Welcome back! I don't have much to say apart from thank you for all my birthday wishes. It means a lot ❤
Enjoy the chapter!
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I sit in my dorm with a notebook clutched between my fingers. I've been trying to write something merely decent for an hour now. Two lines. Just two fucking lines. What happened to me? Have I completely lost my ability to create?
I close the notebook with a slam and let out a growly sound of frustration.
"Are you okay?" Rayna glances over at me with a phone glued to her hands.
"No, I'm not." I get off the bed and begin to frantically wander around the room. "Nathan offered to take me to another live poetry event and I can't even write anymore."
She gives me a dubious look. "I'm sure you still can. It's probably just writer's block."
"Well, unblock it then." I let out a heavy sigh. "I've got till Saturday and I only wrote two lines, Rayna. Two lines."
She examines me for a moment. "Why is it so important, though? Like, why can't you do it some other time? You don't have to perform this weekend, do you?"
"Yes, I do," I snap, angry, then press my fingers against my temples. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."
"No need to apologize. You're just nervous." She locks the phone and discards it aside. "But what's with the rush? It's not like you've got a deadline for it."
"Believe it or not, I actually did have a deadline. I just didn't know it."
She stares at me, bewildered. "What do you mean?"
I shake my head, unwilling to reveal my reasons. "It doesn't matter." I approach my bed and grab my phone. "And it's already half four. Just great," I grumble.
"Is it a bad thing?" she asks, more perplexed than before.
"Yes. I agreed to meet Will–"
There is a knock on the door.
Rayna looks at me. "I'm guessing at half four?"
I take a deep, calming breath and pace towards the door to let him in.
He stands at the threshold, tall and elegant as always. His dark eyes brighten at the sight of me, yet I can tell by the way he fiddles with his hands that he's quite nervous. Surprisingly, he didn't hide them in the pockets of his smart, black trousers.
"Straight from the gallery?" I ask, referring to his white shirt and shiny Oxfords, gesturing for him to step inside.
He walks in slowly, as if testing his welcome on our territory.
"Actually on my way there," he explains.
A frown crosses my forehead. "I thought we agreed to half four?"
"Well, yeah. That's why I'm here." He seems equally bemused.
"Weren't we supposed to grab a coffee?"
He nods his head. "We are."
I give up at this point. I just accept my fate of not having to understand everything at all times.
Rayna drags her sight along Will's tall posture. "You know what?" she says, sounding quite approving of the way he presents himself. "If I didn't know you so well, I would probably find you attractive."
His nostrils release some air, and it sounds like a laugh. "Wow." He gives her a look full of amusement and disbelief.
"You didn't disagree." She shrugs her shoulders.
Will saunters towards her bed, grabs a pillow from underneath Rayna's head and presses it against her face. A bunch of muffled screams fill the room. He lets go of the pillow and tosses it aside.
"I hope whatever you were saying were compliments." He smiles at her, triumphant.
She brushes her static hair off her face, now puce. "No wonder you don't have a girlfriend."
"Actually, I've got a date tomorrow, thank you very much." He pushes his chest forward, proud.
I would be lying if I said that his statement didn't intrigue me. I'm not jealous or upset. It's just a feeling or sheer curiosity that bolts through me.
I turn my head in his direction the same moment Rayna almost gets a whiplash.
"A date?" she repeats, as if she's never heard this word before. "You don't date."
"I dated Davina," he says defensively.
Hearing my name, and the way he says it, like it's some sort of a term for an experiment rather than a name of someone he once cared about, makes me even number towards him.
"I'm ready. Can we go now?" I gush, desperate to put and end to their conversation.
Will glances at me and his expression changes, as if he understood his words came across wrong.
"Yeah sure." He gestures at the door. "After you."
~~~~~~~~~~
"So . . . How have you been?" he asks within the first few minutes of our silent drive.
I stare stubbornly ahead. "I'm good. Very good actually."
His hands tighten around the steering wheel, and it is such a brief movement that I almost miss it. But then his grip loosens, as though whatever thought had crossed his mind, fleeted.
"That's good. That's really good." He nods his head, seeming occupied by his own mind. Then he lets out a heavy sigh and glances over at me. "Listen, Davina. I'm not here to try to win you back. I'm happy for you. I'm happy that you're happy with Nathan. It's been a while since we separated. Yes, it hurt me a lot, but I had months to understand your decision and I want you to know that I agree with it hundred percent. I wasn't the greatest. In fact, I was merely good. But I'm trying to change, and making things right between us is one of my ways to become a better person. Plus, I've met someone and I really want to give it a shot."
I allow myself a minute to process his confession. Once I'm sure that he's genuine and his intentions are good, my body relaxes at instant.
