Be Rude but Love Me | ✔

CHAPTER 48 - Part II

During Yann's absence, I always told myself that if he ever came back, thinking that kissing me would sway me and make me accept his apologies, I'd tell him to piss off. I even had a mental speech prepared and I told myself that I wouldn't be caught off guard, that I would lash out at him and make him understand the extent of my anger, of my hurt.

But truth is? He catches me off guard with that kiss. And even worse, I know he's not trying to sway me by kissing me. He just wanted to kiss me, needed to, in fact. And if I'm honest with myself, I wanted to kiss him, I wanted him to kiss me.

"I missed you," he breathes against my lips.

I almost say, I missed you too, but I don't want to lose track of why we came here, no matter how much I want his lips back on mine. "We still need to talk."

We stay close for a moment, catching our breath, foreheads pressing. What happened just a few minutes ago seems to have vanished completely. I try not to let the happy memories of us bubble up to the surface, try not to let myself be overwhelmed by his nearness but it's easier said than done. My body responds to him in a way I can't even begin to fathom. And who am I kidding, anyways? It's not just my body, it's my whole being. All of me.

He pulls away first and takes my hand in his. Wordlessly, he drags me out of the kitchen and into the living room. Again, I try to ignore the beauty of the place but the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the city offer a breathtaking view and for a moment, I just find myself gazing down at the tiny dots on the streets that are moving: people bustling around.

I always wondered what people living in places like this thought of us, the middle-class people or simply poor people, and especially when they were standing up high in their luxurious home. I know some of them look down upon us, but others don't. Others are very simple and humble and you could easily mistake them for middle class. Like Yann.

I turn my head to find him patiently waiting for me. His stare stays fixated on me even as I march to him. He's watching me. He's been watching me ever since we met. All he ever did was watch me and yet I never noticed. I can't help but wonder what he sees besides that girl who can appreciate the little things in life, if there's anything more in me that catches his attention.

I take a seat in front of him in one of the large single armchairs and, bringing my legs up as much as I can then folding them, I sit Indian style and face him. "Let's talk," I say, bracing myself for what he's going to say.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees. He wrings his hands for a few moment then sighs. "I don't know where to start, Tracy."

"Let's start with why you left in the first place," I encourage in a composed voice.

I'm acting calm but I am everything but calm. This already seems difficult enough for him and I'm not going to make him ten times more miserable than he already is by letting myself be an emotional mess. I'll keep it in check until he finishes and from there, we'll see.

Yann takes a deep breath in then exhales. "I left because you were right and I was afraid you would talk me into something I wasn't ready for just yet."

I frown and interrupt him. "I would never do that. I would have never done that. I would have been patient, I would have waited and you know it. Plus," I add, "I'm not sure I can make you do things you don't want to do, Yann."

He gives me half a smile and some of his uneasiness seems to fade. "Don't underestimate your power over me, Tracy," he says.

I don't reply to that. I don't want to even think about what it might mean. I stay silent and he continues.