Paper Trails 2 | Draft

37.

"Rare is the soul who stole my heart."

*****

He came without Valerie and asked if I was busy. I said yes, but he was persistent and I was in no mood to fight, so I agreed to talk.

Talk.

We both knew this 'talk' would turn into a screaming match by the end. Still, he tried. He drove me back to his place, he told to make myself at home. A dick move, because at one point he referred it to home for both of us. Let's go home. I couldn't make myself at home. I've never felt more out of place or uncomfortable.

He poured me a cup of coffee and had a glass of scotch for himself. I guess we both need our favorite beverages to get through this conversation.

It smelled like her. It was subtle, almost to the point where you could ignore it or miss it if you didn't know what his home normally smelled like. But I could smell her. Her perfume. Her air.

She was all over this fucking place. It was suffocating.

I downed the coffee. When he offered me more I shook my head and demanded beer.

He got it without a word. And then we sat, and for a few moments it was silent. Almost uncomfortable.

When I couldn't stand it anymore, I put down the bottle and let out a sigh. "So. Why am I here?"

"I just wanted to talk."

No shit, Sherlock. "Well to do that, you might have to actually talk."

He inhaled, as if trying to calm himself down (really? I'm frustrating you?) and nodded. "How are you?"

"Fine."

Short, simple, sweet.

"What's...new in your—"

"This is pitiful. What do you want to talk about, Niccolò? Small talk isn't your strong suit."

He scowled. "It's been a while since we've spoken, I'm simply trying to get a feel for things."

"Well, don't."

"I really don't want to fight."

"Then don't."

"Neila—"

"What do you expect? What are you expecting here? What am I supposed to say? Do you want me to tell you I'm great? I'm happy? You want me to say I'm happy for you? Fine. I'm great. I'm happy. I'm happy for you."

"That's not—"

"She's fucking perfect for you. Pretty and smart and nice and gorgeous and vegan. Does that mean she doesn't suck dick?"

He ran a hand down his face. "This isn't going the w—"

"You bring her to my house to what? Rub it in my face? Or did you want us to meet, get along, and become besties? What do you want here, Niccolò? What are you after? Or do you just get off on making me feel like shit and reminding me of everything I'm not and everything I don't have?"

His eyes met mine again, and suddenly, I couldn't stop.

"I waited. For you. For you to call me or come back. I waited for you every night. Because you told me—you said that—" I shook my head. "This isn't me. I don't wait. I don't cry. I don't fucking stick around like some side bitch. I'm Neila. I could have gone out and gotten anyone like you had. You came back with a Valerie, I could have gotten Channing fucking Tatum if I wanted to. He's hot. I could have—but I was so stupid to think anything you say means anything and I waited like an idiot."

He looked like he was stuck between not knowing what to say and wanting to say everything.

So I continued, "And then I stopped waiting. And I decided to just say fuck you altogether. I would move on. I don't need a guy. I don't need any guy. And I was starting to think...maybe I'm right. And then you come back and you don't come back alone and you bring her to my house and to prove that I don't give a fuck, I ask you guys to stay. And then I'm inviting you over because you need to know that it doesn't bother me. But it does.

"This bothers me. She bothers me. You bother me. Because you told me you loved me, and then you kicked me out of your home. And then you replaced me like I was nothing."

"You're not nothing to—"

"I don't know what you expected," I mutter, standing up. "And I don't care. I don't care anymore. We're running around in circles trying to keep up with each other. We don't fit. Maybe Valerie will have better luck."

He was shaking his head now, standing, following me to the door. "Maybe I went about this the wrong way. I don't know how to handle you. I don't know how to be with you. Or anyone."

"You seem to be doing just fine with Valerie."

"I..." he shook his head and let out a humorless laugh. "I thought I knew what I was going to say to you, but..."

I wait. When he doesn't continue, I nod.

And I leave.

*****

I felt good.

Maybe I shouldn't, all things considered, but I did. I felt good. Like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

I didn't want to fight. I didn't want to beg or cry or complain. I didn't want forgiveness or apologies, and I didn't want him to want me.

He has Valerie now.

I said what needed to be said, I got it all off my chest.

I was good.

He said he loved me, once. And I loved him, but I could be without him.

I needed to be without him. I needed to be done.

Raven eyed me when I got home, like she was waiting for me to explode. I simply smiled when she asked if I was okay and nodded when she asked if me and Nic were done.

I poured us both glasses of wine and we watched Scandal until she fell asleep. Then I grabbed the wine, my glass, and sauntered to my room. I slid into bed with ease and refilled the glass.

I made a toast.

"To Niccolò," I murmured, bringing the rim to my lips.

For teaching me I could love, be loved, and feel love.

I tilted my head back and swallowed its contents.

Little did I know I was also toasting him for what had yet to come.

So here's to Niccolò—for teaching me I could love, be loved, feel loved, and for breaking my heart in a way I didn't think possible.