Absinthe Of The Heart

by Monica James

  He advances forward, catching me completely off guard when he cups both my cheeks. He searches my eyes, my face, the look accelerating my heartbeat to an unhealthy rhythm. “It wasn’t just sex to me…it was everything.”

  I burst into a strangled sob. He felt it too. After all these years, I lived with such regret, but now a small piece of my soul is remedied. “So you didn’t use me as some pawn to get back at Lincoln and Belle?”

  “What?” He shakes his head; incredulous I would even ask that of him. “Of course not. Why would you ever think that?”

  “Because that’s what Lincoln told me.” London’s breaths begin to mount. “And that’s what you confirmed.”

  His hands slip from my face, the confusion as bright as day. “I confirmed? How?”

  Sniffing back my tears, I confess, “I came to see you the day after, when you stood me up at work. Your mom was her usual charming self, but before I left, I saw Belle’s car…and then I saw you looking out your window. You let me go.”

  The memory is just as raw as it was when I lived it.

  I have no idea what London is thinking. He looks to be on the verge of destroying something or slipping into a comatose state. “I never saw you.”

  “Don’t,” I whisper, unable to stomach anymore lies.

  “It’s the truth. Do you think I would have let you leave after that night?” he poses, appearing disgusted I would ever think that of him.

  “I don’t know. Why would Lincoln lie? Why did Belle confess to kissing him? Why didn’t you meet me? Tell me, London. What else am I supposed to believe?” My pleas are honest and heartfelt.

  But the most damning piece of evidence is one that still torments me. “And your note.” I shake my head, distraught. “You said…you won. Won a game I never wanted to play.”

  London fists both hands through his hair before he begins pacing the room. I watch as he grows more annoyed, incensed. “I can’t believe this. Is that why you left?”

  I nod slowly, my lower lip quivering. “That, and what I did. I’m a horrible person. I’m a coward. I ran away because I wasn’t woman enough to face my sins.” There, I said it. I’ve run away for so long, but eventually, our demons all catch up to us. “This guilt has eaten a hole straight through me, and each day I live with this regret, I’m losing sight of who I am.”

  “What a fucking mess,” he mumbles, interlacing his hands on the top of his head.

  His tattoo of the piano keys, coupled with a crown, the one which caught my eye all those years ago, does the same once again. The vibrant colors jump out at me, and I don’t know why. London stops pacing, eyeing me closely. When he realizes what I’m staring at, he sighs.

  “Do you believe me?”

  That’s the million-dollar question.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.” My eyes feel like sandpaper as I rub at them, wishing my vision would clear. “Why were you so adamant for me not to come to prom? You stated loud and clear that you weren’t interested in fighting over what was yours.” The memory has bile rising up my throat. “Were you afraid I’d steal Belle’s limelight?”

  “That is the most absurd thing you’ve ever said.” He deadpans me.

  “Did you or did you not say Lincoln was to make sure I didn’t come to prom because you weren’t interested in fighting over what was yours?”

  “Yes, but it’s not what you think.” I wait, frantic for him to explain. He averts his gaze, running a hand down his face. “Everything I’ve done…I’ve done for you.”

  A small whimper slips past my lips. He’s said this to me once before. When he was inside me, when nothing else mattered but us, he declared, “All these years, everything…it’s all for you.”

  But what does that mean?

  “You really think I could give two fucks about prom? C’mon, Princess. Think about how ridiculous that sounds.”

  Thinking about it now, I suppose he’s right. But back then, all this made perfect sense. Now, it’s all a bloodied massacre. “I know, but Lin—”

  He raises his hand in warning. “If you say his name one more time, I won’t be held accountable for my actions when I find that lying son of a bitch and kill him.” I promptly seal my lips shut.

  I’m too afraid to move. So when London walks over and reaches for my hand, I submit and allow him to take charge, as I don’t even know what I want anymore.

  My hand fits perfectly in his, the warmth thawing out the permanent chill in my bones. He silently leads me through his home, marching up the carpeted stairs. I wish I could appreciate the elegance of his home, but all I can focus on is not having a nervous breakdown.

  He never lets go of my hand, and the charge is still as evident as it was from the first moment we touched. We enter his bedroom, still not a word exchanged. He leads me over to the bed, gesturing for me to sit down. I don’t argue because I’m not sure how long my legs will keep me upright.

  He stands in front of me as if weighing up how to do what he wants to do next. “Fuck it,” he mumbles before walking over to this closet. I watch with interest as he reaches to the top shelf and slides a shoebox toward him.

  The way he handles the box with such great care, I can only speculate that inside is something he truly values. With the mystery locked in both hands, he unhurriedly paces toward me. I have no idea the significance of what’s inside until he offers it to me.

