You Promised | Mark Sloan ✓

52┃relief and regret

But Mark did not know that.

How would he, when she had never told him a thing?

"He was your fiancé?"

"Sorry-what?"

Now, that was a question she least expected.

"That jerk told you that?" she frowned, shaking her head, "I never even dated him, Mark."

He nodded once; she could tell that he was choosing to believe her.

Choosing to.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking right at her as she strode over into the kitchen. "Then what went wrong with your life in New York?"

That was more of what she expected...

"And why can't you tell me about it?"

...but there was a good reason why those memories were locked away at the back of her head.

"What happened in New York, stays in New York," she stated firmly, "I'm not bringing them back now, not ever." She went to pour herself a glass of water while he scoffed lightly, shaking his head.

She sighed, "Why can't you just... trust me?"

"How do you want me to trust you when I... when I don't even know you?" his voice was louder this time, and she froze at his words.

It felt like déjà vu.

They sat opposite each other, separated by a cold marble surface that felt like a wide river of a strong current.

"Please don't let his words get into your head," she spoke, her voice small but clear.

"I don't want to, Norah-but his words are giving me more explanation than you are."

His head was spinning in circles, running laps on the track field. He would do anything to get her to talk right now, anything, but her mouth remained sealed.

She felt the ceiling lowering onto her head, the walls tightening around her. She tried not to react, she was really trying her best, but his sudden rise in voice was not favouring her side.

"I-I don't know... you," he spoke in a defeated voice, "I want to know you, the true you, but you're not letting me in."

―

"I wanna get to know you, Honorah," Jeffrey had a sincere smile on his face as he lay down next to her on the wet grass at the quiet park. "I wanna know the real you, all of you. So could you please let me in that buzzing head of yours?"

―

The past of New York was flashing before her eyes.

The vault at the back of her head had made its way to the front, the solid metal walls seemed to turn into thin fabric. The haunting recollection of everything that had happened three years ago was rolling like a film tape inside her head.

The scenes she hoped to expunge were back-they were all back.

Then again, hope had always led to despair.

"Norah...?" Mark's voice was careful this time.

Careful, because he was scared that she would snap away from herself.

She knew this was not the person he met, she right now was not the person he knew nor loved.

New York was not her, and she did not want it to be her.