Sugar sugar baby

[33] Comfort

Returning to LA was like waking up from a dream, only to find myself in a nightmare. Everything had happened so fast in Milan—one minute I was part of Vanessa's world, the next, I was shut out entirely. Blocked. Forgotten. I tried to shake off the feeling of betrayal, but the guilt lingered, like a bad taste in my mouth I couldn't get rid of.

I felt like I had failed. Like I should have done more, said more, fought harder to make her believe me. The photo from that night in the club haunted me, even though I knew the truth. There had been no kiss, no betrayal. But none of that mattered now. Vanessa was convinced I had crossed a line, and she had cut me off without a second thought.

I spent the first few days in LA trying to figure out what to do next. I hadn't spoken to many people about what had happened, mostly because I didn't want to relive the mess. But eventually, the silence became too much. The guilt was eating away at me, and I needed some kind of closure, even if I wasn't going to get it from Vanessa.

I found myself standing in front of her family's LA office building one afternoon, clutching a letter I'd written the night before. The place was a massive glass skyscraper, the kind that screamed wealth and power, with Vanessa's family name emblazoned across the front in gold. I wasn't even sure why I was here—she was in Milan, and the chances of her even seeing this letter were slim. But I had to try.

The receptionist at the front desk gave me a polite, but puzzled look as I approached. "Can I help you, sir?"

I nodded, swallowing hard as I handed her the letter. "I need this delivered to Vanessa."

The receptionist blinked, clearly unsure of what to do with my request. "Vanessa... Reed?"

I nodded again. "Yeah. It's personal."

She hesitated, glancing at the letter in her hands, then back up at me. "I'll make sure it gets to the right place."

I forced a smile. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

As I left the building, a part of me felt like I was chasing ghosts. I knew Vanessa wasn't going to respond—she'd blocked me, cut me out of her life—but I couldn't let it go. I kept coming back to the office every few days, dropping off letters, hoping one of them might get through to her. But weeks passed, and still, there was no reply. Nothing.

Eventually, I couldn't keep it to myself anymore. I needed to talk to someone who knew me, someone who might understand. I called up Sasha.

Sasha had been with me through the ups and downs of the restaurant, and even though things had ended on a rough note, we'd managed to stay in touch. She'd always had a way of cutting through the bullshit and getting straight to the heart of things. Maybe she'd be able to help me make sense of everything.

We met up at a small café downtown, one of those cozy places with mismatched furniture and the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the air. I hadn't told her much over the phone, just that I needed to talk. She was already sitting at a table when I arrived, a cup of coffee in front of her.

"Hey," she said, smiling as I walked over. "Long time, no see."

I nodded, sitting down across from her, my nerves buzzing. "Yeah. It's been... a while."

She gave me a curious look, picking up her coffee and taking a sip. "So, what's going on? You sounded pretty serious on the phone."

I let out a long breath, rubbing my hands together as I tried to figure out where to start. "It's about Vanessa."

Sasha raised an eyebrow, her expression softening. "Oh... what happened?"

I told her everything—the argument, the photo, how Vanessa had blocked me, and how I'd been leaving letters at her office but never heard back. The more I talked, the more the guilt seemed to pour out of me, like a dam breaking. By the time I finished, Sasha was watching me with a mix of sympathy and frustration.

"Dang, Tristan," she said, shaking her head. "That's... a lot."

"Yeah," I muttered, staring down at the table. "It's a fking mess."

Sasha leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she thought for a moment. "Okay, let me get this straight. So, you didn't kiss this girl, but Vanessa saw the photo and just assumed you did?"

I nodded, feeling the weight of the situation settle over me again. "Exactly. I told her nothing happened, but she didn't believe me. And now... I don't know. She's shut me out."

Sasha frowned, tapping her fingers on the table. "And you've tried reaching out?"

"Yeah. I've been dropping off letters at her office for weeks now, but... nothing. I'm pretty sure she's blocked me on everything."

Sasha let out a frustrated sigh. "Gosh, that's... rough. But I've got to say, Tristan, why are you putting yourself through this? I mean, I get that you feel guilty, but from what you've told me, you didn't do anything wrong. If she's not willing to even hear you out, what else can you do?"

I shrugged, feeling helpless. "I don't know. I just... I hate how things ended. It feels unfinished, you know? Like I didn't get a chance to explain."

Sasha gave me a sad smile. "Tristan, sometimes things end without closure. And it fucking sucks, but that's just how it goes. You can't keep chasing after someone who doesn't want to listen."

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the frustration build up again. "But what if I could've done more? What if there's something I missed? I don't want to just give up."

She reached across the table, placing a hand on mine. "You're not giving up, Tristan. You're protecting yourself. You can't keep trying to fix something when the other person isn't even giving you a chance. You deserve better than that."

I looked at her, the truth of her words hitting me harder than I expected. Sasha was right. I'd been torturing myself over something I couldn't control. I had done everything I could, and now it was time to let go, even if it hurt like hell.

"I just... I thought she'd believe me," I said quietly. "After everything we'd been through."

Sasha squeezed my hand, her voice soft. "I know. But if she's not willing to even hear you out, then that says more about her than it does about you."

I nodded, feeling the weight of guilt slowly start to lift. It wasn't gone, not by a long shot, but talking to Sasha helped. She had a way of cutting through the fog in my head, making things a little clearer.

"You're right," I said after a moment. "I need to stop. I've been torturing myself over this, and it's not doing me any good."

Sasha smiled, her eyes warm. "Exactly. You've got to move forward, Tristan. You've been through worse, right? You'll get through this too."

I chuckled, though it came out a little hollow. "Yeah. I guess I have."

We sat there for a while, talking about old times, catching up on life. It felt good to be with someone who knew me, who understood what I'd been through. Sasha didn't judge me, didn't push me too hard—she just listened, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe again.

Before we left, she gave me a hug, holding on a little longer than usual. "Take care of yourself, Tristan," she said softly. "And if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me."

I smiled, feeling a little lighter. "Thanks, Sash. I appreciate it."

As I walked back to my car, I realized that maybe Sasha was right. Maybe this was one of those things that would never get resolved. Maybe Vanessa would never believe me. But I couldn't keep chasing something that wasn't there.

It was time to move on.

Q: Do you vent often?