When he stops, I’m somewhat surprised to see that there isn’t any blood on the ground, rivering from under his killer boots. The boots that just crushed and broke my heart all over again.
Okay.
Okay, I need to relax.
I need to calm down.
I need to take a deep breath and I need to look away from his boots.
I need to look at him. So that I appear strong and calm.
Even so, I can’t.
Ican’tlook at him. Not yet.
So I look at other things.
Things over his shoulders, hisleather-jacket-wearing shoulders.
The jacket that I’m seeing after two years and it takes my breath away for a second.
Because he was wearing it that night.
The night he told me the truth for the first time. The night he told me that everything else up until that point had been a lie.
I’ve had dreams about that jacket in which he breaks my heart over and over again.
I almost wish he was wearing his hoodie.
His sweet-smelling, soft and cozy,whitehoodie. The thing that takes some edge off his sharpness.
But a second later, I’m not even thinking about his hoodie.
I’m thinking about something else. Because my eyes fall on a different bright white thing.
His Mustang.
His baby.
Oh, it’s back.
His baby is back and she looks good.
She looks exactly like she did before I tried to destroy her.
And oh my God, I’m so relieved that I can’t help but say, “Your baby looks good.”
I said that, didn’t I?
I did, yeah, and I would be embarrassed about how breathless I sound about a car but this could be good.
In the sense that I said the first words now and all the break-up movies that I’ve seen — not that we had a break-up because we never had a relationship to begin with — always teach you to say the first words.
To get control of the situation.
To sound breezy.
“She does.”
