Sweet afternoons

Chapter fifteen

I didn't count how many hours passed as Andres and I lay side by side on his sofa, cuddled together until there was no space between us. We hadn't spoken much, neither of us sure what we could say at the present time, but being in each other's company had seemed sufficient to make us both feel at ease. I was relaxed, as much as I could be. But I knew that these feelings had to come to an end eventually.

The television was on, an old film I didn't recognise was playing in front of us, but my eyes couldn't focus on the screen properly. Instead, they were looking intensely at the lit-up screen of my phone that displayed two messages and a missed call from Nate. He was worried about me, that much I could tell, and wanted to know what had happened between Andres and me.

I realised quite quickly that nothing had actually happened between us yet. Nothing had been worked about and, although the problems plaguing me seemed much less threatening, they were still sitting patiently in the back of my mind, waiting to be brought back into the light again.

"Lena?" Andres' voice shook me from my thoughts and I brought my eyes up away from my phone to look at him. His eyes bore into mine with a heated worry, the blue was so much darker than I had remembered them being.

My throat was constricted a little, but I forced out a quiet 'yes' in reply and waited for him to speak again.

"Perhaps...its time we talk. I can see that you're incredibly restless and I fear that won't go away until we face the problem head-on," the man spoke with a sturdy tone, but he couldn't hide the scared shaky quality it held. He didn't really want to hear what he needed to, because he knew it would hurt him. That was the problem, we would both end up hurt by

"You never asked why...why I came to see you last night," I started, sitting up on the sofa beside Andres instead of leaning against him. The man followed suit, sitting beside me so there was a small gap between us. This time, I would get it right. I had to.

Andres looked confused, his eyebrows furrowing together for a second as he pondered on what to say. "I was curious. But I was afraid if I asked, it would scare you into leaving," He said, looking at me with wide eyes. I bit my lip, knowing that his fear was justified. I had run from him so much, of course, he would expect me to do it again.

"I'm sorry," I whispered before a blanket of silence spread between us. An uncomfortable feeling sad in my chest as his lack of reaction, because I knew it meant that I had to continue. Most of all, I was afraid of him hating me. I judged him, mistrusted him...abandoned him even, without even giving him a chance to explain. And despite all this, despite knowing he had every right to hate me, I didn't dare imagine any other scenario than him forgiving me. I just couldn't...

"What happened? Why did you...leave? Hide?" The desperation made itself evident. My eyes met his and the look they held drowned out any sounds the TV was still spewing. The actors, the music, faded into nothingness.

Lost. Unsure. Incomplete.

How long had I felt like that? How long had he felt like that? Too long. So I broke the floodgates, the rapid waterworks of words falling from my lips in waves. I listed, chronologically, all of the mistakes I'd made up until that point. I apologised for each one like the word was sewn onto my bottom lip.

My voice was frantic, my words a mess of letters jumbled together in an attempt to get my guilt across. It was the only way I could tell him how much I regretted the way I had behaved. I had only concluded to hurt us both by trying to detach myself from a possible emotional turmoil I thought I might have had to face.

It was impossible to know how long I spoke for, it could have been five minutes or it could have been five hours, every second was dreary and torturous but the moment I had finished was much much worse.