Oh god, how I'm
dying
here!
Every fraction of a second during the flight and drive back here, I couldn't stop thinking about Sandra. Even now, moving away from the theater
and
her, I really can't process a single thought that doesn't include her in it somehow. I look down at my phone, my thumb hovering over the call button for her number as I brawl with my potent urge to either phone her or tell the taxi driver to do a one-eighty immediately and race back towards her. Honestly, I don't know why I believed I could handle seeing her again without trying to make my presence known. I bought the largest bouquet of flowers ever created for Christ's sake! Maybe I didn't even think at all. All I can say right now is that I need to get back home as soon as possible and ponder over how best to approach her.
Without her killing me on the spot that is.
I sigh from exhaustion, my mind automatically starting to replay the events of the last few hours. Ever since I started the trip back here I had been making furious calls to the agent who sold me the house last time. Apparently, since I didn't officially sign the place away it's still mine, so that was a bit of a lucky break. Same thing with the car, so all that was left for me to deal with was Sandra herself. I figured that giving her a warning was better than just popping up at her place unannounced but after trying her phone and hearing it go to voicemail I realized that she must've been preparing for her recital, and that's when the uncontrollable desire to see her bloomed into a raging monster and I knew what to do. As soon as the plane landed I somehow fortunately found the fastest cab and virtually soared to the theater but stopped at a flower shop on the way. Yeah, getting her those poppies may have been too grand a gesture but I just felt like they needed to reflect how sorry I was, even if they were only a twentieth of it. I didn't, and
still
don't give a shit whether they'll be viewed either as a gift or a peace offering or a notice—I just had to let her know I was still there for her.
And then the real trouble began. When I arrived at the theater I wondered how on earth I was going to manage to smuggle the gigantic bouquet to her without being seen from a mile away but as soon as I stepped out of the car a guy rushed up to me, greeted me cheerily, and asked whose flowers they were. And then they were out of my hands—literally and metaphorically—so then I rushed inside and somehow succeeded in finding a free seat on the balcony right at the back which shrouded me in darkness brilliantly whilst also giving me a good view of the stage, therefore of Sandra.
Just a minute later, the chitchat around the whole theater died down just as the curtains rolled open, and I remember my whole body tensing whilst relaxing all at once when my eyes landed on her. She was nothing short of ethereal and spectacular, majestic and gentle, powerful and perfect. She glowed and glittered in the spotlights like a gem, set apart from the rest by the pinkish hue of her attire which brought out the color in her skin superbly. Her body seemed to be in its peak form, curvy, lean, athletic, strong. I should know—I spent so much time on it that it virtually feels like my own. She didn't move for the first couple of minutes, absolutely still and composed, her intense blue eyes blasting into my brain despite the great distance between us, and my heart squeezed painfully at the devastatingly stunning sight of her.
Then the music swelled and she began to dance, and the entire place truly came alive. She performed all the moves she had shown me before, a few of them modified in some way, but she did it with so much finesse and expertise that she might as well have been doing the dance for years. I could feel her incredible passion, her dedication, her energy persistently crashing into me, willing me to fall in love with everything she did without hesitation. Her body spoke for her with every fluid leisured motion to lively quick moves. She was in her own realm, but so were we as we eagerly followed her as she travelled the lands with great ambition and excitement, knowing how nothing could stop her, even for a fraction of a split second. She was—
is
—an inferno that could blaze on for ages.
An inferno that I love to watch burn.
When she finally stilled, I swear I was the first to shoot up to my feet and clap like a mad monkey. Everyone else followed suit, cheering for the astounding performance, and when I saw her smile that earth-shattering smile I nearly lost it.
It took a long damn moment for me to stop applauding even after the curtains were closed. Hell, I think I was the last one to stop so yeah, I made the right call to wait and prepare myself for whenever we'll meet again. I don't want to make myself look like a complete fool in front of her.
Now, the question of how and when we'll meet rages brightly in my mind. I know that she'll most likely freak after seeing the flowers then missed call and will beyond
doubt
put a grindstone to good use but I really don't fucking care. Everything in my body is just influencing me to confess everything to her: my father, the blackmail, my stupid decision to leave her in the dark.
Everything.
Maybe, just
maybe
, she won't want to chop my head off when I do.
How a person can only hope sometimes.
The cab slows down when the gate of the first place I could comfortably call home ever since I was a kid looms up, and I'm so glad that I'm only minutes away from her again. After paying the driver, I punch in the code to unlock the side gate and walk towards the mansion. Its silhouette towers in the darkness like a lonely sentry that guards nothing, mirroring the aloneness and gloom I still feel. Unlocking the front door and pushing it open, the interior is the same, dark and foreboding. It's as if everything that Sandra touched is now sad and useless, me being the worst case of course. It's as if the sun never rose again when I left her and I don't know what's scarier; not being able to find a single streak of sunlight at all when I search for it or being burned to ashes once I find it.
I let out a long breath, totally drained. I need to catch some sleep right now. The jet lag from the flight is not helping my mood right now. I need to be as positive as possible if I'm going to need all the willpower the world can grant me to see Sandra face-to-face. I head up the stairs to my room, dumping my suitcase on the floor beside the bed and then fish out my bathroom items. I brush my teeth and take a quick shower, and it has to be real quick because my wayward mind is starting to recollect the number of times we had sex in this very stall.
Damn
! I'm really such a lost puppy without her. Done, I slip under the bedcovers naked and shut my eyes, allowing all of the fatigue to take over my body.
But the intercom decides to ruin my chance at a good night's sleep when it buzzes with a vengeance.
Who the fucking
hell
would be visiting me not only at this time of night but so fucking
soon
, in the same day that I've returned? It makes no damn sense, and if whoever woke me up doesn't have a good reason as to why I'll go bat-shit crazy.
Flinging the covers aside, I hunt then put on a pair of sweatpants before stomping down the stairs to the front door, grumbling the whole way. Pressing a button, I say into the intercom, "Who is this?"
"Open the gate."
Every single object freezes in the entire galaxy when I hear those three words. She is here.
She
is here.
She
is
here
. That's all I can register as I stare at the intercom with total bewilderment and panic.
Fuck
! Is this really happening? Is this a new dream that I'm having that will plague me until I see her again? I'm so lost; I don't know what to do.
"Open the goddamn gate, Shawn!" Sandra yells, causing me to jump and do as she says.
Unlocking the door, I swing it open and watch as her car comes up the driveway, wishing I could faint or have a seizure or just do
something
right now. I'm not ready for the talk we're about to have, but I've little choice in the matter when she stops in front of the house and steps out. I instantly go brain-dead when my eyes land on her body, still finding her good-looking despite the deadly scowl on her face, and I wish I had ignored the intercom.
Shit, shit! Fucking
shit
!
"Sandra..." is all I can whisper out as she approaches me, shock and deep fear zipping throughout my entire body, temporarily paralyzing me and rooting me to the spot.
"What the fucking
hell
are you
doing
?!" she screams, the power of her fury basically scorching me. "Are you really out of your fucking
mind
?! Why did you come to the recital? Why did you give me those damn flowers? Why did you just think it was okay for you to make contact after ditching me for nearly two weeks? Fucking
why
?!"
