Page 100 of Nemesis

“Just something I overheard.”

“Now tell me what happened between you and Olivia Morales?”

My brows drew down in confusion at his dismissal. I squinted my eyes, questioning whether I should push it or not. After another long silence, I’d settled on the latter, deciding to put the questioning on the back burner for now.

“I’ll give you a guess,” I grumbled, taking another sip.

“She’s Sofia.”

I placed my bottle on the wooden surface, staring down at the table. I ran my fingers through my hair, the cavity in my chest closing in, twisting my heart at the mention of her name.

“She is.” I scoffed.

“And?” he prompted.

I looked up at him, meeting his gaze. “And nothing. She lied,” I said, not hiding the irritation in my voice anymore.

“You should talk to her.”

I shook my head. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” He sighed, getting up and making his way to the door.

He lingered, his hand clutching onto the door as he looked over where I was sitting.

“Listen, I might not be the best at giving advice in that department, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you shouldn’t let whatever happened take her away from you again.”

He flicked his gaze away, as if lost in thoughts before shaking himself out of wherever he went. “You’ll just end up regretting it,” he said quietly.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, his last words echoing around the empty space.

I made my way back to the couch and lay on it once again, resuming my previous position before he’d interrupted.

For the next few hours, I mulled over his words, realizing he was right.

The ink etched on my skin was the last thing I saw before I drifted to sleep.

It’d been two weeks. Two weeks of not seeing her. Two weeks of not speaking to her. Two weeks of not having her in my arms.

I’d tried drowning myself in work, picking up more clients than I could handle at a time, trying anything that would keep my mind off the fact that I missed her. But nothing seemed to work. Nothing seemed to replace the hurt and confusion she’d caused.

Everywhere I looked, reminders of her infiltrated my mind. She occupied every space.

To add to it, I drove by her place every day, waiting,hoping, to catch a glimpse of her with unfortunately no luck.

I know,pathetic.

It would be so easy to just get out of my car and be with her. To slide back into what we once were, to have her in my arms. But how much worse would it be if she walked away again.

My mind and heart were at an impasse. On one hand, my heartwantedto march inside and get her back, while my mind wanted to preserve my heart from breaking all over again.

She’d always been mine, but did she see me as hers?

In reality, it wasn’t that I didn’t believe in what we shared at the cabin. She’d finally felt like mine again, but I didn't know whether I could trust it.

If I was honest with myself, I was scared to trust her. She’d left me once. What would stop her from doing it again?

I’d convinced myself that if I could distract myself by being mad at her, the pain that came from longing for her would dissipate enough for me to work through it. I’d made a half-hearted attempt to hold onto my anger since it made it easier not to feel the hurt quite as deeply, but it was slowly bleeding away every day.