Loving a Black Rose & Life in an Elevator

Chapter 8: The End of the Beginning

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I sank onto the bed, the notebook falling from my hands. A future for the three of us. I wasn't ready for this. A family. A life I wasn't sure I could give her. I had so much fear inside me, so much regret. Had I destroyed everything already?

I picked up the notebook again, staring at the scattered pieces of torn paper on the floor. I needed to go to her. To fix this. I had to tell her everything. But could I? Was I even capable of fighting for us? I stood up, shaking, my heart pounding. I didn't know what would happen, but I couldn't stay here. I loved her. I had to go. I rushed out of the room, through the house, out the door. I ran. My legs burned with every step, but I didn't stop. My chest heaved, my breath ragged, but I couldn't slow down. Every step felt like it might be my last chance. My heart raced with the fear that I was too late.

I saw the building where Lou lived and pushed harder, but as I reached the door, I heard a voice behind me.

— "Ian?"

I froze.

It was George. Of course it was. He wasn't who I needed to see right now, but there he was. I didn't want to talk to anyone. Not now. Not like this.

— " Hey, he said, in his casual tone. I'm glad you're here. I was just seeing a girl, and what a surprise that we ran into each other like this."

I didn't respond.

— "Anyway," he continued, "have you thought about the interview with my dad's company? It could be a good opportunity for you."

I nodded absently, barely hearing George. My mind was still with Lou, racing back to her, but the words wouldn't come—not to him, not to anyone. George kept talking, but his voice blurred into a dull hum in the background. Inside, a part of me was screaming to run, to find Lou, to try to make things right—please, Ian, just run. But my legs were heavy, weighed down by the weight of my failure, and Lou's voice echoed in my mind—When you truly love someone, you fight for them. Could I? Could I still fight for her? For us? Did I even have the courage left to try? Was there anything left to fight for? I closed my eyes and let the memories flood in—her laugh, the wind tousling her messy black hair, the birds soaring above us. The feel of her hand on my cheek, the warmth of her voice telling me everything would be alright, that we'd get back to normal. But then Arthur's words sliced through the quiet: Pathetic. Too much of a failure. Too afraid to stand up for anything that matters. I remembered the words I'd thrown at her in anger, the cruel things I'd said, the way I'd pushed her away when all she'd wanted was to rebuild. She was ready to fight for us, while I was the one who had shattered everything. I closed my eyes and saw her—her green eyes, wide and searching, looking at me as if the world had disappeared, as if it was just the two of us against everything else.

—"Wait," George said, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Let's go talk at my place. It'll be quieter there."

—"Sure," I said