No.
It can't be him.
I stop breathing. My heart stops beating.
I freeze on the spot, my hand on the banister, standing on the very last staircase. My feet refuse to move an inch. I grip the wood underneath my fingers tightly to steady myself and not fall as my knees seem to be giving out under me. I feel dizzy, overwhelmed.
My lips are sealed and no word is able to leave my mouth. A million of things are crossing my mind at the moment, like bullets flying fast and hard, hitting me. It hurts. Those things I want to say but that somehow escape me. They keep bouncing off the walls of my head, ricocheting too fast for me to grasp any and say something.
I can't say anything. I can only behold the sight before me.
He's standing right there. I stare at him, my eyes first catching the beard I hate so much. Then I look at his hair, which has grown much longer now and seems to almost reach his mid-back. Then finally, my gaze meets his. I can't really tell what I see behind those blue eyes. They're troubled like ocean water on a stormy day and I can't for the life of me decipher what they are saying.
"Tracy."
My heart beats faster upon hearing my name coming out of his lips, not because I am thinking of all the times he's whispered it so close to my ears, but because hearing it makes him real. He is really there. He is truly standing in front of me, in my doorway, in my house.
He takes a step forward, tentatively. When I don't react, he takes another. His eyes are still looking into mine, wary, as if asking permission. I'm not giving him any permission but maybe my silence is an invitation. And as he goes to take another step, I finally find my voice.
"Don't."
I thought my voice would come out broken because I am so broken inside, but it comes out firm and curt. Stronger than I expected.
I see Yann run a hand through his hair, the strands slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. Even after nine months, I still feel the same way about his hair. I still love the jet black locks, silky and soft to the touch. I remember.
Even after so long.
"I wanted to come see you yesterday," he says, breaking my thoughts. "But I figured you wouldn't want to see me on your birthday so I came today instead."
He stops there, as if he expects me to say something but I have nothing to say. What am I supposed to say? How am I supposed to feel?
"Tracy," he says as he takes another step forward.
This time, I move. I take a step backwards, up the stairs, putting distance between us.
"Why are you here?"
He looks taken aback at the hostility in my voice. I'm not sure what he expected from me when he decided to come here, but I hope as hell he didn't expect me to jump into his arms.
"I wanted to talk to you," he says finally.
I let go of the banister, finding myself more stable. I cross my arms over my chest and look down at him. "I'm all ears."
I don't think I've ever been so rude in my whole life. I'm not even inviting him in. The front door is slightly ajar behind him and I can see the street. I'm not inviting him to the living room, asking him if he wants to drink or eat something. I'm not welcoming him. That's what it is, I finally realize. He's not welcome here.
I think he gets it because he goes to close the door and as he comes back he says, "Can we go sit?"
My answer is immediate. "No, we can't."
He nods, as if expecting that answer. For a moment, he only stares at me, as if he's seeing me for the first time or as if he wants to memorize my face because if I'm being honest, this might be the last time we ever see each other again. I just want him to say what he's got to say and be on his way. I don't want to see him or be near him. I don't want to hear about him or his life. I just want to forget he exists. And the longer he's here, the harder it becomes to do so.
"Let's just get this over with," I say when he still doesn't talk. "What did you have to say?"
He goes to lean against the wall and I'm grateful for the distance between us. He pulls a hairband out of his wrist and ties his hair up in a messy bun, a few strands grazing his shoulders.
"I guess you figured out my secret," he says as an introduction and I nod. "I left home when I was eighteen and I've been on the road since. I'm not gonna dive into the details, you know them."
As he talks, for the first time in my life, I see Yann unsure, not so confident. He's not looking at me, he's looking everywhere but at me. I could mistake his attitude for shyness but I know he's not acting like this out of shyness.
"Then you came along," he says with a sad smile. "You were so different, Tracy. I wanted to watch you, to be around you. I'd watch as you took pleasure in the littlest of things out there, how sometimes you would just close your eyes and smile and just be happy with that. I couldn't do that, I couldn't see the beauty in things the way you did. That's when I realized that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't living after all."
My heart does a small leap, as if it's slapping my chest, slapping me to say, you shouldn't be having this conversation in your doorway with him. Yes, this is the wrong place to have this conversation. I want to be seated on the couch with him, in his arms, the way he held me that last night together. I want his warmth to envelop me as he opens up to me, but I can't.
I can't invite him in, I can't welcome him back into my life just like that.
