong arms that kept you comfort, the tender kisses shared. To make yourself put a name to the things you've lost. But what's the use? It's gone. She's gone. Whatever existed between you is gone. All that's left is the piece of silver that lays in your hand.

As your lonesome evening progresses, you take a bath, and wrap yourself in one of your robes. Throwing open the French doors, you step out onto the bedroom balcony. The wind is up, the cold stinging the soles of your bare feet. The city sprawls around you like a low night sky, full of artificial stars, and you shove your hands into your pockets of the robe, and feel it, resting on the bottom of the empty fold. A small circle of smooth silver.

You sigh, close your hand around the ring, and draw it out. You lean your elbows on the balcony, and force yourself to look at the band in your open palm, to study it. As if you have not already memorized every wrap and whorl. You trace the curves with your free hand, resisting the urge to slip the band onto your finger. You have thought about it, in tired moments, but you will not be the one to break. You will not be the one to get sucked back up in agony.

You tip your hands, and let the ring fall over the edge of the balcony, down into the darkness.

For weeks, you keep reaching for the ring, hand drifting to your pocket, a motion born of so much habit. You cannot seem to remind your fingers it is gone. Cannot seem to remind your heart, which shutters a little every time you find the pocket empty.

But there, blooming amid the sorrow, is a terrible relief. Every moment since you left Cate, you have feared the loss of this last token. Now that it's gone, there is a guilty gladness tucked among the grief.

You let go.
__________

You've met a man. The time to move on had to happen one time or another, and now that you've let go, that time has come.

His name is Eddy. And there is nothing wrong with Eddy. But there is nothing right, either. His skin is crude, his brown hair thinning, his voice like a wisp of wind. When his hand lays itself upon your arm, the grip is weak, and when he inclines his head towards you, his breath is stale.

He's good-looking, for sure, in a general kind of way. He treats you right, and is the kind of person that shows kindness towards strangers. But you've come to realise, once you experience perfection, nothing compares.

You've gone out twice, and tonight has been the third time. After a night of dinner and drinks, you go back to your apartment, and you find yourself wrapped in his arms. His lips brushing the surface of your neck, working their way to your mouth.

Despite what you feel for Cate, this is when you accept deep down that she'll never come back to you. Or you'll never come back to her.
__________

As you wake up the next morning, you're taken by surpise when you feel a lump of limbs under the blanket next to you. Not being used to share your bed with anyone, not for a whole year, has taken it's toll. Rolling sideways, you see the brown hair traces, and remember.

He's still asleep, and you lay, staring at the ceiling, listening to his restless snoring filling up the space of your bedroom. She didn't snore. She slept peacefully, and woke heavenly, almost always in sync with you, if not earlier. You don't want to think about her. You try not to think about her. But everyday, you find your mind wandering off to the blissfull times spend with her.

A dull pang echoes through your chest, and it's 12 months ago, and you're lying in bed together, Cate's fingers tracing the skin on your cheek, her touch as light and steady as a brush.

You realise now, that you will always remember. Although you told yourself that you have let go, it is but a mere illusion. You will always remember the woman with the blue eyes and the gracious manners. The rooted voice, smooth laughter and alluring presence.

And with this thought, you wake him up, and you get up, waiting for the time when he's out the door, and you're alone again. And as he asks if he'll see you again, you brush it off, leaving the question unanswered.

In the afternoon, you roam through the streets of London. As you get wrapped up in your usual flow of thoughts, you nearly walk past the building. The French themed bistro, the one you've visited with Cate, enjoying a breakfast, back when everything was wondrous, and dreamlike.

You haven't been back to the place, not since your last visit a year ago, with her. You have been able to avoid it, until now, as your stomach begins to rumble.

Deciding to make your visit brief, you get to the front of the line and order a coffee-to-go from a very nice guy named Patrick. He looks at you with kind eyes and is friendly, and patient, and -

"Y/N?"

Your stomach drops. Because you know that voice, deep and smooth, know the way it bends around your name, and it is that day again, and you're in the parking lot, watching her drive away.

You turn around, and there she is.

"Cate."

A/N

So this was something else... I hope you liked it. I bet every one of you thought the protagonist wasn't gonna leave for the job offer, or that Cate was coming with in some way. Please let me know your thoughts on this rather interesting chapter. I'm very, very curious.