Title from: Remember When by Tinashe (honourable mention to Talk About Love by the queen Zara Larsson)
"Oh shit." I whisper to myself reading the note. The words swirl from the paper and around in my mind.
When did he write this? Was it just before we met at the bar when he handed it over? Or weeks or months before now? Was it sat in his apartment in Milan? Or by the race track somewhere far away from here?
Either way, the world as I knew it seems to fall onto its side, every memory with Pierre running through my mind, the meaning of everything shifting and altering in my mind. This changed everything surely.
He loves me. Me?!
Pierre loves me.
The words are circling in my mind, around and around. They feel foreign, I can't understand them. I can feel my heart rate pick up slightly and my cheeks flush. I was exhausted and ready to pass out in bed a minute ago, and now I'm wide awake feeling like my eyes could pop out of my head. I feel like every thought I've ever had is scrambled as I try to make sense of it all.
He can't mean 'I love you' like I think he might mean 'I love you'. Can he?
Only he must because he said it himself, it wasn't like it was with others. It wasn't casual between friends, he loves me, truly. He felt his heart break when I didn't reply to his big declaration of love. I squint my eyes again at the slightly messy writing in dark black ink, cursing quietly rereading the letter. It's definitely Pierre's writing, I'd recognise it anywhere. I spent so many days at school reading over things in this squiggly, slightly smudged writing. Plus, he always chose black pen over blue. It was him.
What the fuck?
"Shit." I repeat in a whisper. There's a slight shake to my hand as I continue to stare at the paper, swapping the pages over to look at the second half of the writing. This is ridiculous. This whole situation is ridiculous.
Who does this happen to?!
I could almost laugh, instead I let out a huff. Apparently it's happening to me.
I contemplate calling Jasmine, but I don't want to ruin the night of her engagement party, and I don't think she'll believe me- I wouldn't have believed me a few hours ago. A few hours ago I had no intention of even interacting with Pierre ever again, now I'm stuck here processing this. Knowing this. Then I think about calling Mama, but I know she'll just tell me that she's always known, to do what I think is best with the information. Follow my heart and all that crap. So apparently this is something I need to process myself.
Only I can't process any of it. I'm so surprised and taken aback by it all that I could be sick. Is time moving in slow motion? Maybe I'm just being dramatic.
I twist the paper in my hands one more, flipping over the pages again and again. The words 'I love you' jumping out from the page over and over.
The three words blur my vision and I'm taking deep heavy breaths trying to steady myself in the silence of the room. But the silence and emptiness of activity only makes my mind race over every single possibility. Have I interpreted this the complete wrong way? I don't think so. Why would he tell me this now? I don't know. Do I feel the same way? No, not right now. Have I ever felt the same way? Maybe?
I pull my phone out of my pocket, I huff seeing my reflection in the darkness of the screen. I look like a mess but I don't entirely care.
I press a free hand to my cheeks, wiping away the tears I didn't realise had fell when reading the letter. Although, now that I take another glance at the paper in my hands there's the odd teardrop saturating the paper. My eyes are tired and sting with the salt of tears and sleepiness. It's been a long day and an emotionally exhausting thirty hours. My hair is sticking out in all directions from the hoodie I pulled over my head before reading the paper that's still glued to my gaze. My makeup old and starting to smear from my face after all the hours of wear (and tears). There's still a wobble to my lips from trying (and failing) to fight off more tears.
I unlock the phone through blurred eyes, my fingers tapping until I find the number.
Pierre's new number.
It dials and rings only twice before it's answered with a click. I huff. Unprepared. Wondering what do I even say to him? How can I say anything to him knowing this? My heart is aching along with my head and I just don't know what to do or say as the possible words race through my mind at what feels like a hundred kilometres an hour. Only I don't have to a single thing in my mind. Then I hear my name.
"Ellie!" Pierre breathes, as if letting out a sigh of relief. It's the first time I've made the first move contacting him in over ten months. Hearing his voice makes me gasp lightly. It feels like a slap in the face after what I've just had to (attempt to) process, waking me up and putting my every instinct to overdrive. My mind simply can't process all of the information out in the open.