"Okay, fine. I'm sorry." I look at him. "It's just strange to be around you after everything that's happened. It's strange to be your friend again."
"Tell me about it." He laughs, and so do I. "But I think we were better off as friends than lovers."
I nod my head in agreement. "Can't argue with that." My eyes move back to the road. "So what's her name?"
"Emily."
I snap my head in his direction. "That's so fucking weird, Will."
"How is this weird?" He chuckles quietly.
"That's the name I used on the app."
His brows twitch in recollection. "Oh shoot. You're right." He ponders for a moment. "Do you think it was a sign?"
"A sign?"
"Yeah." He clears his throat. "You know, like a sign from the universe. That Emily was the girl I was supposed to meet."
I let his words tumble around my head for a while. "I guess it could've been."
Was there ever a sign for me and Nathan?
You used to dress all grunge when you were fifteen. My subconscious reminds me.
I guess there was a sign after all.
A discreet smile lifts the corners of my mouth.
Will kills the engine of the car. It is his gallery now so of course he owns a parking spot right at the front.
"Let me ask again," I say. "What are we doing here?"
He hops out of the car and walks around it to open the door for me. "I told you I didn't like the way we ended things. What I'm about to show you is the first step towards making amends."
I hope out of the car. "Tell me you didn't paint me," I mutter, panicked.
He laughs heartedly. "No, I did not."
"Thank God." I let out a breath of relief. "I've been a subject of discussion way too much for the past few months."
His face becomes solid serious. "Davina, I'm so–"
"I know you are. And I know you were when it happened." I turn to look at him as he closes the door behind me. "I was just so angry with you and I pitied myself so much that I couldn't. . ."
"Forgive me?"
"Forget," I correct him. "I couldn't forget the reasons behind the arguments I had with my mother."
His lips become a thin line. He nods his head, comprehending that the lie my mother told repeatedly was solely created to protect his own feelings.
"I shouldn't have asked her, Davina. I know I shouldn't have." His eyes grow big with regret whilst his presence shrinks in sorrow.
"I know you know." I nod my head. "And because neither of us can change what happened, I think it's best if we both agree to move on."
"I'd love that," he says, smiling at me with apology etched within his stare. "After you." He gestures for me to walk inside as we reach the entrance.
I take a step into the familiar hall. Not much has changed since Will took over. The paintings are still there, some of which are new. I drag my eyes across the building and can't help but notice the absence of Beverly's portraits. Connor has mentioned to me that him and Will had burnt them, yet it feels so odd not to see her face anymore. It's almost as if she never existed.
"I'm glad they're gone," he says, noticing the direction in which I'm looking. "Destroying them gave me and Connor a closure we both deserved. It's almost as if she–"
"–never existed," I repeat my thoughts, this time out loud.
"Yeah," he says quietly.
"Do her parents know?" I ask.
Will nods. "I felt obligated to tell them."
"Did you. . . you know, tell them everything?"
"No." He shakes his head. "Connor wanted them to remember her the way every parent would like to remember their child. He's dealt with the hatred towards him for so long, he said divulging the truth would only open up old wounds and create more chaos than necessary. He just wanted it to be over, and so did I."
My lungs expand in a prolonged intake of air.
"I called them after we'd burnt the paintings," he carries on. "I told them I had to move on and the only way for me to do so was stopping myself from seeing her face."
"Didn't they want to keep the paintings?"
"They did." He nods. "I said they've already been removed and discarded by one of the staff members, making it impossible for me to get them back. They understood."
I slide my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. I would like to say something, but I don't know what. Eventually, I muster a few words. "I'm glad you and Connor got to have this closure."
"Talking about closures. . ." He diverts his eyes to me. "To have our own, I need more than just one day with you, Davina."
A frown of confusion crosses my face.
"I came up with an idea, and it starts right here," he says.
"What is it?" I ask, intrigued.
His eyes, somewhat sad but also warm, lock with mine. "We separated on a bad note, so I want to redo our best moments together. The days we felt the happiest in each other's presence."
My forehead creases.
Seeing my confusion, he elaborates, "I'm talking non-sexual stuff here, like, our picnic together or the karaoke night."
"You want to do it all over again?"
He nods, giving me a half-happy, half-blue smile. "Yes."
I stare at him, listening closely to the pain his voice conveys. He's sad, and suddenly so am I, which I can't blame myself for. After all, we have a history together, a history that's utterly messed up and beyond toxic, but it's there regardless, and now, that history is about become. . . even more of a history.
Our history.
Our. . .
Last times.
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I don't know why but it took me forever to finish this chapter. I think I've been having a writer's block. Please let me know what you think? Are you excited to get more Davina and Will time?