Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 83(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 83(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
I start sketching with no real image in my mind. Sometimes, I simply let my imagination take over and see what I come up with.
My tears wet the page more than once but each time, I wipe them away and keep going. Would he have ever loved me? Would it have been possible?
Maybe it would have taken a long time. Maybe I would have to be really good. But maybe one day, he’d look at me and say it.
I push back the longing thoughts. No matter how much I hurt right now, things are better this way. The pain is worse the longer you let yourself grow attached. By walking away so early, I saved myself.
“Are you alright, dear?”
I look up from my blurry artwork to see Norah, the Dean from the party tonight. I sniff, embarrassed to be caught like this. I manage a nod and try to smile. But it fails and instead, I start crying harder.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she clucks. She pulls on the chair across from mine and settles in it. She passes me several napkins from the dispenser and waits for me to blot my face.
When I’m done, she gives me a look filled with compassion. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?”
For the first time, I tell someone my whole story. I don’t leave out any of the embarrassing details like being born to a drug addicted mom or always being the kid that couldn’t find her forever home. I talk about reconnecting with my brother who doesn’t even like me.
Finally, I tell her about Ryan and how he’s sweet to me. How he’s felt like my first real friend since I came to Asheville. Then I tell her about the bathroom, but I leave out the sexy parts. I just tell her that he held me and comforted me.
When I’m done over an hour has passed. I feel drained from pouring my heart out but also lighter too. It’s nice to have someone simply listen to everything I say without judgement. Is that what it’s like to have a mom?
“So, about Ryan…tell me again why you left him.”
I wrap my arms around myself as if that will somehow help me hold the broken pieces of my heart together.
“He’ll make me leave,” I whisper. “If I tell him how I feel, he’ll send me away.”
“It’s easier to be the one that walks away first,” Norah summarizes. There’s no judgement in her warm brown gaze. Only understanding and empathy.
I nod, grateful that someone understands why I have to go.
I know that Eric didn’t get it, but he’s never understood me. We probably met too late in life to form any type of sibling bond. It’s another thought that makes me sad. I was so excited when I found him. I’d had this image of having a warm, close bond with someone.
Except I found that bond with Ryan.
“I felt the way you did once,” she says. Her eyes get a distant look in them. “I was overseas in Spain that year.”
“Did you love him?” I ask softly, curious about this woman who has taken time out of her night to comfort a stranger.
She smiles but there’s hurt on her face, too. She finally whispers, “I loved him, but I didn’t know how to say it. So I ran at the end of the summer. I have a good life now, but the memory of my Hugo haunts me. I’ll always wonder what could have been between us.”
“What if he would have left you?” I can’t help the question from bubbling up. As she was talking, I realized walking away from Ryan will always be the biggest regret of my life. No matter what I do or where I go, I’ll always miss him. My heart and body will belong to him as long as I’m breathing.
She gives me a pitying look. “Judging from the way he was looking at you tonight, I’d say you probably broke his heart.”
“I broke his heart,” I whisper the words as the breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh. I broke Ryan’s heart. Sadness surges through me. He’s only ever been good and kind toward me and I ran from him.
“Love is not something to run from, Lacey.” She gives me a patient smile. “It’s something to run to.”
The words fill me with hope. Maybe love isn’t something to fear. Maybe it’s something to cling to. “Do you think he would take me back?”
“I’m sure he’d be willing to hear you out,” she offers.
It’s enough to get me on my feet. “Thank you for this.”
“Thank me by showing up for classes in the fall,” she answers. “You have talent, and you are so very loved. It’s time to stop running.”
I stare at her for a moment, trying to decide if she’s teasing me. There’s only sincerity and kindness on her face.