Wicked in Love

Chapter 2 - forget

I love you, Cameron.

There seemed to be a permanent knife buried in my chest, and it twisted mercilessly every time I heard the quiver in her voice in my head.

I slid off my helmet, suddenly feeling claustrophobic, and took a deep breath to calm myself. The cool night air felt good on my heated face.

Does she still live here? I frowned when I spotted an unfamiliar car out front. Was that hers or did it belong to someone else?

All the lights were off inside the house. Maybe that was the reason why I suddenly lost my mind, abandoned all self control, got off my motorcycle, and slowly walked up her stairs.

Or maybe the maddening thought that another guy was in her house. In her bed.

Calm the fuck down.

I paused, swiped my mouth. Forced myself to calm down and look around.

Maybe it was too cold for her flowers yet, I thought, scanning the porch. The pots hanging on the eaves still had the dead stems of last season's blooms. I knew she would replace them soon.

The spot where the statue of a frog I gifted her for Christmas once stood was painfully empty.

I picked up an overturned pot, propped it on the floor and put it out of the way. She'd tripped on them before. My eyes inevitably looked for the writing on the column, but it was too dark to see.

I stopped in front of her front door. It taunted me. I gave in, lifted my hand to the doorknob, thinking of her twisting it so many times before, thinking of the door opening so many times to welcome me... a long, long time ago.

And what happened the last time I was here.

What the fuck are you doing? She doesn't want you here. She doesn't want you anymore.

I gritted my teeth, stepped back and was about to leave when the lights suddenly flicked on in the living room, spilling onto the porch through the window. I froze, held my breath. My eyes riveted to the window. Waiting.

Waiting.

Under the lights, her hair glinted like burnt gold mixed with the dark as she ran down the stairs. She must have felt my presence because she stopped, tilted her head.

Our eyes met.

It felt like getting sucker punched right in the gut just before the lights went out. My knees went weak. My mind blanked.

Her eyes widened a fraction, before shock turned into deep sorrow that painted them dark. Her lips parted slowly, and, although impossible, I thought I heard her breath catch. Her hand shook as she raised it toward her mouth, but stopped midair, then fell on her side.

We stared at each other. It only lasted a second, maybe not even, before everything in her eyes went flat as she looked back at me. As though there was nothing but air where I was standing.

She shifted, and there was a very small break in her step, and I almost didn't catch it if I weren't so attuned to her, as she moved and disappeared in the kitchen, out of my sight.

I stood there unmoving. Like the house, the trees, the ground, time had ended for me. And started again when she came back in my sight.

A glass of water in her hand, she went straight for the stairs. No hesitation this time, no break in her step, no acknowledgment or hint that her evening was disturbed. I didn't exist in her world anymore.

If it weren't for the break in her step, I would've assumed she might not have seen me. That the look in her eyes might have just been one of the many dreams I have of her. But it was there. I caught it. She had seen me.