"Pierre," I greet, my voice quiet and unsure. It doesn't sound like it's coming from me, it sounds foreign. As if I'm watching the situation unfold from outside my body. I fan my face with the papers in my hand, taking a deep breath to steady myself. The crackles of background noise tells me that he's driving, probably to his Mothers house, he told me he was staying there when he was here. It quietens when I don't answer his further call of my name. The repetitive clicking of hazard lights crackling into my ear through the phone. He's stopped driving?
"W-what..." I take a deep breath, forcing myself to be pulled together and hold on until I can hear something, anything clearer from the man himself. "What the hell?" I ask, my voice is a little hoarse and rough and I'm pretty sure I sound pathetic asking everything so quietly. My tears slow. "What the hell Pierre?" I ask again, my words are a little more confident this time and I hear a shuffling on the other end of the line.
"You read the letter." He seems unphased by my clear confusion and distress. It's like he expected this, for me to read it after he left, for the confusion to be clouding my mind as it currently is.
"Yeah." I confirm quietly, staring at the wall in front of me in a daze.
"I wanted to tell you in person." He tries, but he doesn't sound annoyed or frustrated by my choice to read the letter. It was, as he said, mine. It just would've been clearer to explain - emotionally harder, but easier to understand nonetheless.
"Pierre..." I say his name again, my head shaking in confusion as the hazard lights flick off in the background. The car restarts and there's a low hum of the engine speeding up. He's moving once more.
"I'm on my way back to you." Pierre says plainly, voice firm. He's moving back to my apartment? The tone of his voice is one he's used with me so few times that I almost don't recognise it as coming from him. It doesn't matter if I want him here or not, he's coming, his tone tells me there's no arguing with him. "What did you think?" He asks, and my mouth falls open once more.
"Pierre..." I can only say his name. I'm so thrown I can't form an understandable sentence. What do I think? I don't know. I don't know what I think or what I want to say to him. I just know this is all a little too much for me right now. It's a lot to take in. I don't know why I even called him. I just didn't know what else to do. I'm so completely overwhelmed. My chest heaves under the heavy topic of the conversation as I gasp in a gulp of air.
"Look, El, I'll be outside your place in five." He says as if it's the most casual thing in the world. Like it's a normal thing to do, just turn up at someone's house in the middle of the night after declaring your long lasting love for them. Unintentional tears are still streaming down my face. "If you let me in we can talk about it all." I scoff at his suggestion.
I don't know if I want him here. I don't know why I called him. Almost instantly a wave of irritation replaces the one of confusion.
"Talk?" I ask incredulously, Pierre mumbles a 'yeah' in a tone that may aswell have said 'obviously'. "You want to talk now?" I ask again and receive another duh tone'd 'yeah' from Pierre. Tears are still falling from my eyes but they're a lot slower. Shock and upset replaced by anger. "You can't be serious!" I snap in complete disbelief, using the back of my hand to dab at the wet tears falling down my cheeks.
"I am." He says, confidence oozing from his tone and I just find myself shaking my head in disbelief.
I clear my throat and ask the question I've been wondering since I first found the sheet of paper almost an hour ago. "When you say that the trophy is mine what did you mean?" I ask, there's a small silence on the other end of the line.
"C'mon I'm around the corner, come outside and we can talk in the car Ellie." Pierre says. I don't think he's getting how serious I am.
"You seriously got my name put on it?" I ask, wanting a clear answer. None of this 'yes, but no' bullshit he's been giving me. I need a straight up answer. Now. "You really feel this way about me?" I clarify, waiting on his answer. There's more shuffling on the other side of the line followed by the rev of his car accelerating.
"You know the answer to that." Pierre returns this time, beginning to sound frustrated with my questioning. "Can you meet me outside?" He says, his tone is a little more serious now. He's getting fed up that I'm ignoring him. Not answering his questions or following his instructions, I'm getting tired for the same reason.
"Pierre." I say his name flatly, letting him know I'm being serious. The bargaining thing isn't going to work with me. With a huff he takes a breath and says the words which make my stomach flip all over again.
"Meet me downstairs." He instructs. I just shake my head in disbelief at his words.
"I'm not sixteen anymore, I'm not just following your every wish here." I reply. "Can you answer me please?"