"That first day when we kissed," his eyes briefly meet mine as he mentions it but I remain stoic, pretending it doesn't affect me, "I went to the compound just so that I could see you. And I watched you all day long, whenever I could. You were jogging around, happy and smiling. Then when I went to James's party as well, I just wanted to be around you." He runs his hand through his hair as if he's embarrassed of the confession. "I needed to be around you, Tracy. You gave me another perspective on life and I wanted to see more, more of what the world could offer. And I realized that the first thing the world offered me in so long, in the four long years I'd been alone, was you."
"Don't go there," I warn when I realize he's stepping into very dangerous territory. I don't want to talk about what happened between us, whatever romance it was that we had.
He looks hurt at my words but nods nonetheless. He takes a deep breath in then blows it out. I see him fisting his hands repeatedly before relaxing them. When he seems to be finally calmed down, he talks again.
"After that first kiss, after I said those words to you, I realized how you began to give up on me. I was aware that I hurt you, that the words were uncalled for and I really don't know why I said them. I guess I wanted to keep being an asshole, keep pushing you, but I never really meant to hurt you, never wanted you to give up on me," he says. "And call me selfish, but I wasn't ready to let you go just yet. I wanted you to teach me more, even if you weren't aware that you were teaching me anything. But you taught me so much, Tracy."
His eyes are boring into mine, sincere. I keep looking at him, composed on the outside but inside, I'm crumbling like stale bread, fragile to his words.
"You made me question everything I thought I knew," he continues, "you made me question myself. You did what no one else had managed to do, you made me reevaluate my life, made me question myself in a good way, you gave me hope that I could do more, hope that I could be more. You made me realize that I was more. I don't really know if you meant all that you said," he starts saying and I cut him off.
"I meant everything I said and did." I'm tempted to add, unlike you, but I don't think now is the moment for that.
He smiles at me but it soon disappears when I don't smile back at him and he goes on. "And that, that night when you said that I was a coward, you hit home." He says. "Hard. And I realized that night what I had to do. It took me a while to really get the balls to do it but I went back home. I spent the first three months wondering how I was supposed to do it, how I was supposed to go back to my family, then one day I woke up and I just did."
Finally, he pushes himself off the wall and comes to stand at the bottom of the stairs, before me. "I owe you so much, Tracy. And I don't think I could ever do as much for you as you did for me."
I never wanted anything but for you to love me back. The words are on the tip of my tongue, so close, ready to come out, but I don't say them. So instead, I simply remain quiet and look down at the man I love. The man whom I am still not over. The man who's got my heart and is not giving it back.
"Say something, Tracy," he pleads when I am still silent. "Please."
At last, I swallow. I swallow down my anger, my hurt, I swallow back all he's said to me so far deep down somewhere where it can't hurt me, somewhere where I know I will forget about it in a matter of days. I don't want to remember it all.
"I'm glad," I finally say. "Glad that you went back to them. I'm sure Ellie and Will are happy for you, too."
Yann shakes his head at me. "This isn't about them," he says.
I ignore him and go on, "I hope it's going well for you back home, that things have changed, that they don't see you the same way." I swallow, because I know where this is going, I know this is me saying goodbye. "I am really glad I helped you realize some things and I'm glad you're doing better."
It all sounds so impersonal, really, like I don't even care, but God knows I care. I care so much. I want to ask him how it's going, how Keven reacted, if they bonded again after all this time apart. But I'm still too hurt, too mad at him.
He must realize what I'm doing because he climbs up on the stairs, leaving us only mere inches apart. I feel his breath on my face, the warmth seeping from him and I can't take it. I step down past him and open the door. I walk out into the coolness of the night, welcoming the fresh air. It feels less stifling, and I breathe in a lungful to calm my racing heart and mind.
I feel Yann behind as he follows me outside. All of the sudden, I feel his fingertips at my waist and I jump away and he takes his hands back immediately. My heart begins to thump violently again and I feel hot all over. I realize his touch still affects me the same way, I realize I am not over him at all, I realize that I may have made progress over the past six months but I'm back to square one right now, back to being crazy in love with him.
When I don't turn around, Yann rounds me and comes to stand before me. He bends down a little the way he used to do when he wanted to be at my level and searches my eyes.
"Tracy," he calls softly but I refuse to look. "Tracy," he says again.
He places a finger under my chin and lifts my head. I meet his gaze. Electric blue eyes staring deeply into my own, pleading. I tear my gaze away.
