by Monica James
The only reason I know Roman still lives here is because of Freud, but not for long. He’s leaving, and he’s leaving without saying goodbye. The vacant space is suddenly like looking into a mirror.
I switch off the lights, each dark room ebbing away at my light. The last room, the kitchen, the room where we shared many laughs, is my last hope. It all seems void, but unlike Roman, I see things through.
This was supposed to represent everything I’ve gained, but instead, it will highlight all I’ve lost. Digging into my back pocket, I unfold the picture I printed of Roman and me. The Big Tony’s pizza magnet has finally come into use, and I slap it over the picture as I place it dead center on the fridge.
I’ve just broken Roman’s rule of no photos, as all the memories he wishes to store are kept away under lock and key. But seeing as he thought he was easily forgettable, I wanted to show him that what we shared…it was unforgettable.
Staring at the photo, I memorize the pure happiness because I don’t know when or if I’ll ever feel it again. Roman will be angry that I broke his no photo rule, but it seems fitting, considering he’s just broken my heart.
I give Freud one last pat before I switch off the light and lock up. I can’t linger. I need to go. Placing the key where I found it, I amble down the steps and walk calmly to the idling cab. The middle-aged driver peers up from his phone, surprised I returned.
Opening the door, I sit silently in the back seat. The driver waits for me to speak, but he doesn’t press. I need a moment to process what I just saw.
“Where to, miss?” the driver asks. He seems like a pleasant gentleman, and on any other day, I would make conversation, but not today.
With eyes still lost in the heavens, I numbly reply, “Manhattan. Please take me home.”
It’s been three days since I fled Strawberry Fields in the dead of night.
During the cab ride back to Manhattan, I emailed June, informing her of my decision. I kept it brief. I texted Zoe, begging she forgive me for just taking off without saying goodbye. I promised I’d see her again. I just didn’t know when. I emailed Dr. Carter and asked if he would oversee the duration of the trials. He agreed.
I then switched my phone off and did the same thing with my mind.
I only woke when the taxi driver pulled up to the curb, and my home, soaring into the Manhattan skyline, came into view. I thought I would be happy to be home, but coming back here is like admitting defeat.
I made my way into the foyer, thankful Pablo, the front desk manager, gave me a spare key. I then rode the elevator ride to my apartment.
When I finally reached my bedroom, I staggered to my bed and slept like the dead. But I can’t sleep forever. Well, not yet anyway.
Once I’m dried and dressed, I brave the mirror above the basin. It’s fogged over from the steam of my scorching shower, but I don’t need to see clearly. I know what my expression holds.
Here’s hoping once I see Dr. Carter tomorrow, that expression can change.
A knock suddenly sounds on the front door. I have no idea who it is.
When I open the door, a whoosh of air leaves me. “Hi, Lola.”
I blink, unsure if she’s really here. “June?”
She nods, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m sorry for turning up announced. May I come in?”
“You want to come inside? My house?” My brain is currently working at half speed.
“Yes, please. If that’s okay with you?” She clenches her small hands around something, and when I finally come to, I see she’s gripping the handle of my suitcase.
“Oh, my god, yes, of course!” I shake my head, remembering my manners. “I’m so sorry. Please, come in.” I step aside, granting her permission to enter, and she doesn’t hesitate. She’s probably afraid I’ll rescind the offer.
As she wheels the suitcase behind her, I quickly shut the door and offer to take it from her. “Thank you for bringing my things. I could have sent for them. I feel awful you came all the way to Manhattan…”
“I didn’t just come here for that.”
I gulp. “Oh.”
“I know I’m being incredibly impolite, but may I trouble you for some coffee?”
Taking a closer look at her, I find her usually composed guise slightly ruffled and heavy with exhaustion. It seems we both could use that coffee.
“It’s no trouble.” Leaving my belongings in the hallway, I make my way into the kitchen.
Keeping my back turned, I busy myself gathering everything I need. I’m taking twice as long as I usually would to gather the courage to ask why she’s here. The barstool slides along the polished tiles, indicating June plans to stay a while.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you at Strawberry Fields.”
I cradle the cup I’ve just reached for out of the cupboard, in fear I’ll drop it. “It’s not your fault, and besides, things did work. It’s a truly remarkable place. I just…I needed to get away. I didn’t feel right staying there any longer.” I don’t elaborate on why.
The silence is heavy with our pensive thoughts.
“You needed to get away from Roman?”
The fine bone china cup rattles against the saucer as I place it down on the counter. “I don’t know what you know…”
“He told me everything,” she reveals, putting my speculation to bed.
“He did?” My brow furrows. “Why would he do that?” I ask, spinning around to look at her.
She suddenly looks so guilty, but I appreciate that she doesn’t break eye contact regardless of her shame. “I’m not here to make excuses for him, but there are things about him…”
“Things about him, what?” I press when she pauses, biting her top lip.
She shakes her head. “It’s not my story to tell.”
“But that’s the problem. He won’t tell me his story, well, not all of it, anyway. He told me about his…” I leave the sentence hanging, unsure if she knows.