"I'll answer you when I see you, c'mon come down." The movement of the car stops and there's beeping as he opens the car door. It quickly stops when he curses to himself snatching things from around the car before the door is slammed. He must have driven over the speed limit to get back here so fast. I have no idea where he was but it's impossible to arrive that fast.
"You love me 'so much' but you couldn't even stay in contact with me?" There's silence on the other side of the line as I just stare ahead of me in disbelief. The question is rhetorical, he won't answer me I know he won't. I'm glad this isn't happening in person, I wouldn't be able to find the words I have now. I don't think I'd be able to find the anger I have now. "You chose to show your feelings for me by ignoring me?" I ask waiting for a reply.
I don't get one. At least not one in response to my question. "Ellie, I'm sorry." He says and I let out a heavy breath. "Will you just meet me outside or let me in?" The hope in his voice is dwindling. There's the sound of buttons being pressed on the dial outside and then the buzzer to my apartment rings. It echos around us through my ear and then the phone line. I don't go to answer it. I don't even move.
"Ellie..." my name is trailed off by Pierre, frustration and helplessness lining the word. I know the feeling completely.
"When did you know?"
"The letter told you this..."
"I wanna hear it." There's a sigh on the other end of the phone.
"I've known for years." He says sounding like the whole thing is obvious. "I think I was 17 the first time. It really hit me when I knew I was going to Milan though....yeah." The 'yeah' is whispered in a way which makes him sound small and vulnerable. It's not a tone I'm used to hearing from Pierre. He's always just been so confident. Especially around me.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask, my tone equally as quiet. This time it's Pierre who scoffs.
"I did!" His words are spluttered and I widen my eyes a little, rubbing under them softly. The tears have stopped now, my cheeks are just a little red and my eyes ache from the tears. I most definitely resemble a frog, or maybe a goldfish. Either way, it's not good. "Ellie I told you I loved you right before I left." Pierre says, his voice rising a little. He's getting angry with my denial but I really don't know what he's talking about.
"On that night." He continues, and I can hear him pacing outside of the building. "We were in bed and I told you." His words are so confident I doubt myself before shaking the thought away. He didn't tell me, not properly. I would've remembered.
"Yeah and I said I loved you too, and it was exactly the same as every other time we would say it." Pierre interrupts my sentence as I'm saying it with a quiet 'no'. "You said you loved me but we always said that," For each of my words Pierre returns a defiant 'no'. "I said I love you too, but it was as your best friend, and you meant it that way too." 'no'. "Please don't twist that into something it wasn't." I add bitterly. I can almost hear him shake his head.
"No!" He eventually repeats, louder than it was the last few times. "I...fuck..." Pierre huffs and I find myself waiting eagerly for his reply. Silence crackles through the line between us, my phone warm against my skin as I press it firmly to my head, holding out for any information I can get from him. My nerves are dropping by the second. "I said it again. I said, I really love you Ellie, like nobody else in the world. That sometimes I don't know what to do with myself and I think that if you wanted to give us a chance we'd be really good together." I furrow my eyebrows at his determined words, they're fast and in a low gravelly tone which has me wondering if he's crying. It doesn't help with my confusion.
My eyebrows are furrowed. I don't think that happened, at least not that I remember. In fact, if it was in bed I know that didn't happen. I've replayed that night in my head at least five hundred times. Those words didn't feature once.
This did not happen.
"And you made it really fucking clear that you didn't feel the same way when you didn't reply." Pierre sounds sad now, he takes long pauses between his sentences as if he's catching his breath from saying all of this outloud. I can't bring myself to interrupt either, so we both just stand, four floors between us, in stunned silence.
"You broke my heart El." His voice is strained and I can tell he's fighting tears. Once more I am too.
He broke my heart too.
I want to tell him this but no words leave me. I'm completely choked by emotion.
When I don't reply Pierre mutters something about this being pointless and that he should just leave. That's when it comes back to me. The last thing he said that night - the last night.
I was drifting off to sleep when I heard it, I thought maybe it was part of a dream. I heard words but I was too busy being suffocated by sleep to comprehends them. I couldn't pull myself out of the sleep to see what was said, or if they were even really happening.
My heart rate speeds up at the memory.
By the time I've processed it, the line to Pierre is dead. My phone no longer displaying his contact name, only a dark screen.
He's gone.
Again.