“Kat…?” he asks me, and my knees suddenly grow weak.
That voice…these eyes. No, it can’t be him.
Without even thinking about what I’m doing, I take one step back and shut the door on his face, the sound of it closing like a gunshot. I stand there, in the middle of my apartment, staring at the closed door as if I had just seen a ghost.
“You’re not real. Go away,” I say, the words bubbling up to my lips before my brain can filter them.
No, this can’t be happening.
Alexander Reeves?
In here?
Just exactly how much wine did I have for dinner?
“It’s me, Kat,” I hear his voice from the other side, and my knees start shaking.
Slowly, I reach for the door’s handle and turn it, my heart feeling like a hand-grenade inside my chest. For half-a-second, I almost expect for the corridor to be deserted, and for the whole thing to be a hallucination. But no—the moment the door swings open, there he is.
Alexander Reeves, in the flesh.
“Alex?”
“That’s me,” he smiles, and I think back to the last time I saw him this close.
We were…what? Eighteen?
We were good friends, and then he vanished. Just like that—one day he was there, the next he had vanished off the face of the Earth. I tried calling, I went to his parent’s place, but no one knew where the hell he had gone.
He just packed his things and left, almost as if he had never existed in the first place.
A few years later, and I finally saw him again—except he was on TV, smashing a guitar onstage in front of a crowd large enough to fill a stadium. In case you’re wondering what my reaction was, I think I can still find the hole my jaw made when it dropped to the floor.
I mean, I didn’t even know what to think at the time. I had this image of Alexander as a sweet boy, and next thing I knew, he was this tattooed rockstar, a God towering over common mortals.
But he never called.
He never showed up.
I just figured that, with his newfound fame, that he had forgotten all about me. I never forgot about him, though; even though the years passed, my mind insisted on running circles around those memories of so long ago.
Oh, how I pined for that boy!
But he was too gentle, too kind, and he never made a move. And then he vanished.
I thought I’d never see him again, that that door had closed for good.
But now…here he is.
“You fucking asshole!” I find myself saying and, before I can stop my body from moving, my hand has closed into a fist, and I punch him in the chest.
He doesn’t even move, and I think that all I managed to do was hurt my wrist.
“Ouch,” he says, feigning some pain and rubbing his chest, “what was that for?”
“Sorry. I didn’t think.”
Well, that’s a lame excuse, even for me.