But she does. “About his sister?” she forlornly asks, and I nod. “Poor Roman.” I’m left with my mouth hanging open as she buries her face into her cupped palms.
I have no idea what’s going on. Her relationship with Roman seems very personal, but I suppose she has a close relationship with many people, considering the circumstances banding them together.
“I went to his house. Everything is packed up. He’s leaving?”
June sniffs before removing her hands. It appears she knows more than she has let on. “Yes, he is.”
A sharp intake of breath passes through my clenched teeth. “None of this makes any sense.” I run a hand through my hair, gripping it lightly by the roots.
Steepling her fingers over her lips, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Remember I told you Roman wants to save the world? Well, that’s what he’s doing. You’re his world, Lola, and he’s doing this to save you.”
Her admission is bittersweet. I want to believe her, but how can I? He’s leaving. If I were that important to him, he’d tell me where he was going, and he’d say goodbye. “I understand his motives may be chivalrous, but by doing this, he’s…tearing out my heart.” She flinches, and I instantly wish I’d chosen another phrase. “If he wants to save me, then he needs to tell me the truth.”
The coffee is ready. It’s the reprieve I need to get my head around what she just said. I pour some coffee, my mind ricocheting and reeling. I’m his world? How does she know? Until a few days ago, she didn’t even know we were seeing one another, and I use that term loosely. Unless…she’s been privy to Roman’s deepest, darkest secrets all along. But why?
I try my best to remain composed as I pass her, her cup. She unexpectedly reaches out and captures my hand. Her touch is a mother’s caress. “I’m here because I needed to tell you things aren’t always what they seem.”
“I really wish someone would give me a straight answer.” I sigh, feeling more confused than ever.
“I was hoping Roman would.”
&nb
sp; “I wouldn’t hold your breath. He’s most likely long gone by now.”
“Don’t be so sure.” She squeezes my hand before releasing me.
There is an ominous promise behind her words. Once she finishes her coffee, she places the gold-rimmed cup onto the counter and stands. “He’s staying at the Hilton.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Nice to know he’s traveling in style.” I have no idea why she’d think I’d care. It just cements what a downright jerk he is.
“Room 218.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Just in case you wanted to seek out the answers you deserve to know.”
It takes a few moments, but when I realize the reason, I very unladylike splutter on my coffee. “He’s here?” I ask, frantically wiping my chin.
June smiles, the first happy gesture I’ve seen from her all day. “Yes.”
“W-why?”
“You know why.” I can’t speak. I’m too frightened of what I’ll say if I do.
She walks over to my frozen form. Placing her hands on the tops of my shoulders, she levels me with her gentle gaze. “Maybe you’re the one to save him.”
“That seems like a lot of pressure, considering Roman enjoys being a martyr.”
She bursts into a low chuckle. “I can see why he likes you so much.”
Peering upward, I smile. “Thank you, June. For everything.”
“It has been a real honor knowing you, Lola Van Allen. I knew you’d make a difference.” She squeezes my shoulders, tears wet in her eyes. I don’t know what she means, but it’s nice to know I’ve had a small impact on the world.
Releasing me, she smiles, appearing embarrassed to be caught crying. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Anytime.”
With nothing left to say, I walk her to the door, suddenly saddened that this may be the last time I see her. Yet instead of dwelling on the sadness, I rejoice in meeting someone as remarkable as June Carrington. “Goodbye.”
A look of nostalgia overcomes her. “Goodbye, Lola.” She leaves, and my last memory of her will be leaving with a smile on her face.
Once she’s disappeared down the hall, I close the door and lean up against it, processing everything that just happened. June came here to deliver my clothes, but that appeared a ruse to tell me that Roman is in Manhattan. I don’t understand why he’s here, or why she felt the need to tell me. I never took June for cupid, so why would she do what she did? This seems like a lot of effort for one of her staff members.
I allow my mind to wander, and it wanders to the Hilton and room 218.
How dare he come here and expect…expect what? He obviously doesn’t expect anything because he’s not knocking down my door, begging for forgiveness.
June hinted he’s here because of me, but I don’t believe it. What could he possibly want to say he couldn’t tell me days ago? I came home to escape this desolation, but it feels worse somehow.
I must figure this out before I can move on. But how am I supposed to do that?
“Room 218.”
Groaning, I tip my head backward. “Goddammit.” I don’t bother changing or untangling my lopsided bun. If I don’t go right now, I’ll chicken out.
I don’t care that Mrs. Dunned is looking at me like I’ve lost my mind as I run down the hallway without bothering to say hello. All I care about is getting into that elevator and ending this once and for all.
My shoes tear at the carpet, leaving probable footprints in my haste. The elevator doors ding open and I quicken my step, as I’m almost there. Focusing on those doors and nothing else, I bump straight into something, and when I do, I get an uncanny sense of déjà vu.
At first, I’m certain it’s the wall, but that’s impossible, considering I’m standing in the open corridor. That only leaves one other option. I’ve just rudely slammed into someone, which is completely my fault.
“I am so…” The words die in a gargled mess when I peer up and see the striking face of a man who emanates sheer masculinity. The first thing that catches my attention is the vibrancy of his blue-gray eyes. However, this time around, those eyes are weighed down with despair.
