Sip by Sip

Chapter Thirty-Five: Of Pity

Bea had left Friday night.

Gemma had never been in a worse mood.

She missed her the minute she walked out the door. She went to sleep that night quickly, so that she wouldn't have to linger on her homesick thoughts.

But Saturday, when the doorbell rang, there still was a small voice in her head who said it could be her.

It wasn't.

And when she saw who it was, she shut the door.

"Please give me a chance to explain." He pleaded from the other side of the door.

"No. You showed me up. Bea gave you a black eye. We're even. You don't need to apologize, and I don't ever need to see you again."

"We're neighbors, Gemma. That isn't possible. Please just give me a chance?"

"You are eleven apartments away, we are not neighbors." She grumbled, "And no. You had your chance."

"Fine. You don't have to see me ever again, but I need you to hear me out now, even if it's through the other side of this door."

She sighed. "Okay."

"I . . . I got scared, Gemma." He said, and she cursed her patheticness. She felt sorry for him. "You, this city, my new job, everything was a bit overwhelming. I ran away, and I'm sorry. I'm a coward."

Please stop, she begged in her mind. Stop, because I will forgive you. I will forgive you, despite knowing I shouldn't. Oh Bea, where are you when I need you?

No. She had to deal with this herself. She was on her own now, and she had to get used to that.

So she stood up, and opened the door.

"Fuck off, and go make up excuses elsewhere." She growled, her eyes stormy and dark.

His surprise didn't last long, as he gently pulled her to him. They were mere inches apart.

"Please, Gemma . . . " His voice trailed off, as his eyes moved to her lips. His grip was too tight on her arm.

"Let me go." Her voice wavered in fright, but he had no intention in harming her. He let her go, his head hung.

"I'm sorry, Gemma. I at least want you to know that. I know I screwed everything up, but . . . " His eyes were sad, and she couldn't help pitying him. "I really wish I could make it up to you."

She stood there, frozen, staring at him and his washed up eyes. She felt like sobbing, she felt so . . . Pathetic. Why? Because she couldn't leave him standing there, guilty and regretful.

She knew he was taking advantage of her, of her sweetness, of how she could never hold a grudge, how she was too fucking empathetic.

It was all out of pity. Her next action was completely out of pity and weakness.

She took a step forward, and planted a kiss on his stubbly cheek. "You can try."

She rushed back into her apartment, locking the door and running to collapse on her bed. Fuck him, fuck me, we are the same.

We are pathetic.