Twelve weeks seem like a century without him.
I don't know who I am without him.
My eyes are staring at my reflection in the mirror as I hear a knock on the door of my apartment. I give a quick look at myself one more time in the mirror, admiring myself. My makeup, some golden shadow over my eyes, my eyelashes with some mascara, and red lipstick. A tight green dress showing the curves on my body. Silver earrings hanging from my ears. And a bun tying my hazel hair.
I exit my room and walk down the hallway to open my apartment door. A muscular man, resembled to him, is standing there with a bouquet of red roses and a smile on his face.
Michael.
He is my age. He has muscular arms and body. He is handsome, not just handsome like normal handsome, he IS handsome, if you know what I'm talking about. He is a sweetheart; he has a gold heart. He is a neurosurgeon, well not yet but he will be soon, the best. He is finishing his studies, well he is doing his internship, in the best hospital in England. He donates for many charities. He cares for people. He treats people the best way possible. He loves his family and his friends. And he claims to have been in love with me since we were in high school.
We met in high school, 11 years ago. He wasn't like he is today, physically. We took all of our classes together, somehow, we got the same schedule every year, for three years. He was good in science, that's why he ended up being the best neurosurgeon, and I was good at nothing specifically. We were the best of friends back then, but we graduated and with all the amount of work the medicine career leaves you we lost contact for a while. We chat once in a lifetime, but we didn't see each other. Not until last year.
I studied physics and I'm getting a degree in astrophysics.
I smiled at him and took the flowers. Then I walked inside my apartment and onto the kitchen to take a vase for the flowers. I filled half of it with water and place the flowers inside it, then I placed it on the dining table. I told him how beautiful the flowers were, and he told me that I was way more beautiful than them, what made me blushed.
We made our way to his car, and he drove us to one of the fanciest restaurants in the city. We enter the place and a lady in a black dress ask for our reservation and once Michael told her his last name, she guided us to our table.
It's a really beautiful place. There are chandeliers, the waitresses are all fancy, and all the people around wear really expensive clothes. Did I mentioned Michael is wearing just designer clothes?
I earn money, in a really good amount, I mean I can buy myself this kind of stuff, but these people are another level. And I think that being a neurosurgeon makes you THAT kind of people. And he is still studying.
We look at our menu options and I decided to go for a cheese pasta, he goes for a piece of lasagna, and we choose a salad to share. And to drink of course red wine.
We talk and laugh. Just what best friends do, even though I know his intentions and mines.
Twelve weeks and I'm still here. Remembering, even though I have bad memory. But I can't forget him.
The food arrived. We eat and enjoy each other company.
We finish and he decided to take me a picture, "to remember how beautiful you looked like today," he said. I couldn't help but smile.
"Let me see it," I say to him. "I bet I did a funny face, and I don't want you to stay with that." I take his phone from his hands.
"I have lots of funny pictures of you," he replies.
I stare at the picture on the phone screen. I don't look bad; it actually looks great. It looks so natural.
But it couldn't be perfect.
There is no way that's him. It's just my head playing tricks with me. But either way I zoom the photo and it wasn't an illusion. He is there. Right behind me. Sitting in the table behind me. The smile on my face vanishes and my head turns slowly to look at him.
He is there. He is with a girl; she is giving me her back, but she looks like me. Just like Michael looks like him.
He is wearing a black turtleneck. He knows how much I love him when he wears them. And I don't know how but his eyes find mines. Those beautiful and stunning hazel eyes that catch your heart. I turn around quickly and see Michael paying the check, he didn't notice anything.
We stand up and leave. And with all the strength I have I try not to turn and see him, but I can feel his eyes on me as I walk.
I act as if nothing happened. As if seeing him didn't affect me. But a voice in my head grows until it escapes my mouth and asks Michael for the picture, he took of me back there. "My smile looks so natural," I excuse my real motive. He laughs and says he would send it once he is home.
He took me up until my apartment. "Goodnight, Liv," he kisses my check. "I had a great time." I wish him goodnight back and watch him as he disappears in the hallway. I close the door and collapse on the floor.