My brain, the motherboard of my quivering body, suddenly short-circuits, not believing I’m seeing who I’m seeing. This is surely some scam my mind conjured up to help deal with my loss. But when he speaks, his honeyed, smooth voice brings back memories that never, ever faded, and I know this is real.
“Sorry,” he states, but I don’t know if he’s speaking for me, or if he’s speaking for himself.
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Well, hello to you too.”
I know I’m being rude, but seriously…you’re fucking kidding me. “What are you doing here?”
Someone clears their throat, alerting us to the fact we’re standing in the middle of the hallway, in front of the elevators, nonetheless. When I turn, I see Mrs. Dunned standing behind us, looking far from impressed. She doesn’t mask her disgust as she clearly sizes Roman up. Protection mode kicks in, and I narrow my eyes, a silent warning that if she doesn’t remove that scowl, I’ll remove it for her…with my palm.
I have no idea why she wouldn’t approve of Roman; he fits into her social circle. However, when I look closely and get over my initial shock of seeing him here, I realize he looks like anyone other than the cocky, vibrant doctor I’ve grown to love.
His jeans are ripped at the knee, and he’s opted for a loose-fitting V neck tee. His tousled hair appears as if he’s run his fingers through it, rather than a comb. His scruff is heavier than usual, changing his usual refined look to wayward and angst-ridden.
Roman steps forward, placing his hand against my arm to shift me out of the way. The touch is electric, every nerve ending reverberating in delight. Mrs. Dunned pushes past us, and I have no doubt she’ll be texting my mother, informing her of what she just saw, before she hits the lobby.
Not interested in being the topic of gossip over every New York socialite’s brunch, I shrug out of Roman’s hold. His mouth curves into a bitter smile. This is war.
“What do you want?”
Folding his arms arrogantly over his chest, he radiates pure domination, which ticks me off. How dare he come here unannounced? He ended things, but he’s also the one who can’t seem to leave me alone. “I thought I was ransacked, but apparently, there was nothing worth stealing.”
I arch an apathetic brow. “Is this the last stop on your goodbye tour? If so, I want a refund.” This tit for tat is getting us nowhere, but it feels liberating as I’m no longer sad. I’m angry.
“I’m not leaving.”
“You’re…what?” I scrunch up my nose, confused. “I saw your house, Roman. Unless you suddenly want to slum it, then I dare say you are. And besides, June told me you were. She told me you were in Manhattan.” My sassiness is short-lived.
“June told you? She’s here?”
“Yes,” I reply, my voice small. I hope I haven’t gotten her into trouble. “She came to see me earlier.”
He seems to ponder my admission before he cocks his head to the side. “Where were you going in such a rush? Were you coming to see me?”
I scoff, attempting to play coy as I push my glasses up my nose. “Please, I have better things to do. I was going for a run.” Roman peers down at my ballet flats and summer dress, both brows rising in amused disbelief. “Whatever, it’s none of your business where I was going. You gave up the right to know when you turned into a colossal asshole! Goodbye. Have a nice life.” I spin around, hating that he can flick my emotions in a blink of an eye.
“Lola, Lola, wait!” He latches on to my wrist, stopping me from fleeing, his desperation clear.
“Wait for what? That’s all I’ve been doing…waiting for you to tell me the truth!”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“Well, you thought wrong.”
It’s like staring into a mirror, his pain and
frustration reflecting mine. “I know I don’t deserve it, but all I ask for is five minutes. If you still hate me after that, then I promise I will leave you alone for good.”
“I don’t hate you,” I reply, my rage fading. “I should, but I don’t. How will five minutes undo all the minutes prior?”
He rubs the back of his neck before sweeping his hand upward, mussing up his hair. “Because this time, each minute will carry the truth. I’m ready to tell you everything. I can only hope you still look at me the same once you’ve heard it all.”
My pulse spikes, and my mouth suddenly becomes dry. He’s not being melodramatic. It’s evident he means every single word. I’m suddenly terrified, but pushing that fear away, I nod. It’s a standoff, and I wonder if anyone will come out of this a winner.
“Will you let me explain?”
I have no other choice. I need to know his secrets. With that as my motivation, I turn and walk to my apartment. His heavy footsteps behind me indicate he’s following. I can feel the tension exuding off him, which makes me nervous. He’s usually so calm.
My fingers tremble as I attempt to unlock the door, the keys rattling against the love heart keychain. I take a deep breath and steady myself. If I’m going to do this, then I need to keep cool. It takes two attempts, but I manage to open the door without needing to kick it down.
Tossing my keys onto the entryway table, I make my way into the living room. I fold my arms across my chest, indicating the floor is his. He swallows and begins pacing the room. I survey every rigid step silently, understanding he needs this time to muster the courage to begin.
I want to comfort him, but I don’t. I’ll give him the time he needs.
The air crackles before he abruptly stops pacing and turns his back. And so, his tale begins. “When I bumped into you that first day, I knew you were going to make a splash, but I never thought you’d cause a tsunami. The more time I spent with you, the more I found myself completely drawn to you. And when apart, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.