Be Rude but Love Me | ✔

CHAPTER 47

No.

It can't be him.

I stop breathing. My heart stops beating.

I freeze on the spot, my hand on the banister, standing on the very last staircase. My feet refuse to move an inch. I grip the wood underneath my fingers tightly to steady myself and not fall as my knees seem to be giving out under me. I feel dizzy, overwhelmed.

My lips are sealed and no word is able to leave my mouth. A million of things are crossing my mind at the moment, like bullets flying fast and hard, hitting me. It hurts. Those things I want to say but that somehow escape me. They keep bouncing off the walls of my head, ricocheting too fast for me to grasp any and say something.

I can't say anything. I can only behold the sight before me.

He's standing right there. I stare at him, my eyes first catching the beard I hate so much. Then I look at his hair, which has grown much longer now and seems to almost reach his mid-back. Then finally, my gaze meets his. I can't really tell what I see behind those blue eyes. They're troubled like ocean water on a stormy day and I can't for the life of me decipher what they are saying.

"Tracy."

My heart beats faster upon hearing my name coming out of his lips, not because I am thinking of all the times he's whispered it so close to my ears, but because hearing it makes him real. He is really there. He is truly standing in front of me, in my doorway, in my house.

He takes a step forward, tentatively. When I don't react, he takes another. His eyes are still looking into mine, wary, as if asking permission. I'm not giving him any permission but maybe my silence is an invitation. And as he goes to take another step, I finally find my voice.

"Don't."

I thought my voice would come out broken because I am so broken inside, but it comes out firm and curt. Stronger than I expected.

I see Yann run a hand through his hair, the strands slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. Even after nine months, I still feel the same way about his hair. I still love the jet black locks, silky and soft to the touch. I remember.

Even after so long.

"I wanted to come see you yesterday," he says, breaking my thoughts. "But I figured you wouldn't want to see me on your birthday so I came today instead."

He stops there, as if he expects me to say something but I have nothing to say. What am I supposed to say? How am I supposed to feel?

"Tracy," he says as he takes another step forward.

This time, I move. I take a step backwards, up the stairs, putting distance between us.

"Why are you here?"

He looks taken aback at the hostility in my voice. I'm not sure what he expected from me when he decided to come here, but I hope as hell he didn't expect me to jump into his arms.

"I wanted to talk to you," he says finally.

I let go of the banister, finding myself more stable. I cross my arms over my chest and look down at him. "I'm all ears."

I don't think I've ever been so rude in my whole life. I'm not even inviting him in. The front door is slightly ajar behind him and I can see the street. I'm not inviting him to the living room, asking him if he wants to drink or eat something. I'm not welcoming him. That's what it is, I finally realize. He's not welcome here.

I think he gets it because he goes to close the door and as he comes back he says, "Can we go sit?"

My answer is immediate. "No, we can't."