Love Me in Paris by D Pichardo-Johansson

Author:D Pichardo-Johansson [Pichardo-Johansson, D]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Book One, The Self Vow
ISBN: 9781951400088
Publisher: Camilo Press
Published: 2020-06-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Trevor

I’m fuming, almost literally steaming with rage as I stomp across the huge train station on my way out. I’ve overdone it. I didn’t mean half the things I just told Sophia. But I’m too furious to look back now.

I guess this is how it ends. All that talk about giving myself permission to try a new way of thinking meant nothing.

As I march, my backpack feels heavier than ever over my shoulder, a mocking reminder of how delusional I was when I left the flat. Did I really believe she’d throw herself into my arms, apologize for leaving me and still want me to go with her to Annecy? How stupid can I get? I was fooling myself to think she cared for me. And that’s fine, because I don’t care for her either!

Right?

I stop to adjust the backpack and spot the restrooms. I head in that direction since I left the flat in such a rush this morning I didn’t even pee. As I shove my hand in my money belt searching for coins to pay the fee to enter, a ripping sound announces something is coming apart.

I stand at the restroom entrance, ignoring the people jostling their way around me, and stare at my torn money belt, its strap hanging by a few threads. Sophia won’t be around anymore to fix it with her sewing kit. The thought hits me harder than I expected along with a ridiculous desire to cry.

As I use the restroom, I slowly cool down and run through my mind the horrible things I’ve just said to Sophia, regretting most of them. After washing my hands, I study my money belt again. The rip she previously fixed is strong. She did an industrial-quality job sewing it. But the tear in the strap makes it too risky to carry it around my waist now, as it may break any minute. I stow it away in my trench coat pocket, trying to talk myself out of my disproportionate concern.

It’s okay. I’m planning to take this coat to a tailor to fix the torn lining. I’m sure the tailor can fix my money belt strap too.

Except I’d be too self-conscious to ask him to fix a dirty, twenty-year-old pouch I’m pathetically attached to. Sophia? Yes, I didn’t mind. Somehow she made me feel safe about showing that silly part of me.

That’s it. I can’t. I can’t walk away and let her take that train without apologizing for my words. I need to at least leave the possibility open of talking again in the future.

I head back to where I left her. Damn it, she may be gone by now. The train is boarding any minute; maybe she’s already boarded. I pick up my pace, loop my backpack through both arms, and now I’m running more than walking.

Before long I see her in the distance, still in the same chair where I left her. Her head is down, her shoulders slump and her hands clench each other.

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