Page 42 of Veil of the Past
20
ROMIRO
Ilean against the cold metal railing of the balcony, the cigarette dangling between my fingers glows in the darkness. The smoke curls around me, mixing with the cool night air, but it doesn’t bring the calm I crave. Not tonight. I take a deep drag, feeling the burn in my throat, but it does nothing to soothe the frustration gnawing at my insides.
I keep replaying our conversation, Alessia’s voice sharp, her eyes flashing with hurt and anger. I can still see the way she looked at me, like I’d ripped something out of her, like I’d betrayed her in the worst way. Maybe I have.
I exhale slowly, watching the smoke drift away, disappearing into the night. I told her to leave. I told her to go. To forget about this, about us. I thought it was the right thing to do—to protect her, to keep her away from the mess that surrounds me, the darkness that’s always one step behind.
But the way she looked at me, the way her voice cracked when she said she wanted to be with me, wanted us to be real… it broke something inside me. Made me feel like a coward. I should have held her, reassured her. Instead, I pushed her away and shut her out. Told her to go home like she was nothing, like she meant nothing.
The truth is, I’m terrified. Terrified of what it would mean to be with her openly. Of the risks. Of the threats. Of what it would mean to care so much for someone in a world like mine. But even more than that, I’m terrified of losing her. Of what happens if I let her in and something happens to her because of it. I don’t know how Eli does it.
I take another drag, the smoke filling my lungs, but it doesn’t make anything clearer. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something, teetering, ready to fall. I can’t get the sound of her voice out of my head, the way she said my name—soft, pleading, broken.
I put out the cigarette against the railing, watching the ember die, and flick the butt over the edge. My heart pounds harder, a mix of frustration and fear, anger at myself, at her, at the whole damn situation.
I can’t stay here. I can’t just stand here and do nothing. I turn and head back inside, grabbing my leather jacket from the chair, the fabric heavy in my hands. I shrug it on, my mind already made up. I have to find her. I have to fix this. I need to tell her… something. I don’t even know what, but I can’t leave it like this. I can’t leave her like this.
I head out, taking the elevator down to the lobby, and step outside into the cool night air. The city lights glitter around me, a thousand tiny stars against the darkness. I know where she’ll be. She always goes to the same place when she’s upset—the small park near the diner, the one we’d sneak away too when things got too loud, too chaotic. It used to be our spot before we’d matured enough to have lunch or dinner together.
I start walking, my pace quick, purposeful, my hands shoved deep into my pockets. The rain begins to fall in soft drizzles, and I let it hit my face, hoping it might clear my mind, steady my nerves. But all I can think about is her—alone, angry, hurt. I imagine her sitting there, her shoulders hunched, her face turned away, and I feel a tightening in my chest.
By the time I reach the park, the rain has picked up, a steady drizzle that makes the pavement glisten under the streetlights. I spot her almost immediately, sitting on one of the benches, her head bowed, her shoulders slumped. She looks so small, so fragile, and it makes something twist inside me, something that feels like regret, like fear.
I approach slowly, my steps quiet, careful. She doesn’t see me at first, too lost in her own thoughts, her own pain. But then she looks up, her eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in anger. They’re red. She’d been crying and it’s all my fault. “What are you doing here?” she snaps, her voice raw.
I stop a few feet away, feeling the sting of her words, the ice in her tone. “It’s dangerous for a beautiful woman to be out here alone,” I say, my voice soft, trying to sound light, but even I can hear the tension in my words.
She stands up abruptly, her eyes blazing. “Go fuck yourself, Romiro,” she spits, turning on her heel, storming away.
I follow her, my steps quickening. “Alessia, wait,” I call, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. She walks faster, her heels clicking against the wet pavement, but the ground is slick, and suddenly, I see her foot slip.
Without thinking, I reach out, grabbing her arm, pulling her against me before she can fall. She gasps, twisting in my grasp, but I don’t let go. Instead, I hold her tight, my heart hammering in my chest, adrenaline surging through my veins.
“What the hell are you doing?” she snaps, trying to pull away, but I don’t let her. I pull her closer, feeling the heat of her body against mine, and before I can stop myself, I press my lips to hers in a hard, desperate kiss.
She stiffens at first, her hands pushing against my chest. But then she melts, just for a second. Her lips part, letting me in. I push deeper, my tongue sliding against hers, tasting the salt of her tears and the rain. But then she pulls back, her hand flying out, and I feel the sting of her palm against my cheek.
I laugh, the sound rough, almost a growl. “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice husky, my breath ragged. “I’m sorry, Alessia. I’ve had my head up my ass. I was scared, okay? Scared of what it means to love you. Scared of losing you. But I can’t… I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t want to. I don’t know how to.”
She stares at me, her chest heaving, her eyes wide, and I see the flicker of confusion, of hurt, of something deeper. “You don’t get to do this,” she whispers, her voice shaking. “You don’t get to push me away and then come after me like this. You don’t get to toy with me, Romiro.”
I swallow hard, my throat tight, my hands still holding her arms. “I know,” I whisper. “I know. I was wrong. I’m an idiot, okay? But I’m here now. I’m here, and I don’t want to be anywhere else. I’m done hiding. I’m done pretending I don’t care. I want you. Just you.”
She’s silent for a moment, her eyes searching mine, and I can see the battle going on inside her, the war between anger and forgiveness, between trust and doubt. I feel my heart pounding, waiting, hoping, terrified of what she might say.
Finally, she takes a deep breath, her expression softening just a fraction. “Do you mean that?” she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Do you really mean that, Romiro?”
I nod, my grip tightening on her arms, my voice firm. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, I mean it. I’ve never meant anything more in my life.”
She closes her eyes, her shoulders sagging, and I feel her relax, just a little, against me. “Then prove it,” she whispers. “Show me. Show me that you mean it.”
I nod, my heart swelling with something I can’t quite name, something that feels like hope. “I will,” I promise. “I will.”
And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m not running anymore. Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
The rain comes down harder, soaking us both, turning the world around us into a blur of gray and silver. But I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but the woman in my arms, the feel of her body pressed against mine, the way her breath hitches in her throat, the way her eyes search mine, like she’s trying to find something there, something she can trust.