  Biting my lip, I hesitate, gazing at the offering as if it’s a loaded gun. I have no idea what’s inside, but a small part of me knows that once I lift the lid, it’ll be like opening Pandora’s box. I shift my attention from the box to London, hoping he’ll give something away.

  He doesn’t.

  Reaching for it with a tremble, I run my fingertips over the lid, the faded cardboard giving away its age. London has held this keepsake for quite some time. With one final deep breath, I gently open the box and peer inside.

  At first, I have no idea what I’m looking at until I reach for a yellowed envelope and turn it over. When I see who it is addressed to, a whoosh of air escapes me. I don’t understand what I’m seeing. The seal is not affixed, so I lift the pointed edge and slide out what’s inside.

  The pieces of paper are aged, just like the envelope, but what’s written in the messy, left-handed script will be forever young.

  Princess,

  I’ve lost count how many times I’ve written to you. With each letter, I’m always hopeful I’ll grow a pair and finally send one. But how can I? How am I supposed to tell you this without everything turning to shit?

  I’m trapped— as much as a prisoner within myself as I am behind these bars.

  I want so badly to tell you that I miss you. I miss you so fucking much.

  Reading over the letter twice, I finally lift my eyes and meet London’s. “W-what is this?” I question because I need him to confirm what I think to be true. But the truth is so farfetched, there is no way it can be correct.

  Lifting the letter, I turn it around so he can see his handwriting on the letter he wrote to me. And the abundant number of envelopes sitting beneath this one reveals he wrote many more.

  “You know what it is,” he replies, jutting his chin out to the box in my lap.

  “It looks like letters you wrote to me while you were in juvie, but that’s crazy, right?” When he remains silent, his stance unyielding, I know it’s not so crazy after all. “Why didn’t you send them? I thought you didn’t care. Those entire six months, I waited for one single letter, one single word to tell me you were okay.”

  I don’t understand any of this.

  The tone of this letter is heartfelt, and it’s almost the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read.

  “How could I? Our story was always going to be a tragedy. But those letters, I could finally tell you how I felt. And even though I never sent them, they made what I felt for you real.”

  Tears pool and I let them fall, unashamed.

  “You were the only thing that made me feel alive in
side. And after feeling dead for so long, the feeling became an addiction. The more I pushed you, the harder you fought. I had never met anyone like you, and all I ever wanted…was you.”

  He tongues his upper lip, the movement stirring a sudden longing within.

  “But us being together, our surnames made it completely impossible. We’ve suffered because of the sins of our parents’ past. Every night, I wished I bore a different name because if I did, things between us could have been so different.”

  I’m barely breathing, too afraid to move.

  My glance flicks down to his tattoo, and the word defy suddenly takes on a whole different meaning. “What does your tattoo mean?” I point my quivering finger.

  London runs his hand over the ink and smiles. “I defy you, stars.”

  “William Shakespeare?” I recognize the passage instantly as he’s my favorite poet, a fact London knows.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Taking one step forward, then another, he comes to a stop when he’s a mere hair’s breadth away. “…My only love sprung from my only hate.”

  Time stands still.

  A kaleidoscope of emotion wavers within, but the one single phenomenon that leads the pack is the only emotion that matters—love.

  London follows my complete disbelief, and in response, he raises his forearm, turning it so the piano keys and crown come into view. “You have always been the beat of my heart.”

  I cover my mouth, shaking my head sluggishly. “You got that for me?”

  His bowed lips tip into a graceful smile. “Of course, I did. You were my everything, Princess.”

  My mind stumbles and falls, unable to keep up. “B-but why were you so m-mean to me? And what happened at prom?” This night set off a chain reaction of events which forever changed me.

  London sighs, before sitting beside me. He knows not to smother me. He’s always known me better than I’ve known myself. He glances off into the distance, his smoldering eyes far, far away. He finally divulges what happened. “I saw Lincoln…I saw him kiss Belle. I had my suspicions something was going on between them for a little while.”

  His admission kicks me low, and I wrap my arms around my middle. “Lincoln kissed Belle? He told me she kissed him.” I should feel utterly betrayed, but funnily enough, I’m not.

  “He’s said a lot of things, most of which have been bullshit.”

  Trying to piece everything together, I press. “So that’s why you got into a fight? You were jealous? That’s why you didn’t want me to come to prom. You warned Lincoln you’d fight for what was yours. Belle.”

  The words feel like acid bubbling from my throat, but it’s the truth. I just need him to confirm it so I can finally move on. But what he does next shatters the past ten years.

