Page 38 of Don’t Forget Me

I had given him the impression that I hated him. Perhaps he wouldn’t realize that I was still under his spell. Hopefully, he wouldn’t acknowledge the way I stuttered whenever he was around, or the way my hands trembled when he sat down next to me, or the beat of my heart whenever I saw him.

I promised myself I would be different, that I wouldn’t remain within the fortress of my enclosure.

Vulnerability didn’t always bring heartache. American researcher, Brene Brown, claimed that vulnerability brought happiness. I was about to find out if her statements were true.

“Fine. I’ll share one poem,” I said.

Ezra turned, a brow quirking upward.

I held up the book before me and began, “I watch as you fight to live a life without me. There is a glass window that stands between us, giving me a clear view of your being, strong as the walls of Jericho.”

“Short and sweet,” he chirped. His lips curved at the corners; he seemed pleased that I had finally shared a piece of my journal. As if he’d been waiting years for this moment. What he didn’t know was that I had been living all these years with anxiety to be this close to him again.

Even if we never rekindled our past relationship, it didn’t matter. It was his person that was significant.

“What has you so tortured?” he questioned.

I examined the difference in his features. He was a man now, no longer a teenage boy. So many years, so much time without him. And still, I asked myself why he decided to lie to me. His glasses shone under the brilliance of the lamps behind the bench. A strand of his raven-black hair fell over his forehead.

Over the past five years, I had fantasized about the outcome of our romance if he had not betrayed me.

A small smile appeared on my face. If only he knew. I simply replied, “A shadow that accompanies me.”

With all of my willpower, I withheld my hand from reaching for his.

“Guess we are still twin souls,” he replied. “Even after all this time.”

The words left me. If I spoke anymore, I would reveal my deepest truths. And I couldn’t take that risk.

“I should go,” I said.

He tilted his chin downward. Gloss covered his eyes as I watched the muscles in his jaw contracting. I grabbed my notebook, my pen, my coffee cup, and stood.

“Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.

“Night,” he replied.

I wished that he would come after me. I closed my eyes, willing him to run and stop me from leaving. When I found myself in the middle of a bustling crowd, I knew he wouldn’t find me.

nineteen

LYSANDRA

5 YEARS AGO

Ezra didn’t seem as obnoxious as I first believed him to be. Last night, my perspective of him changed. It was daring of him to tell me what he thought about me so straightforwardly, but I couldn’t bring myself to be angry with him because it was all true. Just the fact that someone finally understood me, someone finally heard me without me having to say a word, was refreshing.

I was looking forward to seeing him in the lecture hall today. We shared two classes, but only in one did we have the chance to properly converse. I would finally have a friend who understood me. Camille was already a great friend to me, but I found it difficult to explore my wounds with someone who didn’t bear them as well. And something told me that Ezra must have understood my experience from our conversation the other night. Which meant that I wouldn’t be so lonely in this school anymore. Thank God.

As I walked into my history class, I saw him sitting with his friends. I learned that the boy with platinum blonde hair was his best friend, Zack. There was another brunette guy who I heard was called Beckman, but I was still unsure of the other boy’s name.

A false smile was plastered on Ezra’s pale face. How did I know it was fake? Because whenever his other three companions would look away, he would look down at his fidgeting fingers with a gaze full of shame. I wondered what was haunting him.

I sat down in my usual spot. Refocused my attention on pulling out my binder, packet, pens, and books from my pack, acting as if I had not noticed that he hadn’t been sitting next to me. As if it didn’t feel strange to not have him beside me. Would he sit with his friends today? Was last night’s conversation just a game to him? Could he have been speaking to me only because he wanted to win the petty contest between us?

Then, I saw his raven-haired strands move among the classroom as he strode toward the back seats, toward me. My heart began to race wildly as he approached me, and his blue eyes piercing into my heart as he got closer.

“Hello, Guerrera,” he greeted.