But it's too cold for me to stay there overthinking.
I take my makeup off. Take my clothes on and put my pajamas on. I untie my hair and let it fall.
I sit on my bed, my blankets covering my legs. My eyes staring at the wall in front of me. Suddenly my phone screen turns on, Michael name shows on it. I open his message and there is the picture. and a text accompanies it.
Looking forward for another night like this.
I smile and save the photo. And indeed, I zoom it to stare at him.
Another night without him. I don't know what sleep is anymore.
Damn photo.
That reminds me there is no longer a we.
I turn off my phone, with tears forming in my eyes. And I don't know when, but I fall asleep.
It's 8a.m now. A Saturday morning. It's sunny. I get up and walk to the kitchen and put some coffee. I take out an egg from the fridge and cook it on the stove. I cut a piece of Baggette and once it's ready I move to the kitchen bar and take my breakfast.
Another day without him. The sun came out and even I know it's there it's like if I can't see it.
Broken heart. It hurts to much that I don't want another one.
I overthink. The whole day. Seeing him made my head ask myself many questions.
And thinking about last night made me realize many things.
I don't like how I'm feeling. I hate it. And I don't wish anyone this kind of pain. And I remember Michael.
And I feel like the worst person ever. I feel like if I were him. I don't want to do Michael what he did to me. He likes me and I don't. I know that I only accepted that date with him because I want to forget about him but the last thing, I want is him to end up hurt. Because I can't forget about him. I know it.
I call him and invite him to come over later. He agrees and there is a huge excitement in his voice he can't hide. The same I used to have with him.
Hours pass and he arrives. "Are you alright?" he asks as he enters my apartment and follows me to the living room.
"Yeah," I lie. I sit down and he does the same. "I actually want to talk to you about something."
He nods. But words can't seem to be able to come out my mouth.
But they need to. So I force them to.
"Look Michael," I start, "you are an amazing guy," and the expression in his face changes immediately. It hurts me so much.
"It's alright, Liv," he says with pain in his words.
"I just want you to know that I love you so much as a friend," wrong words election, "just like in high school. And I enjoy the time we spend together. But it doesn't seem fair to you that I make you think that we can have something when we can't." I wait some seconds for him to say something but nothing.
I continue. "I thought we could, believe me. But I was just trying to convince myself because right now I'm hurting and I want that pain to disappear, but it's not fair for you because I know your feeling are real." He finally looks at me.
For a second I think he is going to hate me for trying to use him to forget about somebody else. But he doesn't and that's why he is the most beautiful soul I have ever met.
"Who hurt you?" he asks. Caring like nobody else.
"Doesn't matter." I answer.
"Liv, I'm here for you if you need me," I smile at him. "And thank you for telling me and just know that I could never hate you, you are my best friend and I love you too, as a friend." He smiles at me. It's a true smile but it's also a painful one. "And if you want me to beat his ass just let me know." We both laugh and then we hug each other.
He deserves someone who really loves him.
We then decide to watch a movie and late at night he decides to leave.
"You should talk with someone about it," he says before leaving, "you're going to hurt more if you keep it inside." And he leaves.
He's right.
But I can't.
I'm ready to go to bed when I hear a knock on the door. At first, I'm scared, it's late in the night and I'm waiting for no one. But something inside me tells me to go and open the door.
And there he is.
Standing in my doorframe. Staring me speechless just like I am.
"I'm sorry," his strong British accent says. "I shouldn't have come here." He turns around and start leaving.
I have asked myself since that night how would it be to see him again. And when he talked with his accent, I went out of breath.
"Wait," I call for him. He stops and turns to face me. "Do you want to talk?" He stares at me for a while and then nods. He enters my apartment and closes the door behind him.
We sit in the couch not knowing where to start.
"I didn't think you would move on that quick," he says. His eyes on the floor.
"What?" I ask him. Otherwise him, I turn to look at him.
"Your date," he gives me small peck from the corner of his eye, "yesterday, at the restaurant."
