𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄 ~ | 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘓𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘤

VI

Chapter Six: 

~ The bags under my eyes are Prada ~

I remember the first time I saw him.

He was just talking. Not to me. I couldn't hear what he was saying.

He wasn't the sort of boy I would normally like. There were a lot of the same back in karting. All of them were competitive and self-assured. Not to mention rude. I had made a promise to myself to never want anything to do with them off the track. Never want any of them.

But there I was. Wanting him all the same.

There was something about him, something that called me. He felt different. His eyes weren't like the others, a new shade I couldn't quite put my finger on. He has this way of talking, of making people laugh, and his dimples, sweet lord, his dimples. They could charm the birds out of the sky. And when he looked at me, I felt like I was the only person who existed in that moment.

The first time I actually spoke to him, the first time he spoke to me, was the same day I swore to hate him for the rest of my life.

The day he ran into me outside the bathrooms. We toppled to the floor in a blushing mess. I remember the was he said my name, the way he liked it. The first time he called me 'Evie'.

I remember the crash, the way he had been so angry. The way he put himself in danger just to get me out. Daniel had told me he lost it when he found out it was me, and I believe him. Charles was protective like that.

He saved me.

And I'm not just talking about the wreck.

I remember the first time he kissed me. Right outside this very apartment. We had both been so angry, so frustrated, but the moment his lips met mine, I forgot it all. I always did. That's the thing about love, isn't it? It has a way of making everything else seem insignificant.

I remembered our trip to Bali. I remember Italy. I remember our dance in the rain. I remember the first time he told me he loved me. I remember the last time he said those words to me.

I remember him on his knees, begging me to stay.

He had never looked so desperate before. So human. So real. It was the kind of desperation that shatters hearts and makes you realize that maybe, just maybe, you've been wrong about everything.

I had to hold onto the anger and pain. I had to remember why we were here in the first place. But the more I remembered, the more the pieces began to fit together. The memories didn't flood in all at once, they trickled back, one by one, reminding me of what I had lost. Each one brought with it a sting of regret, a whisper of doubt about my decision to walk away. Was it really worth it?

I felt it in my chest, a warmth that grew with every recalled moment. The way he made me laugh, the way he held me when I was sad, the way he knew exactly what I needed without me having to say a word. I had just buried it deep, hoping the pain would subside.

But love doesn't work that way. It lingers, it festers, it waits for the right moment to pounce. And now, I felt it pouncing.

I tried to stand, to break the spell that his memory had cast over me. But my legs felt like lead, rooting me to the spot. My thoughts grew hazy, like the light was thickening around me, a fog of nostalgia. His face, his voice, his touch, all of it so clear, so present, as if he was standing right in front of me again.