Trevor opened his eyes. His head throbbed. Thank God Poppy had agreed to wait two more days so that they could go to Hong Kong together. He rolled to his left and stretched out his arm.
Empty bed.
The sheets were cold. He sat up and looked about the room. Army-green backpack? Gone. Red suitcase? Gone.
His heart careened through his chest. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Trevor stood. He wrapped the sheet around his hips. How? After last night? How could she leave him? Finally after all these months, after never committing, after him chasing her with words and love notes and coaxing her along as though she a scared rabbit, she’d agreed to be his. To try. To let him go with her.
He’d known in his heart to the depth of his soul that if they traveled together, if she was with him, if only for a while and not at Mesquale, that she would never be able to deny their love. She did love him, and he did love her. Poppy’s fear prevented her from committing.
He picked up his phone. No message. No call. He sat at his desk chair, and his head dropped to his hands. He closed his eyes. His heart might split in two. Shattered. She’d absolutely and unequivocally shredded him. He turned and looked at his desk.
There. Lying on top of his journal was an envelope with his name. He lifted the flap and pulled out the paper. How very dramatic. How very Poppy. Anger started to heat through him. Anger that would mask the pain.
Trevor,
You knew it couldn’t last. That’s me. It’s been well … more than I could ever expect.
Your six-month lover,
x Poppy
He crumpled the note in his hands. How droll. How charming. How nonchalant. He tossed the paper toward the trash, and it bounced against the rim and landed on the floor. She fooled him less than she fooled herself. What did she think she would get by leaving him? An unscarred heart? An effortless existence? A freedom from the possibility of pain?
She would get none of those things. Those things didn’t exist in a world with the absence of love. Only when you embraced the scar, the effort, the pain could you feel the full experience of life. His writer’s heart crumpled under the weight of what he’d just lost, of all that Poppy had just tossed aside due to fear. Of what they wouldn’t share together simply because Poppy was afraid and running from love.
The End
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Running From Love
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