“I must be really in love with you to let you call me idiot.” He says looking at his glass in his hands.
I blink at him a couple of times, shocked by his words.
“Besides, anyone who has the pleasure of kissing your lips has to brag it with whoever they can. You can't blame me.”
“Whatever, I wanted to keep my promise to you and tell you my story. You don't have to come if you don't want to, I get it. I won’t get mad.”
“No, you can't get mad, unless you are a sadist who likes to see people suffer.” I can see the regret in his face the moment he utters those bitter words.
I get up of my chair to leave, but before I do, I decide to say something else. I rest my knuckles on his desk and he follows me with a stare.
“I am sorry to cause you pain, believe me, if I could erase it, I would, but my heart is elsewhere.”
“I know, stop being so melodramatic,” he gets up from his chair and walks to me.
“Can I at least hug you, or is your melodramatic heart going to make a scene?”
“You can.” I answer with a smile.
Rage's hug is the strangest hug I've ever experienced. It's firm and tender, hot and cold, sad and happy.
I’m enjoying it. I don't want to let go; I feel that if I do, I won't see him again and panic runs through my body.
“Now go, before Bruno comes for you, if he is not breaking down the door by now.”
“I hope not, he promised me he wouldn't intervene.”
Rage kisses me on my cheek and returns to his seat, pretending to be busy all of a sudden.
“Don't forget to close the door on your way out.” He says without looking at me.
“Yes, Rage...” I respond with the tone of ‘bored teenager’
For the first time, he smiles at me, a complete and authentic smile; his smile is dazzling.
He takes the card and puts it in his pocket.
Perhaps there is still some hope for our friendship.
