Zessa

chapter 7

Tessa

At eight-fifty, Trevor walks me to the front door and helps me into my coat. He nervously swipes at his hair and fumbles with the sleeves of his crisp blue button-down shirt.

I give him an uncomfortable smile and fiddle with the door knob. "Thank you," I say as politely as I can manage. "Um, have a good night."

He glances down at his feet, then looks up and gives me a warm smile, his light blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "You too, Tessa," he replies in a soft voice.

A light dusting of snow coats the surface of the cobblestone driveway. The dusk is bitterly cold, tendrils of night wind reaching out and playing through my loose hair. I wrap my arms around myself and walk down to the end of the driveway, my heels leaving odd-looking prints in the fresh powder.

Behind me, I hear another set of footsteps shuffling down the driveway. I glance over my shoulder, and nearly fall over. It's Harry.

"Hi," he says quietly, not meeting my eyes.

It's so normal, so casual, that I can't breathe for a moment. In his voice, there is no trace of the agony I've been through these past eleven days. There is nothing on his face that tells me that our separation has affected him at all.

I take a deep breath, hoping against hope that he can't see my hands shaking or hear my voice trembling. "Hello," I reply steadily, making my tone as cool and emotionless as I can.

For a moment, he just stands there, half behind me and half to the side. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his shadow and the vague outline of his silhouette. It takes everything I have not to turn around, not to demand an explanation. I try to convince myself I don't need one. I've moved on. I don't care any more.

He breaks the silence, his voice a low murmur in the silent night. "How are you?"

A shudder passes through me, and I almost lose my balance. "How am I?" I echo, my voice hardly a whisper. I turn to completely face him, my heart starting to pick up speed. "Is that all you have to say to me?"

He raises an eyebrow and glances down the road, rolling his shoulders. "What do you want me to say?"

I don't know what I want him to say. I think I want him to say he missed me, he loves me, he wants me back, but then I also think I want him to walk away. There's a part of me that's still holding on to what we had, but I know it isn't what I should want. It isn't what I need.

What I need is for him to apologise. I need him to give me closure. I need a goodbye, some solid ending, because eleven days ago, when I left him in our -- his -- apartment, it wasn't enough. I need him to tie off the loose ends and tape everything shut. But I can't bring myself to say this to him.

Instead, I let out a heavy breath. "Nothing."

I start to turn away, but then he grabs my arm and pulls me back around. "No, not nothing, Tessa." There's a glimmer of some indiscernible emotion in his eyes, which are a pale, colourless grey in the shadow beneath his brow. "Just tell me."

I jerk my arm out of his grip. "I said, nothing." I reply sharply, taking a step back and folding my arms. "Is there something else you want from me?"

He looks caught off guard, a deer in the headlights, a man caught on the edge of a terrible cliff. For a second, he just stares at me, his mouth slightly open, but then he comes to himself and snaps his jaw shut. "No, nothing," he mutters irritably. I hear him say something else under his breath, but I brace myself and resist the urge to ask him what it was.

It doesn't matter.

I stand quietly, watching the snow fall like white fire all around us, turning the stained world into a masterpiece of colourlessness. It's peaceful. Serene.