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I ignore my phone when it vibrates, no doubt with a response from Abraham, and clear my throat.
“I’m fine. Is that everything?” I ask, ready to sit in silence as I finish the day’s work. The girls will be with Peter tonight, and I relish the thought of indulging in a bottle of wine and trashy TV shows. Anything to make me feel like maybe my life isn’t the mess it very clearly is.
“Should be. I’ll make sure they call you before bed,” he tells me before we say goodbye. I drop my head into my hands, too tired to stare at my laptop for another minute. Maybe I should shirk responsibility and take my worthless ass home.
My dreams have been far too vivid as of late and, if I’mbeing honest, they’re more memories than anything else. Restless sleep is all I’m getting now, waking up with a longing in my chest that makes me stare at the ceiling for hours, replaying the years over and over in my mind.
Memories of a life I once lived that was far more vibrant than the drabness of my days now.
All of my yesterdays shine brighter than this moment, and I do everything I can to relive them.
Whether it’s cautiously falling in love with Peter as an experienced woman or losing myself in love with Abraham as a freshly minted young lady.
My yesterdays beckon me, and I dream my way back to them every night.
Present-day Abraham’s text message is still waiting for me, and I pick up my phone, prepared to be annoyed or frustrated, or feel cornered.
Okay. I’m here if you need me. I’m not going anywhere.
Words that I needed in so many instances throughout the years. Words that hurt to read, that make me sad, even as he tries to reassure me.
Words that seep through the cracks in the wall I’ve created specifically to keep him out. All of these emotions swirl inside of me and there is no one else in the world who would understand any of it.
No one except Abraham.
I make the mistake of calling him again.
Before he can say anything, I’m spouting out angry words about his nerve and the audacity he has to even show his face. About how angry I am with him and how it’s a wonder he can sleep at night.
He remains silent all through my spiel, and when I’ve tired out, tears running down my face, he finally speaks.
“I know I was wrong. I know I can’t change any of it. But I am here now,Stellina.”
It’s a nickname I’ve heard many times. Times when he aimed to soothe, to please, to push, to pull. It’s a name I can’t handle hearing right now.
“Please,” I whisper, wiping at my face, not knowing what I’m asking of him.
“Tell me what to do,” he insists, his voice not much louder than my own.
I sniff, shutting my laptop and grabbing my things.
“Meet me at the park across the street from my office.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WORTHY OF LOVE
PAST
Meet me where we had our first date.
I roll my eyes at the message that I received last night, pulling at the thighs of my striped high waist pants that accentuate my long legs. I used to hate being so long, towering over the boys at school.
And then womanhood transformed my shape and I decided to be a fucking goddess instead of the giant the boys used to call me. Maybe I am still a giant to them. But I’ve always looked at it as, if my height bothers them, they’ve probably got a little dick anyway.
I approach the cinema, fidgeting slightly when I see him standing outside, his eyes on his phone. I shove my own phone into my bag and shake my hands to get rid of my nerves just as he glances up, catching the movement with those dark glittering eyes of his.
“You don’t need to be nervous,” he calls out, tucking his phone into his pocket. I admire the way he wears casual wear, the navy polo fitting him in a way that shows his physiqueunderneath. Abraham isn’t a bulky man but the appearance of his chest under the fabric of his shirt suggests that he’s in amazing shape. I stop myself from checking out his bare arms, feeling his stare and not wanting to be caught ogling.