"You were with someone too," I fight back.
"I figured out that if you didn't text me or call me you would have already forgot about me," he remains in the same position. "I was just trying to move on."
"Just because I don't write you doesn't mean I forget about you," he looks at me. Finally.
Nor the taste of his mouth. Nor the kisses he gave me. Nor all the smiles he stole from me. Nor everything we did together.
"You are the one who ended things up," I say. And now I'm the one to look away.
"I'm hurting too," he says a little offended. "If you knew," he lets out a breath he was holding. "I even made myself friends with your neighbor to know if you were still single or if you were seeing someone knew." My heat skips a beat.
"I never said you weren't hurting," I said like if he didn't mention the second part. I thought he wasn't hurting though.
"Damn it, Livie." That nickname. He is the only one who calls me like that, and it's been twelve weeks since I last listened to it. He stands up and runs a hand in his hair. "I think of you every day and every night," he looks at me, but my eyes can't look at him. "And I can listen to your voice saying that you love me. I can feel those words right in my ear." He takes a breath.
"I-" I try to talk but he holds up a hand to stop me.
"Please let me finish," he says, and I close my mouth. "I feel like time stops. I feel like it's been ages since I last saw you, since I last listen to your voice, since I last touch you." Now I can't help but look at him. "One by one, your memories arrive and with that the memories that I fucked it up. And I'm hating myself for that."
"I hate myself too," I am finally able to speak. I think he is not done yet, but I also need to speak. "I think of you when I should forget about you," a tear leaves my eye. "I want to call you every day and I know there is something wrong with me because I shouldn't feel that way because you hurt me." I let out a breath. "But I love you, Tom," my eyes fill with tears, and I stand up and move closer to him. "I still love you and I know that is the wrong thing with me."
He is holding back his tears. "It was my fault, Livie, not yours," he says with a broken voice. "And now I know I was so wrong and-"
"No," I interrupt him, "I made nothing to stop you and I was wrong too." He looks down to avoid my eyes but immediately regrets it and looks up at them again. "I should have tried to understand."
"I though you would be better without me," his voice breaks. "I know I told you I was breaking up with you because we wanted different things, because I didn't love you anymore, but the truth is that I can't give you what you deserve. You deserve the world, and I can't give you that. And I thought that if I break up with you it would be better but I fucking miss you." I didn't know he thought that way. I thought he was going to move to U.S.A.
He said he didn't love me anymore.
"Tom," it's the only word that I can speak.
"I'm so sorry, Livie." Now he starts crying. "I didn't want to hurt you, but I always knew I would." He takes a deep breath and wait until he can speak again. "He looks great," he says, and I think I look at him with confusion, "your date," my eyes look away from his. "I know you deserve the best." He fakes a smile.
"We are not dating," now I look down to the floor. "He is a friend from high school, Michael." I talked about him with Tom before.
"The neurosurgeon," he remembers him. "Well, he can indeed give you what you deserve."
I met Tom at university. We didn't study the same career, but we met in the campus. I was studying in a bench, and he arrived and sat next to me. He started reading my notes without me knowing and then he started asking me questions about it. And our friendship started like that. And sometime later we felt in love.
He studied literature. He hasn't found a good job yet, but he is working at a famous editorial, not the job he wants but you have to start somewhere. He is writing a novel and he wants them to publish it but hasn't had success with it.
He used to tell me he liked me because I am smarter than him, of course it isn't true. We know different things. But I liked it when he said that.
"I don't need money; I don't need presents." I speak. "You are my world, and I once promised you to be with you always and I'm sticking to that promise if you let me. I know you will be so successful, you just got to believe in yourself." I wait for his eyes to meet mines. "You are the best that has happened to me, I don't want anyone else."
He stares at me. Thinking what to say. What to do.
He knows there are no words to be spoken. We both know. He closes the distance between us meting my lips. They know what to do. And as it's been twelve weeks since they last dance together, warm fills my body.
It's a salty kiss as we both are crying, but it's perfect.
"I love you Livie," he whispers in my lips.