Chapter 9
Heavy rain and thunder wake me and I reach for my bedside clock. Six-thirty-five in the morning. I slowly pull myself out of bed and head for the living room, my thoughts always on Jonathan. I find the comforter neatly folded and tucked away on the sofa and the apartment eerily silent. I walk toward the bathroom but he’s not here either. Or in the kitchen and I feel I’ve lost him even before I see the small paper left on the table. His cursive handwriting is all that’s left of him and in just a few words, my heart breaks anew.
I need some time for myself.
A deep sigh leaves my lips as I reach for the nearest chair and fall into it. What did I expect?
That he’d willingly be a part of this debauchery and still think the same of me?
The rest of the day goes by in a haze of me crying, swearing, and breaking things and then night comes and I replay everything that’s happened again and again until I have no tears left in me, and no excuse for the miserable human being I’ve become. All I can think about is him.
Where he’s gone. How he is. If he hates me like I hate myself. If he’ll ever come back to me.
Hours turn into days and I sink deeper into despair, cursing Sebastian and the assault and my wicked self for agreeing to all this when I knew it would probably ruin us.
It’s a chilly evening when I see him again. Sitting alone in a nearby cafe, looking out the shop’s window at the people walking by and my throat tightens. My palms sweat and I know that I should go to him. It’s been too long. I need to talk to him even if he doesn’t want to speak with me.
I slowly walk toward him, and when he sees me there is no smile on his face. Just a deep frown followed by a hard swallow. He knows what I want. And I know too. It’s him. It’s always been him. And I will fight to get him back, however hard it may be or however long it takes. I did this to us. And now I must find a way to undo it.
“Hey,” I whisper, standing opposite him. “Mind if I join you?”
He simply shrugs and I plop myself down, wanting desperately for him to look at me.
“I’ve missed you, J. Been worried sick.”
He scratches his beard, his gaze fixed on the waiter holding a tray full of food and drinks.
“Can you just look at me, please, Jonathan? This is hard for me, too, baby.”
When he finally turns to face me, hurt is painted across his handsome features. “I had to leave, Miranda. I couldn’t stay after what happened.” He speaks softly and I reach out to take his hand in mine.
He allows the contact, giving me a glimmer of hope that I still have a chance to win him back. “They are both in custody, awaiting trial, have you heard? Your stepbrother kept his word.”
“I know, baby. Sebastian called to tell me himself. It wasn’t what I expected but I’m glad he turned them over to the police.”
“Hmm, I bet he did,” he says, his eyes wandering off again. “Have you seen him after that night?”
“I had no reason to. I never want to see him again for that matter, J. He’s the reason we are going through this right now.” Anger laces my tone at his assumption that I would ever want to be around my stepbrother again.
“Is he, really, Miranda? Or was he the one who brought the truth to light?”
“What are you talking about?” I whisper, my anger turning to anxiety.
“Maybe it was all a mistake. Maybe you and I can never be together this way. I hated how he humiliated you. I can’t forgive myself for allowing that to happen.”
A sigh leaves me and that glimmer of hope shines through again. “Baby, I tried to prepare you for the way he would behave. Even though I know nothing I said could have truly gotten you ready for that moment.”
“It wouldn’t have helped,” he concedes before signaling for the waiter. “Sebastian was intent on breaking us apart.”
“Has he succeeded?” I ask but the waiter arrives, interrupting our moment.
J orders coffee for me, then pulls his hand away and his warmth leaves me. “I don’t know, Miranda. I can’t say yet.”
“Jonathan, please, baby. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner that he and I had a past encounter. I never meant to hide that from you. I was ashamed that I was tricked into that situation. Tell me what I can do and I’ll do it. Anything at all.”
He cranes his neck from side to side, then meets my eyes. “There’s nothing you can do,” he says and my heart sinks again.
I hazard another question, thinking it might help alleviate the stress. “Will you come back to the apartment at least?”
“I might. But not today. I can’t yet...”
The coffee arrives and I take a long sip to wet my parched throat. “I see.”
His eyes wander off again and I feel like I’ve just thrown a tiny rock into a vast ocean. There is no ripple. Just sadness and a deep, painful void that may never be filled. He stands to leave a while later, whispering, “Take care of yourself, Miranda,” and I’ve never felt as empty or hollow inside as I do now.