The week flies by and before I know it, it's already Friday. I step out of the Simon and Schuster building, a tired but wide grin on my face. I still cannot believe I landed an internship as an editorial assistant, all thanks to the recommendation my Fiction Writing course teacher wrote me. In just a week, I've learned more than I ever expected. The workload is really heavy and there is no room for anything else but work. But honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.
People almost bump into me on the sidewalk as the doors close behind me and I do my best to stay out of their way. It's rush hour after all and people are hurrying back home. I take my phone out to look for any text from Oliver but there is none. We are supposed to go grab dinner together and catch up a little bit. I haven't talked to him in a week, between his own internship and his sort-of relationship with Payton.
I think of her telling me she loved him and that she wasn't going anywhere. I am dying to know how things are working out between the two of them, if Ollie is letting her in. She really seemed to care about him and I know she's got his best interests at heart. I wanted to call her or message her and ask but we aren't close friends and I felt like it would be a little intrusive to do so. However, I won't have the same reservation with Ollie. I will squeeze every little detail out of him.
Realizing that Ollie is late, I decide to call him. My bag is weighing down my arm and I put the straps over my shoulder instead as I hold the phone up to my ears. It rings endlessly as I dial Ollie before it finally goes to voicemail. I curse and try again, scanning the crowd for him but I can't see his mop of brown hair anywhere. And anyways, there's a ton of people with brown hair passing by.
When it goes to voicemail again, I adjust the bag more securely over my shoulders and use both my hands to type a message, asking where he is. I'm looking impatiently down at my screen, expecting an impending message when I feel a gaze on me. I have no idea how, in this gigantic mass of people rushing back home in New York City, I can feel someone looking at me. I just do.
So I lift my head.
And I meet a pair of electric blue eyes.
My reaction is prompt: heart beating faster, suddenly out of breath, heat crippling over my skin. Complete and utter astonishment seizes me as I find him there, looking as he did only a week ago. It feels like a lifetime ago, though. It feels like it was so, so long ago when I last saw him. And it makes missing him even more unbearable.
He's standing a few feet away, watching me. I can see his hands deep into the pockets of his khaki pants and for a moment, I allow myself to think of how weird it is for me to see him in something else than jeans or sweatpants. His shirt is the color of his hair, black. He looks so different from the guy who wore sweatpants and t-shirts and I can't help but wonder if he's changed, if he's begun acting more... rich.
The color of his eyes keeps flashing on and off like a wavering light as people bypass him and I can't see his eyes for a second before I can see them again. I'm not sure how long we stand there, just looking at each other, his eyes in and out of view.
I'm still petrified, still under a spell as I stand on the sidewalk, phone in my hands, bag dangling off. He seems rooted to the spot as well, as he remains there in the middle of all these people, quietly observing me.
At last, he takes a step forward and comes before me. I can't take my eyes off his, can't seem to look away during the few seconds it takes for him to reach me. I do not let go of his gaze once, I don't think I even blink until he's right in front of me.
"Hi," he says, a mere whisper over the buzzing around us. I'm not sure if I really heard it or if I just read it on his lips.
"Hi," I say back.
Over the last few days, each time Yann would cross my mind, I had pushed him out. I needed time to really think about it and with the internship, I haven't had much time. I had planned to think about our situation over the weekend and figure out if I wanted to go see him or not, if I really wanted to know more – if he has more to say, that is. I really wanted that one question asked, the one my father still hasn't provided an answer to, saying that Yann should be the one to answer it. And now, there he is before me, all chance to think about it all wiped away.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
I watch as one hand leaves his pocket and he runs it through his long hair. "We need to talk, Tracy," he says. When I say nothing, he asks, "Can we go have dinner?"
No, no, no. This isn't how it's supposed to happen. I want to think this through. He isn't supposed to come back when I'm still such a mess, when I haven't figured it out, when I'm still so emotional and vulnerable.
"I think you should go." I say, not because I don't want to be with him and have dinner with him but because I'm afraid my treacherous heart will win over my brain.
"Don't shut me out, Tracy," Yann says and steps forward, closer to me.
I don't step back. I relish in his closeness, hoping my face isn't giving too much away. Gosh, I've missed him so much.
"You don't get to talk about shutting people out, Yann." I reply and my voice is surprisingly even, not sad nor angry.
"I had my reasons."
"I have my reasons, too." I retort.
"You're hurt."
"And I have the right to be." I sigh and shake my head, sensing that this isn't going anywhere, "I mean it, you should go."
Out of the blue, Yann reaches and cups my face in both of his hands and closes the space between us. He lifts my head tenderly so I'm staring into his eyes. "I almost lost you once," he says, "and I had to fight my way back to you, make you realize I was worth it. And if I have to do it again, I will. I am not losing you, Tracy. Not now, not ever."
