Writing's Second Taste

Chapter Twelve: Twilight

My heart was thumping in my chest, my eyes staring at my phone screen while it tried to connect to the person I was trying to contact through a video call. I was all alone, Emma gave me her room when I told her what I was planning to do while she finished her painting downstairs.

The amount of times I started ringing him and then ending it right away was too high. The coward in me wants to think that he didn't call again so that was it, but a bigger part of me is yelling that I will never go forward unless I face him.

And suddenly, the screen turned black and what came after was the face I've only managed to see in pictures for the past year. His eyebrows were still bushy and over the place, his hair now up in spikes, his glasses covered his eyes that always crinkled at the corner at any expression he makes, and that melting gaze – he gained weight, not too drastic but it was noticeable, though it didn't matter.

"Justin," I said his name after I've avoided speaking it for a long time, "Hey."

He was just as awkward as I was, not even finding the right words to say. This demeanor of his was the reason I started falling, "Hi Sienna."

My name rolled off of his lips and I was suddenly transported back to the time he would gently whisper it to me before pressing a kiss on my lips. Even if we were currently miles apart, I could almost feel his skin under my fingertips and how ticklish he was even with the lightest touch.

That dance we shared on prom night, it was quiet and we barely made eye contact but when he did, I apologized. He accepted it with an apology of his own, but when I thought we finally made up, he released my hands and walked away after saying that he was going to look for his best friend. Although I didn't buy his excuse, I allowed him to leave.

On graduation, I was never able to say goodbye.

The only time we went near to talking was when I accidentally sent him a message meant for my other friend.

Alright, so maybe I meant to do it a tiny bit.

One part of my book that I couldn't reread was the chapter wherein I walked away and never looked back. I could remember how I dug my nails into my palm and asked him if we could break up, when I turned on one corner and was sure that he couldn't see me anymore, I wept like a baby.

All we shared after that were civil smiles and a hard game of seeing how long can we sit in the same room as we ignored each other.

I've heard that he was still as flirty as he was before we started dating, but he never took a step forward and got himself a girlfriend. It made me hope, thinking that he wanted to be with me again, but when he made no move, it came clear that all my thoughts were just a fantasy.

"Sorry for last night," even though I tried to sound lighthearted, my throat felt like it was sandpaper, "You know how I am with alcohol."

He doesn't because I never really drank except for a few sips here and there. I started to do it in senior year, weeks leading to our separation.

"I was surprised," he told me and I was aware how much I was surrounded by people with differing accents. Although Uncle Levi didn't talk like how everybody in this country does, his use of the slang and language were there and there was a tinge of influence coming from Aunt Janine with his manner of speech. This was home, this was the accent I grew up on, "I mean, Sienna Clark called me, I thought I was dreaming."

You and I both.

"I heard you're in England now," he brought up, "I never thought you would be leaving the country."

I never thought of it as well. I assumed back then during junior year that we would be attending the same college, it was a norm for high school sweethearts to think so. It didn't cross my mind the possibility of us splitting, resulting in me writing a book in my desperation to get him out of my head, and the lack of inspiration during my gap year.