“Then why do we keep doing this to ourselves? I can’t move on. You can’t move on. I can’t allow myself to even be open to dating because of the hold you have on me and my heart andeverything.” Saint and I lost our virginities to each other when we were sixteen and seventeen, respectively. That was seven years ago, and neither of us has been with anyone since. There’s never been anyone else for me buther. Even if this ends tonight, I imagine it would take another seven years for me to fully get her out of my system to be able to even think about another woman like that. I thought she felt the same, but just the mere mention of dating makes me believe that the end of this might be easier on her than it is on me.
Jealousy spikes in my veins, and the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “So this is about other men?”
“It’s about wanting something past a secret relationship that I can only have behind closed doors. And if you can’t see that I deserve better than this, then you’re selfish as hell,” she snaps. While I’m not used to this commentary from her, I can’t blame her for feeling this way.
I take a step into her personal space and box her against her counter. “You’re right, I am fucking selfish when it comes to you.” I close my eyes, trying to rein in the previous fire that was coursing through me over losing the love of my life. I should be used to it, after having this argument over and over, but something about this time feels different. The distance betweenus is already forming in my bones, and I wish I knew how to fix it.
“Not only do we not see each other much, but we barely even spoke this past year,” she continues.
I rub my jaw, scratching the longer-than-usual hair after not shaving for two days, as I recall the few times we’ve spoken over the past year. It wasn’t much, but I had tried to intermittently check in on her even though I put an entire country between us to avoid falling back into old habits. We live on opposite coasts, and I can’t count the number of times I contemplated moving my architecture firm to New York just to be closer to her.
But I couldn’t because no one would understand.
Hell, I barely understand.
Well, that’s a lie.
I understand her and us and why and how we bonded the way we did. It was somethingno one elsecould understand. Not even the woman who raised us both, my mother and Saint’s stepmother, turned guardian after her father died right before our eyes when we were barely old enough to understand the concept of death.
“I know. Sometimes it’s just too hard talking to you… knowing what we can’t be,” I explain. I thought about her every day. There were days when it was constant and so intense that I could barely focus on anything else. And the moments when she wasn’t, thoughts of her were never far away, but I didn’t reach out as much anymore. I don’t know when we went from talking all the time to barely a few times a month. But somehow, the time between conversations grew longer, and the times we did talk often felt awkward and forced.
I hated it.
She lowers her head and nods slowly, and I can tell she’s trying to hold back tears. “I know. I really thought… we’d eventually make it work.” She sniffles. “I can’t believe this is it.”
I don’t know what to say because admitting that this is the end goes against every thought I’ve ever had regarding the woman in front of me. So I go with the easiest words I can think of that encompass everything. “I love you, Saint. Always have and I always will.”
“I know that too,” she whispers. I can tell she wants to say she loves me, too, but she doesn’t, and I think about that as I leave her apartment. I think about it on the ride to the airport and throughout the five-and-a-half-hour flight home. I think about it when I text her that I made it, and she does nothing but heart the message. I think about it for the next week. I think about whether this was really the end and if Halle and I were really done this time.
It isn’t until about a month later that I get a text from her with the four words I’ve been hearing out of Halle’s mouth since we were kids.
Saint: I love you too.
And instantly, we’re right back in it.
One year later
Halle: 24 years old
Sebastian: 25 years old
My God, she is so fucking beautiful.
I am trying my best not to fixate on that as she walks toward me. But I can’t help it. I drag my eyes all over Halle St. John as I stand from the table I’m sitting at and hold my hands out in preparation for her to launch herself into my arms like she always does. She’s wrapped around me instantly, and her sweet scent fucks with every single one of my senses as soon as she’s in my arms.
“Saint.” I let the word out like it’s my salvation because, to be honest, most days it is.Sheis. I envelop her in a polite hug, letting my arms wrap around her back even though I want nothing more than for her to try to climb my body like she’s been known to do and wrap her legs around my waist. My hands itch to grip her ass or her hips so she’ll do just that, but I refrain because I’m not sure where we stand.
“Wild,” she whispers against my neck like I’m that same salvation. She drags her lips up my neck before she pulls back and looks at me. Her big brown eyes are glossy with tears, and my heart squeezes in my chest like it always does when I see Halle tear up. I fucking hate watching her cry. Ever since wewere kids, it was the thing I did everything in my power to prevent. She blinks them away and gazes up at me through her long lashes like she’s waiting for me to make the next move.
She moves her lips a little closer to mine, and I want to back away because the last time we saw each other, we said we shouldn’t be doing this anymore.
But I don’t move, and when her lips brush lightly against mine, I allow myself one second to indulge in her.In us.In the fantasy that we aren’t who we are in each other's lives, and that we could be together every day, and not just for a few days in October every year. I pull back while keeping her in my arms, not wanting us to get too far into this fantasy because it only takes a moment for us to revert to our old ways.
But…
I also haven’t seen her in a year, and the way she feels against me reminds me of home and love and lust all rolled into one memory. She pushes her face against my chest, keeping her arms still wrapped tightly around me.
“I’ve missed you so much, and I’m so sorry,” she whispers against my chest. “The things I said…” Her words remind me of the last time we were together and of the same back-and-forth we’ve been having foryears, both with ourselves and each other.