His voice is fierce, his words determined. As I look into his eyes, I forget all about the world around us, all about the hundred people who are walking past a few yards away. As he leans his forehead on mine, his face so close, I'm tempted to say yes to everything he says. But of course, that's only my unreliably emotional heart reasoning – which isn't reasoning at all, really.
"Please," he murmurs softly, his breath fanning across my face.
I'm about to say yes, to accept dinner when I hear my name being called.
"Tracy."
I turn around, my head whipping fast to the left at the person who just called me. There, Oliver is standing, a little breathless as if he's been running, looking at me with raised eyebrows. Then he looks at Yann and understanding dawns upon his face.
I untangle myself from Yann who's looking at me with something close to jealousy – could it be, though? – on his face. "Give me a minute."
He's reluctant to let me go but he finally does. I walk to Oliver and he immediately says, "Sorry. I wanted to call you but my phone died on the way there."
"It's okay," I tell him and I realize I am a little out of breath. Being close to Yann does that to me, I guess.
Oliver looks past me at Yann for a moment before he looks down at me. "You want to go with him?" I hesitate before I finally nod, unable to say the word, feeling like I'm ditching him. But Ollie only smiles, probably expecting me to say that. "Well, you owe me dinner next week then," he says.
"I'm fine with that." I say with a grateful smile.
Then Ollie turns serious. "If he does anything, if you need anything," and he holds his phone up, "call me."
"Your battery is dead," I remind him with a deadpan face.
He rolls his eyes at me. "Fine, call me on Payton's then. You've got her number."
I nod then throw my arms around him. "Thanks, Ollie. You're the best."
When I let go, he casts a look at Yann before looking down again. "No, you're the best," he says. "And I hope he realizes that." He plants a soft kiss on my forehead before smiling at me. "Go find him."
I throw my best friend one last look before walking back to Yann. I turn my head briefly to look at Ollie who's watching with a very solemn expression on his face. He smiles at me and once I've reached Yann, he turns around and starts walking away.
When I arrive in front of Yann, he's looking in Ollie's direction, a slight frown on his face. I can see his lips pursing and his jaw clenching, but when he looks down at me, he doesn't say anything. He simply grabs my hand gently. He looks into my eyes, as if waiting for me to say something.
"Let's go," I finally say.
He gives my hand a light squeeze and it takes me a few seconds before I return the gesture. Just like we used to do. He starts walking us away, saying he's parked a couple blocks away. I let him lead me through the dense crowd and follow him. My eyes cannot detach themselves from his hair and I can now say with certainty that it reaches a few inches above his mid-back. His hair grows fast, I think.
A few minutes later, Yann pulls out keys from his pockets as we reach a grey SUV in a parking lot. I eye the car oddly and Yann must notice because he says, "Keven bought it for me. I wouldn't have taken it if it had come from them." By the way he says them, I know he's referring to his parents so I don't comment.
He opens the passenger door for me and I climb in. He rounds the car and soon hops in, sitting behind the wheel. As he pulls out of the parking lot, I can't help but look at him. He hasn't changed much, at least physically. He catches me staring and frowns. Something on my face must give my thoughts away because his next words are the echo of what I'm thinking.
"I'm still the same person, Tracy." He says with a quick glance my way, "I haven't changed."
I look away, embarrassed at having been caught watching him. I decide to switch topics. "How did you know where I worked?" Then as it dawns upon me, I quickly add, "Don't answer that. My dad."
"I told him I needed to see you and he told me where to find you."
"I needed to ask you something," I say.
"Can we talk when we get there, please?" He cuts me off softly. "Certain things I don't want to discuss in a car with you."
I nod, conceding. He's right. Just like I shouldn't have had that conversation in my doorway with him, I shouldn't have this one in a car with him.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"Mine." He replies.
I frown as I turn to look at him. "I don't think now's the right time to meet your parents."
"I have my own place," he says. "We're going there if you don't mind."
He throws a glance my way, silently asking me if I'm okay with it. Am I okay with it? The thought of being alone with him in his apartment makes me a little squirmy as I have no idea what will come out of this conversation. Will there be screaming? Will we fight? Will we make up? I can't predict the outcome and because of that, I'd much rather be in a private place than somewhere public.
"Yes, it's fine."
During the rest of the ride, we're both silent. I wonder what's going on through his mind, if he's thinking about what he wants to say to me, rehearsing it. And what is it he wants to tell me anyways? Didn't he say it all last Sunday?
I'm trying to think of what I want to say, but other than that one question I want answered, I have nothing to say to Yann. I could scream at him that he hurt me, that I should hate him, but I think he knows all that already. The only thing left I could mention are his feelings for me but really, I don't want to bring that up. I think of Lucy's words on the staircase. Did he mean it when he told her that he loved me? Or was he just playing a silly and childish game with her, the kind she loves to play sometimes? I have no idea and the only way to know is to ask. But I won't ask.
