Page 47 of The Time It Takes
“Aw, did the water baby lose her groove?” Dean asks. “Did all that time in the big city make you forget where you came from?”
“I didn’t forget.” I never did.
Across from me, Oliver mutters under his breath, making sure it’s loud enough for everyone to hear. “You just don’t care to remember.” He lets out a bitter laugh as he throws back his beer and stands, tossing it into the trashcan.
I deserved that.
Taylor groans. “C’mon, man. Don’t be a party pooper.”
“Shut the hell up, Taylor.” Oliver turns his back to everyone as he heads in the direction of the pier. I stare after him and I can feel everyone’s gaze fall on me. Suddenly their eyes are burning me as deeply as the flames before me.
Here I am, sitting inside my memories and they hurt to look at. It reminds me of a quote by Haruki Murakami.‘Memories warm you up from the inside, but they also tear you apart.’
I hand my beer to Taylor and stand up, brushing the sand off myself and going after him.
“Willow—” Phoebe starts, but Dean cuts her off.
“Let her go,” he tells her softly.
I don’t look back as I head toward the figure that’s walking down the pier and disappearing into the dark.
I’m tired of being torn apart.
The wind caresses my skin and it’s as if my body is discovering it for the first time. It’s comforting in a way that reminds me that this world is much bigger than all my problems. I’m only a small spec of existence—a small sliver of another human being who thought the universe might actually give a damn.
I remember everything and that's what kills me the most.
As I walk down the pier toward Oliver, who’s standing at the end, gazing out into the sea that’s cloaked in darkness, I look up toward the sky. I nearly gasp at the sight of the stars. I’ve lived in the city where they ceased to exist to the eye that I almost forgot they were up there.
One of the light posts flickers as I pass. When I reach the end of the pier, I stop a few feet from him. I cross my arms and lean them into the wooden rail, my eyes trained downward at the water. We sit there silently for several minutes with only the sounds the sea provided.
It’s only when I get the sense that he’s about to walk away I speak up. “I don’t know what to say to you.” My voice comes out small.
We’re both not looking at each other when he responds, “Good, then don’t say anything. I don’t want to hear it, Will.”
“What don’t you want to hear?” I ask.
“Anything that you have to say to me. I don’t want to hear any of it,” he spits out, still refusing to look at me.
I open my mouth but close it, considering. “It’s been ten years,” I state softly.
“Yes, exactly. It’s been ten years and not a word. Don’t bother giving any now.”
I look over at him, trying to muster up a sentence that will fix everything, but there’s nothing I can say that will change the truth. There’s no denying it. There’s no escaping it. The result of everything good in my life is standing directly in front of me. He reached out for the entirety of two years after I left. I didn’t respond to any of his texts or calls. He didn’t deserve that. No one deserves to love someone only to be left in the dark.
He. Meant. Everything.
That’s why I could never respond. I had to sort my shit out alone. I didn’t know it would take this long. Some days I still see a shattered girl when I look in the mirror. I don’t know if I’ll ever be completely whole again, but at least life has given me a long list of reasons to try—starting with the man standing before me.
“Well?” he pries as if he asked a question. I realize he’s looking at me now. I nearly collapse at his attention on me. His eyes piercing so sharply into mine that it causes my knees to buckle under its weight.
“You just said not to say anything,” I snap. The muscle in his jaw ticks and I inwardly curse myself. Now is not the time for this.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, bringing my gaze to the chipped wood under my feet. The sound of waves crashing echoes all around us. I missed the sound of them. I’ve grown too accustomed to the constant sound of horns honking and music from the bar across the street blaring through my closed apartment windows.
“So, you keep saying,” he sneers, though he sounds more hurt than angry.
“Because I don’t know what else to say to you…to any of you.” I blurt. “I don’t know how to make it right between us.” If we even can.
