Tomorrow, I’d forget the man who shattered me to save me.
two weeks later
fifty-three
. . .
Remo– 36 years old
It’ should’ve been easy. I’d walked away from women before, left them with nothing but a name they’d dare not to call again. But Ishika, she wasn’t like them, she was something more. Like a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding, demanding my attention, an injury I usually overlooked without thought. Not her though. I couldn’t ignore her.
Two weeks had passed since I sat in her driveway, wishing her goodbye, since I’d watched her shed tears for a man like me. I thought her silence would make it easier.
It hadn’t.
Now, from a shadowed corner across her villa, I leaned against my car, cigarette burning between my fingers, the smoke curling into the night, my gaze riveted on her living room window, waiting for what, I didn’t know.
This was fucked up. Not fucking me. I shouldn’t have been there; I shouldn’t have come back. But my restless slumber had returned, the quiet she’d brought into my life disappeared and I fucking craved it.
Through the downstairs window, I could see her. She was sitting on the ledge, speaking to someone I couldn’t see. Her hair tied in a bun atop her head, the soft light painting her skin a golden bronze, she looked peaceful, content.
Safe.
That should’ve been enough. It wasn’t. I inhaled sharply, the nicotine doing nothing to dull an alien ache in the pit of my stomach. Every instinct in me screamed to cross the street, walk up those steps and let her know I was there, to feel her under me again, to hear her whisper my name as she came, to witness her sweet laugh that made the world brighter. Most of all I needed her defiance, it set me alight in a fucking glorious way I couldn’t describe.
But I shoved it down. She didn’t deserve my enemies knocking on her door. She didn’t need my danger to cloak her vivacity. She was meant for so much more I couldn’t give her.
“Boss?” Gian’s voice broke through the silence. He was instructed to drive and shut the fuck up. “You’re not supposed to be here, remember?” Seemed like he was intent on defying me.
“I’m aware,” I said quietly, having demanded he not bring me here even if I threatened to kill him a few times. Somewhere between the first and the tenth time, he’d relented.
I heard his sigh. “You told her it was over.”
“I did.”
“Then why are you still watching her? Why are you here?”
My jaw tightened. “Because I don’t trust the world not to touch what’s mine,” the words spilled before I could stop myself.
“You love her, don’t you.”
“No.” The lie hung in the air, febrile and unguarded.
I tossed the cigarette, crushing it beneath my shoe. Every second I lingered, I risked breaking my resolve to stay away. Turning my back on her once more, I gripped the door handle, hating that squeeze on my chest.
Get the fuck out of here!
Halfway into the car, a sound stopped my movement. Her laughter.
Soft. Sweet. Genuine.
I slid back out, my eyes finding her immediately. She was on the downstairs balcony now with her back to me. Someone stood in the doorway, someone unfamiliar and clean-cut. He stepped out and it took a second before I recognized the journalist who’d taken her on a date.
“The fuck.” Anger pilfered my stance to stay away. I took a step forward and a vice grip locked onto my arm. I glared down at the hand then up at Gian’s face set in undisguised purpose.
“Fight me if you want but I’m following your instructions to keep you away.”
“Let go,” I gritted.
