Not to the front door.
To the window.
His window.
The one that faces the side yard.
The one that’s level with the ground on his side.
I stand in front of it.
“Cassian.”
Nothing.
My voice comes out smaller than I mean it to.
I try again.
• • •
“Cassian, I know you’re in there.”
Still nothing.
Something breaks open in my chest.
“Please.” My voice cracks on the word. “Please just — talk to me. That’s all. Just tell me what I did. Tell me how to fix it.”
The curtain doesn’t move.
I press my hand against the glass.
“Eight years, Cassian.” My voice is rising. I can hear it happening and I can’t stop it. “Eight years and you can’t even open a window? You can’t even look at me? What did I do that was so bad?”
Nothing.
“I know you’re there.”
Silence.
“You kissed me.” The words tear coming out. “You kissed me twice and now you won’t even — I don’t understand. I don’t understand what I did. I just need you to tell me what I did. Please.”
My voice breaks completely on the last word.
I’m crying.
I didn’t notice it starting.
My face is wet and I’m standing in his side yard with my hand on his window and I’m falling apart and I don’t even care anymore.
“Please,” I say again.
Quieter.
Almost to myself.
“I’m right here. I’m always right here. I’ve always been right here.”
