Chapter Thirty-Five

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Chapter Thirty-Five

Grad Day sucks.

This time last year I was happy with a perfect boyfriend - or at least, I thought was perfect - reminiscing about how we got together and our future after he graduates. This year, my head was packed with running the Christmas Bazaar, into which I lost sweat, blood and tears, and dealing with a goodbye I didn't want to go through.

No doubt, the video was still in my mind. His apologies and proposal. I hadn't even answered him yet. Earlier I had so much confidence that we would end up spending the rest of our life together, but now I realize it was really just girlish naivette.

The graduation ceremony...okay, it wasn't really a ceremony. They weren't in robes holding rolled up parchment, or tossing their hats in the air. It was just a few performances, the standard video of collected memories, and a couple of speeches. It passed in a blur. I was barely paying attention to anything except controlling myself from looking at Dom. He was head of backstage, meaning he went to help out with the sound system and the mic arrangements and so on.

Being event organiser of the Christmas Bazaar meant I had to leave early and call all the other members of the Catholic Students Society involved. Quickly changing into the red polo shirt and my black skinny jeans, I was so relieved to be away from all that pressure. That is, until I had to go call a few people who were just sitting on their stubborn asses.

The back door of the auditorium was where he was stationed, and I casually - almost, at least - moved past him, careful not to touch him in the slightest. As the girls came down and I was forced to turn back to go back down, I thought just a glance would be okay. But naturally, it wasn't. Time stopped between us, like my heart. I never thought seeing him like this would be this hard.

Remembering what he said a few weeks back about never being happy to see him, I managed a tiny, regretful smile. It turned out more of a grimace, but my heart lifted slightly when I saw him return it. Sighing regretfully and wishing I could've stayed longer, just the two of us, I did my best to put all - or at least most - of my focus on the bazaar.

Easier said than done. I still saw him every where, and when Shaun gave me Dom's teddy bear in a plastic bag, along with that precious orange book, I ran for cover to my almost empty classroom, nearly ripping out the pages to read what he had to say.

As usual, it was like his diary to me, of almost every date. I skimmed through it carefully, reading how much he missed me, how much he needed me, and I was almost unconscious of my tears, until I reached the last few pages of the book.

29.10.12: Hey angel. This is probably the last I can write until I leave. I'll be in school until the last day for you because of the damn exam, but I don't know if we can see each other anymore.

I'm so sorry. For everything. I never wanted to leave. In fact I wanted this year to be the best, without mistakes, better than last year. I promised myself I'd never hurt you or do anything to make you cry, but I failed, miserably. I'm sorry for being an ass and a jerk throughout the whole year, please forgive me for everything.

I love you, baby. I do. With all my heart. You mean the world to me, you have no idea what it'd be like if I lose you. I don't deserve you, not in the least. But I swear to you, I'll be back for you. Even if I have to search the world to find you. I only hope you'll wait for me. But if you want to find someone else and end up moving on, I won't stop you if that's what makes you happy.

Despite what you say, I know I was never the best. I couldn't do the best because we were in school. In three years, after you graduate, I'll come back for you. I'll talk to your parents, take you out on our first date, kiss you in the rain, everything you want and deserve. I'll get you a ring, propose and marry you, have kid, spend the rest of my life with you. If you'll still have me. Please wait for me, angel, please. I love you, now and forever, forever and always. 

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