We Were Both Young

Ch 9 : RomLEO Save Me.

Got some spare time today: so here it is, earlier than promised.

Once again, Thanks for continuing to read this story!

It’s slowly getting there. I’ve been happy with it so far, but I will be doing a full revision and editing of it once it’s complete, but more on that later.

For now, go ahead & enjoy!

Copyright©AllRightsReservedJodieFranken2014

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We Were Both Young

Chapter Nine:

RomLEO Save Me.

[a/n  Haha, see what I did there? Cheesy, I Know, I’m Sorry, Just couldn’t resist.]

∞ Leonardo’s PoV ∞

It’s been days now since I’ve sent the letter to Isabella. It’s absolutely killing me, not knowing whether she’s read it. Questions flood my mind every night as I lie awake. Has she read it? Does she still hate me? I wouldn’t blame her. Does her father know? Has she met someone else? Is she happier without me? Whose side will Mitch and Mirella take? Likely hers.

The answers to these scarily close to the heart questions are proving to be the cause of much lack of sleep. I am unable to think of anything else, and whenever I close my eyes all I see are my friends turning against me, looking at  me with shame and disgust all over their faces or Isabella in a wedding dress, looking as beautiful as ever, walking down the aisle, bouquet in hand, but standing at the front of the aisle with a sickeningly sweet smile, a complete stranger, someone that’s not me.

I can’t get rid of these night mares. It’s absolutely terrifying. I wake up from each one with a cold sweat.

This is my subconscious telling me something

Open your eyes, you dimwit. You love the girl. She loved you. Why did you run away, causing you both regret, selfish son of a …

It yells at me, Confirming my worst fear: I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life. Only now it might be too late to rectify it.

I know what I have to do.

I climb out of bed, and wash my face in the (by now) ice cold water in the tub in the bathroom. This weather is changing quickly, winter will be upon us shortly. Feeling a little fresher, I put on my over garments and head down the stairs.

“Room 10,” I inform the innkeeper at the desk, “I’d like to check out,”

“Certainly, Monsieur,” the elderly, French woman says to me.

“Just last night?,” she looks up, and I nod in confirmation, I’m now already almost a week away from home, having travelled on and stayed in a different town each night,

“Very well, that’ll be just 15 Pounds,” she says.

“Thank You,” I say handing her the money.

“Would you like some breakfast?” she offers, kindly.

“No, thank you. I have a long journey, I best be moving on my way,”

“I could back it in a travel parcel for you?” she becomes more insistent, “It’s freezing out, I wouldn’t want you lying motionless on the side of the road by the end of the day, you’ll need the warmth and energy,”

“Alright. I’ll take it with me,” I consent, accepting her latter offer, atleast I’ll save a half an hour of daylight, the sun is just rising.