He lifts the half charred, half soaked book in his hands.
I glance at it, chest aching, utterly devastated that it’s now just another ruined piece of my history, our history. Tears threaten, and I sniff them back as I gather my purse.
“It’s just a book, Cecelia.”
But it’s not, it’s the last piece of me that clung to hope. It’s more than a simple possession, and he knows it. Finally, I lift my eyes to his, fire and water collide, and in them, I see those days we spent in his enemy’s house. The days and hours we talked, laughed, fought, fucked, and made love while he whispered things to me that made me breathe differently. “Yeah, it’s nothing, right?”
“Oh my God, are you okay?” My waitress intercepts as she dips to gather the dishes from the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” I say softly, my eyes fixed on Tobias. My words meant for him. He absorbs them. “J’espère que je pourrais…” I wish I could be…
“Be what?” Tobias asks softly, his words wrapping around my heart, the gentleness in his gaze stealing my breath.
I know Alicia is watching our exchange, but I refuse to look away.
The waitress stands after collecting some of the mess from the floor. “I’ll get you a new cloth, wine, dinner,” she laughs softly, “sorry, I can’t do anything about the book.”
“That’s not necessary. And to be honest, the mini-series
was better,” I joke, a shitty attempt at masking my pain, but the shake in my voice makes it clear, “and I was just leaving.”
She looks at Tobias, her eyes widening as she drinks him in.
He’s beautiful, isn’t he? He’s my thorn, and with him, I sang the sweetest song.
“And losing him,” I say aloud finishing the thought, taken fully by the seconds that pass, and he lets me in, truly lets me in, his gaze just as filled with longing, with our shared history. He remembers. He remembers us. He remembers everything.
“Pourquoi la vie est-elle si cruelle?” Why is life so cruel? I ask him, my eyes glazing.
“Is that French?” My oblivious waitress asks busy with her task of trying, in vain, to right everything in my tilted world, “It’s beautiful.”
“How much do I owe? Because I don’t think I can afford to pay much more,” I ask somberly, addressing the man in front of me.
“Nothing, honey. I’ll take care of it. You didn’t eat.”
Tobias swallows, clear conflicted emotion in his eyes as I open my purse and place some cash on the newly covered table, my gaze still locked on his.
“I’ll get your change.” She says, taking the offered cash and glancing between us, her face sobering as we stare off into our past.
I shake my head. “All yours.”
She thanks me and leaves us standing and staring. And that’s what we do as the seconds pass, getting our first good look at each other as the haze of hurts we’ve been harboring finally clears and for the first time, see the other past it.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come, but I just wanted to see…” A lone tear slides down my cheek as I fail to gather myself and shake my head. I glance down at the book and fold his fingers around the charred pages. I give a self-deprecating laugh as tears cloud my vision again, and I admit my greatest truth.
“Je suppose que je serai toujours la fille qui pleure à la lune.” I guess I’ll always be the girl crying for the moon.”
Tobias is still standing at my deserted table with the book in his hand when I push out of the doors and into the freezing wind.
I shoot up in bed, my latest dream leaving me exhausted as my limbs protest, remaining heavy with sleep. Attempting to clear the haze, I see the tell-tale double flash of lightning out of the French doors.
The thunder must have woke me.
Breaths evening out, I try to remember the dream and am thankful when I come up empty. But the air around me, the heat in my cheeks, the fast breaths coming from me make it clear it wasn’t harmless.
My dreams seldom are. I’ve failed in every way to free myself of them.
Pound. Pound. Pound.