Knowing Me, Knowing You | (S/P)

Chapter 43

I've been reading a lot of poetry these days. Like, a lot. My favorite one by far —or at least the one that has managed to pull at my heartstrings the most— is One Art by Elizabeth Bishop. In it she talks about 'the art of losing', so many things are destined to be lost, she says, from ordinary items and places, that their loss is no disaster.

After reading it for the first time, I found myself enthralled by the rest of her writing and by some other works of poets alike. I even bought a special collection at the library the other day.

All this time avoiding it, claiming that poetry wasn't for me no matter how much I tried...who would have thought that all that was needed was a broken heart; in tiny, jagged little pieces with no hope in hell of repair.

I blink several times, trying to prevent the wetness welling up on the corner of my eyes from become scalding tears. It's been three weeks since Nathaniel and I broke up, and being right here at Promontory Point, the memories are positioning themselves over my heart as a dark, crushing shadow. Memories that not a long ago brought nothing but joy and hope, now sting me with their bittersweet reminder of what could have been. Of what will never be.

'Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these –It might have been.'

Fools in love, we were. We foolishly believed that we were invincible, that we could get away without anyone ever finding out. That our love was the strongest and most genuine thing that we had experienced, that we had something special and unique and that it was enough.

It was special, a blessed rarity –but it wasn't enough.

Nathaniel didn't want to break up, of course. He wouldn't even tell me what was wrong.

I didn't understand why he wanted to leave so suddenly that night, or why he only spoke in monosyllables the entire drive home. It threw me off when the first thing that he did at his apartment was downing two fingers of whiskey, when he couldn't dare looking me in the eyes.

All kind of terrible, convoluted ideas swamped my mind. Are his parents alright? Are my parents alright? Was there an accident? Did Abigail call? But then when I tried to kiss him in an attempt to soothe his troubled mind, he broke his silence in a way I wish he hadn't.

"Alexia, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." After what seems like forever, he finally breaks the crushing silence. As he stands in front of me, I realize that his eyes are slightly red, his pupils dilated, and I want to believe that it is the alcohol although I didn't see him drinking that much.

"What for?" My heart beats frantically against my chest, intuition telling me this is something I don't want to hear.

What could have possibly happened in the last hour to make him act like this? The playful twinkle that is always present on his eyes has vanished, and his lips, often curling on the side, mockingly, look pale and defeated. "Nathaniel..."

"They know. We got caught." He reaches out and places a lock of hair behind my ear, the back of his fingers caressing my cheek. "I'm so sorry."

"What do you mean we got caught?" A nervous laugh weaves through my words, my heartbeat now resonating through my ribcage.

"Someone —Rachel is my bet, talked with someone in the department. Roger told me just tonight that his uncle asked him about it."

"What...what do you mean? They don't have any proof, we were careful..." This doesn't make sense, he's wrong, they can't possibly know anything about our relationship. He's not even my professor anymore.

He has to be wrong.

"Alex..." The subdued and doleful tone of his voice doesn't do anything to appease the stinging sensation that has taken over my chest, tears clouding my eyes.