"I've got an internship that starts tomorrow," I blurt out. "I've got to go to bed."
When I go to take a step back, he reaches forward and catches my hand. I look down at my slim fingers in his, marveling like I used to do at how small my hand is in his big one.
"Please," he says.
I shake my head at him. "I'm really happy for you, Yann. I am." I swallow the lump in my throat and yank my hand away and take a few steps back. "Bye."
I run inside the house and close the door behind me, leaning against the wood. And only when he's out of sight do the tears come out. They stream down my cheeks, hot and burning like acid. I didn't want to push him away, didn't want to shut him out but I felt like it was what needed to be done. I can't just open up my arms to him and tell him he's forgiven and that I'll forget about those past months. I can't.
I get myself together after a few minutes and wipe my tears with the sole of my hands. I turn away from the door, getting ready to climb up the stairs when I'm faced with my father.
"Tracy," he says and walks up to me.
He tries to take me in his arms but I push him away. I can see the hurt in his eyes but all I want to do is be alone. "Not now, Dad."
"Where's Yann?"
The tears come again at the mention of his name but I manage to keep them at bay. "Gone."
"Did he leave or did you send him away?"
"Why does it matter?" I snap.
My father's voice is calm but I can discern the firmness in it. "Because it took him nine months to get the guts to come up to you."
My head snaps back towards my father as I climb up the stairs. "What?"
"I'm not telling you more," he says.
I climb down and stand before my father. "You've been talking to him?" My tone is disbelieving and I wish he says no. Gosh, I pray that he says no.
I see the regret flash in his eyes. "I couldn't tell you. He made me promise."
I laugh bitterly. "You people really know how to fool me." I start climbing back up the stairs then something dawns upon me, "That day when I called you," I begin and turn around, "when I told you I thought my talking with Yann was all for nothing and you said you felt it in your heart, you knew, didn't you?"
I recall asking him for fatherly advice and for the first time in my life, my father hadn't given me anything. He'd been oddly secretive but I hadn't really thought much of it. All those things I never really thought much of come blowing up into my face.
Again, there's regret in my father's eyes before he says, "He got my phone number from Ellie. He said he wanted to talk and be –" My father cuts himself off, as if he's about to say something I'm not supposed to hear. "He wanted to change."
I shake my head. "I don't get it. And why would he ask you of all people?"
He gives me a sad smile before he says, "Yann will have to answer that question."
My father walks back in direction of the living room and leaves me alone. His last words sink in and I realize he wants me to go talk to Yann. That's not going to happen, however. At least, not anytime soon.
When he's disappeared, my legs get numb out of the blue and I can't climb up the rest of the stairs back to my room. I plop down heavily on the staircase and lean my head against the banister.
I hear footsteps behind me. I know it's Lucy because Mom and Dad are downstairs.
"Go away, Lucy."
I hear her footsteps again as she comes down the stairs and crouches before me. I don't look at her. I feel her small hands on my knees as she leans for support.
"T," she calls softly.
"Please, Lu. Not now."
She doesn't move however, she remains where she is. I still feel her hands on me, still feel her soft breathing against my face. Then, she talks.
"I know I'm not supposed to tell," she says. "I will break my promise if I do."
"Then don't break it," I say, wondering where she's going with that.
"Some promises are worth breaking."
I snap my eyes at the wisdom in her voice. She can't possibly have come up with that herself at only eleven years old. "Who said that?"
She smiles. "Dad."
I want to smile with her but I can't. My heart's not in it.
"Tracy," Lucy calls and I look at her.
"Yes?"
Her smiles turns wider but it's a little sad. "Yann told me not to tell but..." she hesitates, and whatever she's about to say, I know that it's that secret I was trying to pry out of her when we had gone camping.
"You don't have to say it, Lu." I smile and ruffle her hair playfully but my hands fall away after a few seconds, tired. "Keep the secret."
However, she shakes her head adamantly and I know she won't listen to me. She takes a deep breath in and says, "He said he loved you."
My eyes widen at her words and I'm speechless.
Before I can react, she continues, "And I know you love him, too." She walks away and leaves me alone on the stairs.
Her last words resonate in my mind.
Yes, I love him, too.
•••
Merry belated Christmas to you all! Hope you had wonderful holidays so far!
I wanted to update but didn't have my computer with me so it's up today instead. I sure hope you guys like it!
Thank you to everyone who reads ❤️