My True First [18+]

Chapter 66

A week ago

I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel and allowed myself to cry.

She was already flying, getting farther from me by the second, and I selfishly hoped that, by some fucking miracle, the plane would turn around and bring Sky back to me.

It didn't, and my tears dried out after sitting in my car in the airport car park for a while.

It didn't matter; I was still crying on the inside.

I went from being mad at her and begging her to stay to understanding why she did it. It didn't change the fact that I'd lost the love of my life. It didn't lessen my pain. It didn't give me an idea of what to do now that there wasn't an "us" anymore. There was I, here, and Sky, there, but not us, together.

Our beautiful love story was over shortly after it began. There were hundreds of things we didn't get a chance to do and so many words I didn't say.

I didn't tell her that she made me look forward to every new day, or that I set my alarm half an hour earlier each day to have time to kiss her or make love to her while we were both sleepy and warm in our bed.

I didn't say to Sky that she made me believe in myself and pushed me to go after my dreams without actually pushing.

I didn't tell her that for the first time in years, I was truly happy. I had a family, and she was a big part of it.

And now, she was gone.

What crushed me more than the memory of kissing her goodbye at the airport for the last time was the sight of her things in our apartment. I still had Sky's beautiful mirror, and her pink comforter, and her scent everywhere.

I still heard her laughter and expected her to open the door and rush to plop down on my lap, hug me and kiss me.

I still wanted to hold her under the blanket on the couch as we watched a movie, and laugh at the silly jokes together.

I refused to believe it was over, but it was, and I did what I didn't usually do— I drank for two days straight, every strong drink imaginable, only stopping to answer Gaspar's text in which he said they had placed second.

I called him during a moment of sobriety, and then texted Sky, who asked me how I was. A fucking joke. I didn't reply and took another drink straight from the bottle.

It didn't help, and when I ran out of booze and headed to the store to buy more, I realized what I was doing resembled the actions of a different person. I was turning into my dad — not the loving and cheerful version of him I remembered from when Mom was alive, but the other one, the one of a man who didn't know how to cope and saw the answers to his questions and heartache at the bottom of the bottle.

That revelation made me turn around and go home. I dragged my sorry ass to the shower and made myself a cup of strong coffee. Then, I gathered the courage to enter Sky's room.