Page 56 of One Kiss Isn't Enough
He says we’re coming home.
But this was never my home.
I don’t say “I love you” back. And Bastian doesn’t react when I don’t. That’s what hurts the most. He knew what this would do to us.
And he did it anyway.
CHLOE
We’ve been driving for days now. The snow’s barely slowed us down. The prolonged silence, however, makes every minute seem longer than it is.
The closer we get, the faster the snow falls though. And we’re close now. I know we are. I recognize these streets, even the backroads that have no names.
The air has changed, and it makes my stomach churn harder every time I breathe in.
“So you had a good time then?” I ask Bastian, picking at some barely perceptible fuzz on my sweater. My heart ticks faintly in my chest, almost like it’s afraid to really beat and pump life through me. Instead it’s this timid movement, leaving me counting the seconds until things are right again.
Clearing his throat, he shrugs. The motion draws up his jacket, pulling it tighter around his shoulders as he turns the wheel and the car takes a left down a back alley.
It takes real effort not to close my eyes as we pass the bar. A bar I know so well and wish I didn’t.
Everything is different, yet it’s all painfully familiar.
The sign looks worn and old, but even when I was a child, it looked just the same. Ragged and decrepit. Time’s aged it, but not enough to really change it.
“It was a good week,” he finally answers me, and his answer pulls my gaze from the gutters full of dirty snow to his steely blue eyes. “I’m sorry I had to go so quick and for so long. I missed you though,” he adds with a warmth in his voice that travels straight to my veins.
He’s my drug. A living, breathing drug. He’s been gone a little over a week, leaving me all the way across the country to come back here. Now, I’m joining him, which is a nightmare come true for me.
“I missed you too,” I admit although the words come out strangled still and I have to rip my eyes away to stare back out the window.
As if beat-up houses and barren streets were something I’d ever want to look at.
This particular road has stayed with me all my life. As the disquiet forces me to readjust in my seat, I ask Sebastian again, “Are you sure we should be here?”
Tick, tick, goes my heart, then a pause. My heart refuses to do anything at all, leaving a chill to travel down my arms as we pass Dixon Street, and Sebastian gives me a pointed look. We grew up on the same street, this street, but we’ve never lived in the same world.
I don’t know how I fooled myself into thinking running away from here would change that.
“I know this is sudden…” He trails off and reaches his hand for mine, but I’m already crossing my arms so I pretend not to see it.
I swallow my response along with the regret from saying anything at all.
He can comfort me, but he’s ignoring the flashing red light warning that this is exactly what we shouldn’t be doing. I don’t want comfort in that. He can keep it for himself.
“Never mind,” I whisper and my warm breath fogs the window.
As the car moves over a speed bump and then a pothole in the old road, I jostle with it, passively letting the movement take me how it wants.
“How are you feeling?” Bastian’s voice is low and apologetic, yet strong. He’s always strong. Never faltering, never needing to lean on me.
It should be a blessing, but it feels like a curse.
“Second trimester is worlds better,” I tell him and breathe in deep, feeling my shoulders stretch and rise before settling back down against the heated seat. “And I love this car,” I comment.
“Smooth ride, huh?” he says just as we go over another pothole and I have to let out a small laugh at his dry humor and irony.
The second of ease between us is spoiled when we drive past our old high school, filled with haunted memories.