I hate. Hate. Hate.
“What is it,mo run? You look pretty keen for violence,” he says, sounding worried.
I sigh, my heart deflating. “Just thinking about you with someone else.”
“That’s what you’re thinking when I am literally with you?” he asks, incredulity thick in his voice.
“It sounded more rational in my head.”
His palm envelops mine before he brings it to his chest. “Your jealousy is cute, but I don’t see other women. I don’t want other women. I won’t be with someone else. Only ever you.” He says it like an oath.
“You still love me?”
He chuckles, but his tone is etched in stone. “I’ll never stop loving you.”
The assurance should soothe me, but we’re together, and he gave me no reason to doubt his faithfulness. I picture that happening in the future, and I can’t change the outcome. I won’t have a say in that, and there’s no reason to be jealous.
“I never spent an entire night with someone else, Viviana.”
I wiggle my brows, going for some much-needed levity. “I’m the only one? Lucky me.”
His eyes bore into mine, tugging at my heartstrings. “I wouldn’t consider that luck.”
I swat his arm, giggling, but it sounds dim, echoing with defeat. The cloud of knowledge hangs over my head, pouring cold realization on me.
I don’t want to talk about our impending separation, but I must ease him into it.
“I have to go home next weekend.”
He nods, a noncommittal sound rumbling in his chest.
I stare at him as if he grew a new head. His simply agreeing without negotiating takes me by surprise.
Just to be sure, I palm his forehead, checking for a fever. “Are you all right? The last time I said we can’t meet on a weekend, you weren’t as agreeable.”
“I can be reasonable.”
I pin him with a knowing look. “Right.”
He jerks his chin at me, staring at me with sharp conviction. “And you’re nervous. Why?”
I open and close my mouth, but I don’t want to ruin our togetherness.
Our last weekend together.
The goodbye hangs heavy over my head just like clouds clashing in the sky, announcing the impending storm. Spring is unpredictable like that, and May can’t decide whether to linger longer or make room for summer.
“Just nostalgic, I guess. We’ve been together for six months. My first relationship.”
“And last.”
I shake my head at him, wishing for something to happen. Wishing for the impossible.
“Thank you for loving me,” I say, raw emotion clinging to my voice.
He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses the inside of my palm. “I was born to love you,mo run. I’ve searched for meaning all my life and found it in your eyes.”
This man and his words, in and out of bed, wreck my composure, make me feel beyond loved and cherished but adored. What a dreamy feeling I am convinced I will never experience again.
