One More Time | ✓

Chapter Two

By the time the evening rolls around, Chrissy has really warmed to both Greta and me. I've never been so enraptured by anything in my life, and certainly not by another person.

But she's just so fucking pure, in a way that I'm not sure I've seen before.

Things are awkward, especially with Debra, but I try my best. It's all my own making, this situation, so while I'm not fake, I'm on my best behaviour.

Once Chrissy has been put down for bed for the night and we've had something to eat for dinner (Dad's classic chicken curry, that we loved so much), Greta has persuaded me into tagging along with her to see some friends at the bar in town this evening.

They're exclusively her friends. I lost all of mine the day I left Whitley, so furious with Mavis that I cut everyone else off, too. I still stand by not staying friends with Mavis, but I could have made a bit more of an effort with the others.

Especially because no one seemed to have an idea about why I was ignoring them, meaning they didn't have any idea about what happened. So, if it had been more than a one-time-thing between them, she hadn't told any of our friends. Not that I thought that back then.

Whitley is a small town, and I'm sure lots of people come home for Christmas, so I'm a little apprehensive about going out, but the alternative is staying in with Dad and Debra. I'd rather the bar than dying with awkwardness at their house.

Dad drops us off, and hands Greta enough cash for a taxi back, insisting that we don't walk now that it's so dark and so cold. I murmur my thanks as I exit the car, suddenly wondering if it's too late to beg him to take me home instead. I'm not so sure that I want to face running into anyone at the bar, especially not my old friends, who probably hate me.

Thankfully, the only people we know when we get there are Greta's friends, so we grab a drink and join them at their booth. I know them, in the way that anyone knows their siblings' friends. A couple of them would hang around the house a lot when we were younger. They were all three years older than me, so I was desperate to be cool back then and get them to like me. These days, I've accepted that most people from this town won't.

When I'm up at the bar, ordering mine and Greta's second drinks of the night, though, disaster strikes.

I turn around, two gin cocktails in hand, only to come face-to-face with the literal last person that I ever want to see again.

Theodore Russo is right in front of me, an empty cocktail glass in his hand.

My breath stalls in my throat and I completely freeze, knowing that there's no way out.

He's right fucking there, just in front of me, living and breathing. Looking even better than ever, like he didn't break my goddamn heart three and a half years ago.

The only consolation is that he looks just as I feel. "Sabrina," he chokes out, eyes wide.

The second he opens his mouth, though, all of that old fury comes back in full force and I muster my best glare. "I have to go," I snap, moving to walk past him.

A sardonic laugh falls from his lips and he side-steps, so that I can't go anywhere. "Really? Really? All these fucking years and that's it? You're still never going to explain?"

The fucking nerve of this man. The absolute fucking cheek to stand here and look at me like he has no idea what happened. Like he doesn't know he shattered my heart.

"What was there to explain?" I grind out, itching to pour my drink on his head. "You know exactly what happened. You know what you did, and the fact you're pretending-"