Will We Talk? ~ A PG10 Short Story

7. Told you how I felt

Title from: Remember When by Tinashe (honourable mention to Talk About Love by the queen Zara Larsson)

"Oh shit." I whisper to myself reading the note. The words swirl from the paper and around in my mind.

When did he write this? Was it just before we met at the bar when he handed it over? Or weeks or months before now? Was it sat in his apartment in Milan? Or by the race track somewhere far away from here?

Either way, the world as I knew it seems to fall onto its side, every memory with Pierre running through my mind, the meaning of everything shifting and altering in my mind. This changed everything surely.

He loves me. Me?!

Pierre loves me.

The words are circling in my mind, around and around. They feel foreign, I can't understand them. I can feel my heart rate pick up slightly and my cheeks flush. I was exhausted and ready to pass out in bed a minute ago, and now I'm wide awake feeling like my eyes could pop out of my head. I feel like every thought I've ever had is scrambled as I try to make sense of it all.

He can't mean 'I love you' like I think he might mean 'I love you'. Can he?

Only he must because he said it himself, it wasn't like it was with others. It wasn't casual between friends, he loves me, truly. He felt his heart break when I didn't reply to his big declaration of love. I squint my eyes again at the slightly messy writing in dark black ink, cursing quietly rereading the letter. It's definitely Pierre's writing, I'd recognise it anywhere. I spent so many days at school reading over things in this squiggly, slightly smudged writing. Plus, he always chose black pen over blue. It was him.

What the fuck?

"Shit." I repeat in a whisper. There's a slight shake to my hand as I continue to stare at the paper, swapping the pages over to look at the second half of the writing. This is ridiculous. This whole situation is ridiculous.

Who does this happen to?!

I could almost laugh, instead I let out a huff. Apparently it's happening to me.

I contemplate calling Jasmine, but I don't want to ruin the night of her engagement party, and I don't think she'll believe me- I wouldn't have believed me a few hours ago. A few hours ago I had no intention of even interacting with Pierre ever again, now I'm stuck here processing this. Knowing this. Then I think about calling Mama, but I know she'll just tell me that she's always known, to do what I think is best with the information. Follow my heart and all that crap. So apparently this is something I need to process myself.

Only I can't process any of it. I'm so surprised and taken aback by it all that I could be sick. Is time moving in slow motion? Maybe I'm just being dramatic.

I twist the paper in my hands one more, flipping over the pages again and again. The words 'I love you' jumping out from the page over and over.

The three words blur my vision and I'm taking deep heavy breaths trying to steady myself in the silence of the room. But the silence and emptiness of activity only makes my mind race over every single possibility. Have I interpreted this the complete wrong way? I don't think so. Why would he tell me this now? I don't know. Do I feel the same way? No, not right now. Have I ever felt the same way? Maybe?

I pull my phone out of my pocket, I huff seeing my reflection in the darkness of the screen. I look like a mess but I don't entirely care.

I press a free hand to my cheeks, wiping away the tears I didn't realise had fell when reading the letter. Although, now that I take another glance at the paper in my hands there's the odd teardrop saturating the paper. My eyes are tired and sting with the salt of tears and sleepiness. It's been a long day and an emotionally exhausting thirty hours. My hair is sticking out in all directions from the hoodie I pulled over my head before reading the paper that's still glued to my gaze. My makeup old and starting to smear from my face after all the hours of wear (and tears). There's still a wobble to my lips from trying (and failing) to fight off more tears.