If he agrees, I will do it.
I will show him that I don't know the way any better than he does. I will let him see how weak I am.
And I will reveal the whole truth to him. I want that, yet the thought makes me so nauseous that I have to hold one of the bicycles for support.
His expression remains blank.
For days, I've been thinking about how to show him that he can trust me before I confess everything to him. Because if he doesn't, he won't believe me. I had practiced how to persuade him to give me a few hours of his time, but every single word now seems to have vanished.
I fiddle with my fingernails, searching for the right beginning. "Do you remember what we dreamed of together?" I ask cautiously. This is the start of my plan, the beginning of something that will be more than just empty words he doesn't want to hear.
Again, his muscles tense. He exhales a strained breath, his gaze wandering to the park landscape behind me.
I raise my hand, wanting to place it on his chest, but I immediately let it fall again. "There was so much we wanted to experience together. We wanted to dance and live, and in every second, we carried the hope that it would be just like that."
I look at him expectantly. His eyes become sad.
"This life isn't lost," I continue with a hoarse voice, uncertain how much fighting spirit is appropriate now. Because the way Maxime crosses his arms in front of his chest, I'm not sure.
"That's not what this is about," he spits out. "And even if you could bring it back, it wouldn't change anything."
I lower my gaze to our memory chest. "Yes, I can," I reply. "Just give me this one day, and I will prove it to you."
Was that right? Or should I have admitted that I don't know if I can do it? That my biggest fear is that this will fail, but I still want to try?
A weary snort escapes his lips. "What will that accomplish?"
I reach out my hand toward him. "Just trust me this one last time."
"Trust?" He spits the word out with disgust, anger, and resistance in his gaze. "You don't even know what that means."
I deserve that, yet I can't let it pass like that. I want to grab his hand, but I hold back. "It's your decision," I say with a pounding heart.
He looks at me as if frozen in place. For seconds that feel like an eternity, the world seems to stand still, and I can only guess at the storm raging within him. Does he understand the true meaning behind my words?
I wait and hope. Nothing more.
He has the control.
I don't nod in encouragement, keeping my fingers still and my legs the same. Nothing has ever been so difficult for me.
"There's nothing you could do," he says finally, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
We loved each other so endlessly, and I, for one, still feel that love. Does he really have no more feelings for me?
Wistfully, I pucker my lips into a smile. "What if I do?" It feels strange to show my insecurity. But at the same time, something about it is liberating.
"Just this one day, that's all I want," I take a deep breath. If he denies it again now, I'll accept it.
He shakes his head, his expression revealing an inner conflict that he can barely handle.
It takes what feels like half an eternity, then he glances at his wristwatch. "I'll give you three hours, and that's only on one condition. Afterward, you leave me in peace for good," he says with a hoarse voice.
