Page 202 of Want You

Ten minutes later

It's over. It's actually over. I'm standing. Moving.

Dragging myself toward the line, falling apart inside. My name's not being called. There's no sprinting through the terminal. No dramatic entrance.

No Gio. No nothing. He didn't come. He's not coming. He's not going to come. And I still can't make myself believe it.

My brain is still screaming that this isn't real. That maybe I missed him. That he's outside arguing with security or stuck in traffic or something, anything. But every step I take toward that gate feels like a nail being driven in deeper.

He didn't even say goodbye. I wasn't even worth a goodbye. I leave my family behind as I walk to the queue. They don't say anything. I think they can feel it too, that I'm not here. Not really.

It's finished. And somehow I still can't let go. Because it's Gio. And Gio was supposed to fight…

The plane smells like plastic. Everyone around me is either scrolling on their phones or flipping through safety pamphlets like nothing's wrong.

I'm dying quietly in seat 24A. I sit by the window. Hug my arms tight to my chest. Maybe it's all some kind of joke, right? Sometwisted, cruel surprise Gio planned. Maybe he bought a last-minute ticket. Maybe he's going to come strolling down the aisle and sit next to me and whisper something cocky like"Missed me already, Weston?"

Maybe. But then the plane lurches. We begin to move. And something inside me just breaks. Because that's it. It's over. It'sreal. He's not coming. All this time, I thought I'd accepted it. That maybe something had happened and he'd explain it all later and we'd laugh and cry and kiss in the middle of the street.

But I was lying to myself. Because somewhere deep down, I was still waiting for him to show up. Still hoping. And now the runway is sliding past. The city is growing smaller.

Italy is fading, and with it, him.

My throat tightens. My eyes burn. And I cry.

Silently and desperately. I press my forehead to the window so nobody can see. But the tears are there. Sliding hot down my face, and I can't stop them even if I wanted to. I watch the land shrink beneath the clouds.

And all I can think is that I'm leaving without him.

I'm leaving behind everything I wanted. Everything I loved. And I don't know how I'm supposed to survive this. A part of me is still down there, on the ground. Still waiting.

I hold the notebook like it's proof that any of this was real. Thathe'sreal. That I didn't just dream him up, this man with his stupid smirk and the sexy smile.

It's black. Of course it is. Big. Worn. Covered in ridiculous stickers of motorcycles, flames, traffic lights, tiny racing cars. So painfully Gio. I run my fingers over the cover. Then I open it. The first page hits me like a brick. The handwriting is chaos.

Some letters are huge, like he actually shouted them. Others are small and messy, crammed into corners like secrets. The ink smudges in places. I start reading.