wanderlust (edited)

Chapter Fifteen: A Nighttime Confrontation

Chapter Fifteen

A Nighttime Confrontation

This is exactly the dream I'd had just a few nights before. Is this some kind of sick joke? What is James doing here?

Nevertheless, butterflies explode in my stomach as I see him standing, drenched, rain pouring behind him. I remember everything that has happened these past few weeks. How can you fall in love with someone, then have them rip your heart into shreds so quickly? I am so confused about everything.

"What are you doing here?" I demand, proud that my words stay intact and don't fall apart as they leave my lips.

"I needed to see you." James replies. His dark hair is matted up on his head, and his clear blue eyes pierced me even in the night.

How is it that when you dream of a moment for so long and it finally happens, you have no idea what to do? It was sick that I'd always imagined a man pining for my attention and waiting in the pouring rain for me. Now James is here, and he is doing such as that. And I have no words.

"Tara?" He starts to step closer to me.

"I can't." I blurt out, "I just can't deal with you right now."

"Mickey was a mistake—"

"Yeah, she was. Maybe, James, maybe I could've forgiven you for that. But your little 'Oh it's just Tara'? Do you know how bad that hurt me?" I confront him. I am being strong, for once. I'm not afraid of my mind.

James's pathetic excuse is mumbled and grossly overrated, as I suddenly have an epiphany.

Some people are meant to be in your life for a reason. They're meant to make you laugh and touch you in so many different ways because of so many different causes. James was one of those people. He helped me to grow strong and realize that the only thing that was holding myself back from living my life was me.

Through these trials that he'd put me through, I'd grown stronger. I'd learned how to step up and speak for myself. To never underestimate the power of a few spoken words. That no one is perfect, no matter how much you've built them up.

James taught me how to grow up. Not intentionally, of course, but through every kiss, every whisper, every word that may or may not have been truthful, I'd learned to put the past behind.

I need to focus on me and now.

There is a whole life ahead of me and a whole world to see.

"James." I interrupt in the midst of his blubbering.

"Yeah, Tare?"

I reach out and grip the back of his neck, and slowly meet my lips with his.

It is so slow, and I try to convey everything I want to say within those few moments.

When I pull away, he looks desperately confused.

"Thank you for everything you've done for me," I smile, pulling myself back into my house, "but I'm afraid we can't be together anymore. I need you to go, James."

"But Tare—"

I never hear the last of his words.

I close the door, finally, finally, doing something for myself.