WEEK 71: If you could fly, would you?

Prompted by: Tiara “Kikyo” Giles

The crazy author says: So much for ending this storyline, eh? 😅

“Are you insane?” My question vibrates with rage. Every part of me is vibrating with rage. “I told you it’s over between us.”

“No,” he groans. “It’s not over.”

I sigh in exasperation, “Just get up, will you?”

He doesn’t. Planting his hands down on the sticky, disgusting floor, Trace bows at my feet. He fucking bows.

And damn it all, but I almost reach for him.

Almost.

Instead, I resist the urge because I know I’ll get burned. I fight my instincts because I know he’ll scorch me. He always does.

“Tell me how to fix this, Gia.”

“You can’t.”

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

God, he makes me furious. “Did you even hear what I said?”

Obviously, not. “I’ll do anything.”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

He makes a choking noise. It sounds like a, “Why?”

I’m not a liar. I dish out the cold, hard truth, “This hurts me, Trace. You’re hurting me.”

His shoulders slump. He seems to fold in on himself. “I’m sorry.”

I believe him. I really do. That’s never been the issue. “I know you are.” Even if he’s complete shit at apologizing.

“Then give me another chance.”

I shake my head. “No more chances.”

“Then leave.” Slamming a fist into the floor, his voice cracks, “You wanna fly? Then do it, but you’d better fucking hurry.”

I crack too. My ribcage. My heart. My soul. Everything cracks. Hairline fractures, invisible to the naked eye. Impossible to mend in this lifetime or the next.

Life is such a bastard.

Too long to remember the good. Too short to forget the bad. Too painful to dwell on the firsts.

And it’s all about the firsts.

I was five the first time we met. The first time I found my person. The first time he asked me, “If you could fly, would you?”

I was eighteen the first time I understood what he meant. The first time he touched me. The first time I swore not to run.

The first time I promised forever.

Now I’m breaking that promise. I’m dishonoring my vow. I’m shortening forever into something manageable. Something I can survive. Something that won’t destroy me.

At last, he stands. Blood is dripping from his knuckles. Taking one step forward, followed by two steps back, he growls, “Go before I stop you.”

And I do.

I sidestep around the only man I’ve ever loved.

For the first time, I choose to leave when he’s begged me to stay.

And true to his word, he lets me go.