one way that made sense to me was to know if his first name was Watts and if not, what his first name really was.
He didn’t even give me the chance to explain. Something more had spooked him.
. . . . .
As I drove home, my thoughts shifted to preparing myself to deal with the fact that I was unlikely to ever see him again or even hear from him.
“ You’re better off staying away from me. This shouldn’t have happened.”
Those cold, rough words were as final as any words could be. Everything I knew about his dealings with women led me to believe that he kept his word when he said he never saw the same woman twice.
And now I was just another one of them.
I pulled up to my apartment to find that someone had parked in my reserved spot. Saturday night. Not surprising, though it pissed me off. Does anyone respect boundaries anymore or is everyone just out for their own immediate convenience?
I circled the block, finding a few open spaces that were marked reserved, but unlike that asshole who took mine, I wasn’t going to do the same.
I finally found a spot farther away than I’d have liked, but maybe a walk would do me some good. Burn off the frustrated energy built up from being so turned on and left sad and kneeling on the bed as I watched Watts slip out of the room—out of my life .
Walking up the five steps to my front porch, I first noticed the red splash of color against the backdrop of the black door. The red was a single rose. It was in a tall, narrow glass vase. Someone had placed it right in front of my door.
I bent down to pick it up. No note. Curious.
Watts? Could he have left it here for me as some kind of apology? That would have been an odd way to do it, and plus, he had no idea where I lived. Or at least, I didn’t think he did. Could he?
Confusion swirled in my mind and soon the insecure young girl in me settled on the very real possibility that someone had left it in front of my door by pure accident. It was possible. More than possible, actually. It was likely.
There was no one in my life who would leave a rose outside my door, yet there were dozens and dozens of doors within sight of mine. And our addresses aren’t posted very clearly—they’re arranged in foursomes, every four doors down. Why, I have no idea, but they are. When you explain it to someone, it’s clear, but even the FedEx and UPS delivery people leave things at the wrong door all the time.
So I decided it was an accident. But with no card attached, I had no way of knowing who it was really meant for so I took it inside with me.
The rose was still a tight bud, yet to bloom, but was a richly dark red that promised to be beautiful. At least I would be able to enjoy it. A minor sweet ending to a very bitter night.
Chapter Ten – Watts
I hated leaving her. Hated seeing that look on her face. Hated hearing the words she spoke and the tone of her voice.
I’m not prone to guilt trips. I n fact I have little patience for such things. But I felt guilty precisely because she wasn’t trying to guilt trip me.
Her pleading was honest, from somewhere deep within. That much I could tell. I just didn’t know what the root of it was. Something awful, for sure. Several possibilities ran through my mind: bad previous marriage, abusive ex-boyfriend, molested at a young age, a childhood full of neglect, or maybe it was just in her nature to be mistrustful.
Whatever the case, a ll it did was confirm my decision to leave. If something awful had happened in her life, there was no way she needed to be anywhere near me. The ramifications of being close to me could be bad enough to make whatever happened to her pale in comparison.
The guilt stemmed from the indisputable fact that I had cro ssed a line I knew I shouldn’t.
Over the six or so months that we had gotten to know each other, such as it was, the truth was I had started to care about her. Not even knowing her last name. Not even knowing for a
He didn’t even give me the chance to explain. Something more had spooked him.
. . . . .
As I drove home, my thoughts shifted to preparing myself to deal with the fact that I was unlikely to ever see him again or even hear from him.
“ You’re better off staying away from me. This shouldn’t have happened.”
Those cold, rough words were as final as any words could be. Everything I knew about his dealings with women led me to believe that he kept his word when he said he never saw the same woman twice.
And now I was just another one of them.
I pulled up to my apartment to find that someone had parked in my reserved spot. Saturday night. Not surprising, though it pissed me off. Does anyone respect boundaries anymore or is everyone just out for their own immediate convenience?
I circled the block, finding a few open spaces that were marked reserved, but unlike that asshole who took mine, I wasn’t going to do the same.
I finally found a spot farther away than I’d have liked, but maybe a walk would do me some good. Burn off the frustrated energy built up from being so turned on and left sad and kneeling on the bed as I watched Watts slip out of the room—out of my life .
Walking up the five steps to my front porch, I first noticed the red splash of color against the backdrop of the black door. The red was a single rose. It was in a tall, narrow glass vase. Someone had placed it right in front of my door.
I bent down to pick it up. No note. Curious.
Watts? Could he have left it here for me as some kind of apology? That would have been an odd way to do it, and plus, he had no idea where I lived. Or at least, I didn’t think he did. Could he?
Confusion swirled in my mind and soon the insecure young girl in me settled on the very real possibility that someone had left it in front of my door by pure accident. It was possible. More than possible, actually. It was likely.
There was no one in my life who would leave a rose outside my door, yet there were dozens and dozens of doors within sight of mine. And our addresses aren’t posted very clearly—they’re arranged in foursomes, every four doors down. Why, I have no idea, but they are. When you explain it to someone, it’s clear, but even the FedEx and UPS delivery people leave things at the wrong door all the time.
So I decided it was an accident. But with no card attached, I had no way of knowing who it was really meant for so I took it inside with me.
The rose was still a tight bud, yet to bloom, but was a richly dark red that promised to be beautiful. At least I would be able to enjoy it. A minor sweet ending to a very bitter night.
Chapter Ten – Watts
I hated leaving her. Hated seeing that look on her face. Hated hearing the words she spoke and the tone of her voice.
I’m not prone to guilt trips. I n fact I have little patience for such things. But I felt guilty precisely because she wasn’t trying to guilt trip me.
Her pleading was honest, from somewhere deep within. That much I could tell. I just didn’t know what the root of it was. Something awful, for sure. Several possibilities ran through my mind: bad previous marriage, abusive ex-boyfriend, molested at a young age, a childhood full of neglect, or maybe it was just in her nature to be mistrustful.
Whatever the case, a ll it did was confirm my decision to leave. If something awful had happened in her life, there was no way she needed to be anywhere near me. The ramifications of being close to me could be bad enough to make whatever happened to her pale in comparison.
The guilt stemmed from the indisputable fact that I had cro ssed a line I knew I shouldn’t.
Over the six or so months that we had gotten to know each other, such as it was, the truth was I had started to care about her. Not even knowing her last name. Not even knowing for a
Similar Books