We soon leave the streets as Yann drives down into the parking lot of what seems to be a residential building. He pulls up into a spot and we get out. He rounds the car and comes next to me. Unconsciously, it seems, he reaches for my hands. Then, as he realizes it, he quickly lets go of it.
"Sorry," he says and looks away as he punches the button for the elevator.
I can tell he's uncomfortable. Something has him wary and I wonder if it's got anything to do with what he wants to tell me. I didn't mind him holding my hand but I certainly was not going to reach back for it. We're not there. Yet.
We step onto the elevator and I see him press for the fifth floor. When the elevator finally stops, the doors open. I expect to step out in a hallway full of doors to apartments but instead, it seems I step into an apartment itself. Like the apartment takes the whole floor.
My lips slightly part open in surprise and I find Yann staring at me as I take it in. "I've always liked my space," he says in explanation. "That's why I rented a whole house back in Harlem instead of an apartment in a town nearby."
I look back at him, gauging his discomfort. He comes to me and takes my bag from my shoulders, and puts it by the entrance.
"You want something to drink?" He asks.
I barely hear him. I'm taking it all in. The foyer is lush and beige with a few framed pictures resting on a small table. I follow Yann and we step into a living room. At first, I only notice the piano, the nice furniture and various paintings hanging on the wall. Then I turn my head right to see the glass windows. Even from where I am, I can see the breathtaking view of the city below us. It all looks so... different. This is very far from the house in Harlem. This screams wealthy.
I turn around to face Yann who's looking at me. When I struggle to find words, he comes closer and bends a little to look into my eyes. "It's still me, Tracy. I'm the same rough and raggedy guy you met a year ago."
The reassuring smile he gives me eases my fear. No, he hasn't changed. He's still my Yann. My Yann? Where did that come from? He most certainly isn't mine. I look into his eyes, seeing something that resembles love in there. Could he truly love me? Is it really what this is? I'm trying to convince myself so hard that he could never belong to me, but could he not?
I shake the thoughts away and try to get myself together. "You wanted to talk," I say. "Let's talk, then."
He only watches me. He's been watching me ever since we met, I recall. All he ever did was watch me and I never noticed. I wonder what he sees besides that girl who can appreciate the little things in life. What does he see?
"There's something on your mind," he suddenly says. "Ask ahead."
I'm tempted to ask him what he sees when he looks at me but instead I say, "Can we talk now? I just want to get it over with."
He simply nods at me and leads me to the couch. He sits down and I make sure to take a spot as far away from him as I can. He seems to want to say something about it for a moment but then decides against it.
He's quiet. Then he takes a deep breath in and looks me dead in the eye. "I never left you, Tracy. I may have left Harlem but I never left you."
I hear the words he speaks. I hear them but they don't register. All that seems to get to me in this very moment is the blue of his eyes boring into my own. There is a despair etched on his features that I've never seen before. There is a sincerity that's always been there but it blends so well with the sadness that I can't quite make the difference between the two. There, in front of me, is a beautiful man sitting. He's trying to pour his heart out to me, in spite of all the hurt that he is made of right now. I know it must be hard for me, but gosh, it's so hard for me too. I can't stand to see him like that, can't stand to know that it's somehow because of me.
"Where's your kitchen?" I manage to croak out past the ball in my throat. I need a glass of water. I need to splash my face and cool the heat that's creeping over my face.
Yann frowns, thrown off for a moment at my odd request. "Down the hall to your left," he instructs.
He's not even done speaking that I am up on my feet and bolting for the kitchen. I hear him call my name and run after me but I keep going faster. I open a cabinet and grab a glass, promptly filling it with cold water and gulping it down.
"Are you okay?" I hear Yann ask behind me. I only manage to nod at him. I'm about to splash my face with water when I feel his hands on my shoulders and he turns me around to face him. He pushes out strand of hair that has fallen into my face and looks at me with concern. He doesn't look too convinced that I'm okay and honestly, neither am I.
My hear starts beating even faster and I feel out of breath. It's all a little too much for me. I feel the tears well up in my eyes. I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. What do I even want to say? I don't know.
Yann cups my face and plants a soft kiss on my nose. I don't think neither of us is really aware of his gesture. He pulls me to him for a moment and I let myself fall into his arms. I hug him tight, burying my face is the crook of his neck. I feel like I'm crumbling and I need him to hold me up if only for a minute.
When my breathing evens out and I've managed to push back the tears, I begin to remove myself from his embrace. "Sorry about that," I sniff and wave my hand around like it's nothing but we both know it's not.
I look up and smile a sad smile. "I'm just a little overwhelmed. I didn't think -"
I don't get to finish my sentence.
His lips crash down on mine.
•••
Happy new year guys! I sure pray that your year started off great! Best wishes for 2020 :)
Life is back to being a little hectic so yeah... I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Thank you to everyone who added my book to their reading list, commented, voted and followed me. You guys are the best ❤️