The earlier lightness fades; Regina’s right.
Hope’s holding me back.
I’m slowly self-sabotaging with this belief that he’ll come back one day.
I did all this, breaking my own heart in the process.
He whispered a promise to me on a broken breath, but too much time has passed. I doubt his feelings are still there.
It’s completely selfish of me to even have this kind of hope, to even think that he’s as tortured by holding on as I am.
He can’t be, otherwise he wouldn’t have left the country without a word.
My shaky hands grip around my phone, and I open the app. The security cameras at Saint’s dad’s house are the same as they always are. Showing no signs of anyone being home.
The same image I could draw by hand closing my eyes, it’s burned behind my retinas for the last six years.
His father, Malcolm, is still travelling for his company, as far as I know. I don’t know much about Saint’s mom; she passed away when he was young.
Saint’s father moved his business headquarters over to the states shortly after, wanting a fresh start. He never spoke about her, and I believe her death’s the reason a darkness finds itself at home with him.
Malcolm was good friends with my dad when we were growing up, and he even said Saint’s father was hard to track down at times.
It seems his son has adopted those same qualities.
The love I have for him, along with the house still being there, fuels my delusion that one day they’ll return, it’s just a matter ofwhen.
But at which point do you stop torturing yourself?
The ten-year mark?
The fifteenth?
Can love even survive that long, before it drags someone completely under with it?
Even Saint’s old apartment has new people living in it now. I’ve still never stepped foot inside it; the only evidence of me being there was a tear-streaked cheek pressing to the door.
Two years after he left was also the last day I stopped knocking and running away, just to see who answered the door.
The memory still leaves a drop in my stomach every time the strange face would peer down the corridor.
I absentmindedly switch through the perimeter cameras. The grounds are always well maintained, a gardener coming to clean up the area. A part of me desperately wants to get over there whenever I see them, ask them if they can put me in touch. But I always stop.
Maybe Saint doesn’t want me to find him.
He’s twenty-nine now, and the likelihood that he’s probably met someone else is high. He could even have a wife and a family from the time we’ve spent apart.
The images of what could be have my chest constricting, my lungs struggling to take in the thick air at the thought, and a lone tear rolls down my cheek. I swiftly slap it away, dragging in a shaky breath which feels like a blade spearing my heart.
Regina is right.
I can’t keep doing this; this isn’t healthy for me.
I need to really let him go now.
Minutes go by, eventually turning into hours. The house is entirely soundless, all apart from my hollow breathing and struggling sobs I can’t contain anymore.
Each fragment of love and heartbreak I keep bolted down flows through my eyes, every drop laced with regrets.
