Soulmates & Twin Flames

36 - Things I'll Never Know

Bags. Packed.

Minor editing work. Done.

You already hugged Rocky goodbye and peered into Dad's office, so there's nothing left to do now, Abby. You can lie in your bed and let your mind wander off to different places. Anywhere but your bedroom will do right now.

You want to sleep, I know, but isn't sleep the funniest thing? When you need to stay up late to do something important, sleep weighs you down. And when you're all set to travel to dreamland, it mocks you like an annoying child and starts playing hide and seek. The more you seek, the deeper it hides. Next, you are stuck in an oblivion between reality and the dream world.

Yes, shuffle your bangs, and throw your arms above your head. As if that will help. I won't stop talking—you know that, right? Because our minds and souls work that way. When your body is drained and you're about to shut your mind, I take over. Your soul. Your higher self. Your inner demon. Sex Goddess. Or whatever you want to call me. I am the ultimate Abby, the one that sees everything and knows it all.

For instance, as you're lying in your bed, scratching the corner of your eye, I know that people are texting about you.

You think they don't give a shit. You think you're worthless. But guess what? They still talk, because that's what they do.

Your ears ring all of a sudden, and you wonder why. If Olga was here, she would say it's because you're the hot topic of a conversation. Well, Abby, your friend is right. You really are the centre of attention right now.

Let's see what others are doing. It's easy for me to drift to places.

Nate is stuck in traffic somewhere around Park Avenue, heading toward Daniel's house. Furious. Aching. You've never seen his face like this. It's as cold as ice, Abby. He's breathing in and out through his nose. His nostrils are flaring. He punches the wheel before he texts his brother.

Nate:
"If you lay a hand on Abby again, I'm going to make you sorry you were born. Do you understand, you narcissistic piece of shit? She is not your toy. Not your commodity. You'll leave her the fuck alone. Don't contact her. Don't even say her name out loud. Stay the fuck away. Asshole. Fucker. Sadistic son of a bitch."

Meanwhile, Roman is at his mother's house, sitting on his childhood bed with his head between his hands. Before he can make a move, Tiffany picks up his phone and reads Nate's text. She stares at the screen with empty eyes, trying to make a meaning out of it.

She doesn't understand.

To her, you are Roman's employee. The temp who got fired because she caught feelings for the CEO. To her, you really are a nobody. All she wants is to make it right with Roman and have her dream wedding.

I know, it's shallow as fuck. But that's who she is. Not everybody is complex. Some of us have simple dreams and simple lives. Tiffany is built that way. She's been in love with our Roman since high school. And when she caught him single last year, she seized her moment.

Her generous investment helped Roman's magazine and started the global launch. She thought she'd bought Roman's affection. They were this close to becoming the power couple America adores.

But then you came along.

Roman wasn't lying when he said sex didn't matter to him. Sex doesn't matter to Tiffany either. She doesn't enjoy the act. Climax is hard to reach, and too much effort goes into humping each other. She'd rather draft contracts, seal deals and play dress up. She wants to take over the world. She wants to become Tiffany Rhode and a stupid text from Roman's spoiled brother won't derail her dreams.

Roman snatches his phone from Tiffany and jumps to his feet. His mom tries to stop him from leaving. Shoving her aside, he grabs the car keys, and storms out of the house.

The city lights flicker on his face as he drives down the avenues. He circles around your neighborhood in Tribeca for a while, but there's nowhere to park. He gazes at your dark window. It doesn't take him long to figure out that you're not coming here tonight.

I sit on the passenger seat next to him, feeling the warmth of his essence in his chest. It's nice to be close to my other half. Too bad, I can't let him know that I'm here, because you're not here. But he feels me. I know that my other half somehow feels my presence.

Roman rubs his chest and pulls over sloppily. The car's butt is sticking out into the lane. I peer over his shoulder as he takes out his phone. After letting out a long sigh, he starts typing.

Roman:
"Abby, I know my apology won't fix anything, but what happened was an accident. I'm sorry for everything I've put you through. You were right from the start. I always wanted a picture perfect life. And for a short while, I thought I had it all... But then you walked into the magazine and took the elevator with me. I fell for you without even knowing your name. Your perfume intrigued me first. The curve of your neck stunned me. Your eyes gazed into my soul, and your smile torched my entire being. Fuck the magazine. Fuck debts. Fuck consequences. I can't stop thinking of you or the life we could have together if I hadn't fucked it all up. Say the word, and I'll call off the wedding. Just call me. Let me hear your voice.  -R.R."

***

"Abby?"

My bedroom door creaks open, and I feel as if I'm dreaming of falling. It's one of those annoying experiences where you know you're sleeping, but you can't control what you're dreaming about.

So, I keep falling and falling. Wind licks my face. My hair whips the air. I brace myself before I hit the ground. But when it happens, my body twitches anyway. My skin is tingling.

I open my eyes to find myself in bed, too tired to make a move.

"Abby?" Dad's concerned voice reaches me. The mattress sinks when he sits beside me, then runs his fingers through my hair.

I can barely keep my eyes open. I hope I'm managing to give Dad a smile as his face leans closer to my ear.

"Just wanted to say goodbye. I'll leave early in the morning," he whispers. "Go back to sleep."

My phone lights up with a text next to my arm, but my fingers feel too heavy to pick it up. Still stroking my hair, Dad reaches to grab it. His frown deepens as he stares at the screen.

"Who is it?" I whisper.

Dad's sigh cuts through the silence. He peeks at me over his glasses. Then he taps on the screen a few times, and puts my phone back down.

"Nobody. Spam. I deleted it and blocked their number," he says as he kisses my forehead. "Sleep tight, Abby. Nobody's going to hurt you now. I'm here. I love you."