  With the slowest of movements, he brushes the fallen tears from my cheek with his thumb. “No. I got into a fight because of you. I couldn’t care less about me because…” His pause sends a trickle of goose bumps across my flesh. Taking a breath, he turns so he’s facing me, surrendering. “All I ever cared about was you.”

  “You got into a fight because you were defending me?” He nods once. This is too much.

  “Yes, I didn’t want you to come to prom because I couldn’t stomach watching you and that asshole together. It was my arm you should have been on, not his, and I knew—” he inhales, steadying himself “—I knew that I’d fight him for you once and for all.”

  “Why was Belle so shocked in the hallway that day?” I remember her face when London said what I now know he said.

  “Because I told her that sooner or later all her sneaking around would come back to bite her in the ass.”

  “Sneaking around?” London nods.

  I can’t process this fast enough. “Did Lincoln know what you were insinuating by that comment? About me not coming to prom?”

  “Yes.”

  That one single word can amount to a thousand. “Why?” Another word which can alter a person’s life forever.

  London lowers his eyes. It’s apparent what he wants to say next is eating him up inside. Leveling me with nothing but honesty, he confesses, “Lincoln chased after you because he knew how much I wanted you. You were the only thing he could have…that I couldn’t. I’m sorry, Princess, but it’s the god’s honest truth.”

  “No,” I cry in barely a whisper, the stab of betrayal slashing at the same wound over and over again.

  “I’ve never lied to you.” He’s right. He’s the only person who has been brutally honest with me because he knew I could handle it.

  I think of when Lincoln and I first hooked up. Our kisses were in secret, as if he were embarrassed by me. But I have no doubt he rubbed his victory in London’s face time and time again. Even when we made our “relationship” public, it only really heated up when London returned.

  Oh god, I’ve been such a fool.

  “Why, London, why didn’t you tell me this?” I don’t mean to be angry, but I just can’t understand why he’d put us both through this torture.

  He reveals why a moment later. “Because of your mom.”

  “My mom?” My heart is seconds away from exploding from my chest.

  “My mom knew I had feelings for you, and she saw it as the ultimate betrayal. In her eyes, your mom had taken everything away from her. She despised you because you should have been hers. And she hated me because I was a reminder of everything she’d never have.”

  My heart breaks for him.

  “She wanted me to hate you, but I just…it was like hating myself. She knew her only son was—” He stops, his confession not an easy one to make. “Was in love with her enemy’s only daughter, and that just fueled her hatred tenfold.”

  The shock of hearing him confess something which was so unfathomable an hour ago has me gasping for air. “You l-loved me?”

  “Always,” is his simple, yet tear-jerking reply.

  This entire time…London loved me…and I loved him, too.

  I don’t get a chance to express how I feel because London continues, needing this purge to finally rid the secret within. “She warned me to stay away from you; otherwise, she’d drag your family name further through the dirt.”

  “How?” I whisper, my hoarse voice almost given up.

  He swallows, shaking his head in anger. “By spreading rumors that she and your dad were having an affair. She knew everyone would believe her, and she’d ensure she ruined your family’s reputation forever.”

  I close my eyes, unable to stomach this a second longer. Her ambiguous remarks now make perfect sense.

  “I knew what that would do to you, what that would do to your scholarship. And what that would do to your mom. So the meaner I treated you…the safer you were from her. To make sure you were protected, I had to make you hate me. I just…I wanted to die every time I saw you and Linc together. But I had no other choice. But the night of prom, I fucked up. I couldn’t stay away any longer.”

  Everything is spinning out of control. “But your note. You said you won.”

  “…I won you, Princess.”

  If I’ve ever heard anything sweeter, then I don’t remember what. “Why didn’t you meet me then? What happened?”

  Brushing the back of his fingers along the apple of my cheek, he smiles, but it’s bittersweet. “That’s not my story to tell.” He’s said this once before, which kickstarted this entire clusterfuck of events.

  Another word of warning comes to mind. “Listen to what Belle has to say.” I didn’t know it then, but now I do.

  “This all has to do with Belle, doesn’t it?”

  “…Yes.”

  Whatever secret Belle is guarding will shatter everything I thought I knew.

  “Why has Lincoln lied to me for so long? Why did he lie about kissing Belle? Why did he lie about you? About us?” I add, wishing our history wasn’t crowned with a ring of lies.

  “To protect himself.”

  “From what?” I throw my hands
up in exasperation.

  “From you. If the truth ever came out, he knew you’d destroy him. And I think it was his way to ensure that…”

  “That what?” I have no idea what to think. Nothing is what it seems.

  “That you’d stop wanting me…maybe…” He arches a brow, appearing hopeful I’d corroborate his claims. “He knew you’d never speak to me again if he turned it all back on me. It was his final fuck you to me. He’d won.

  “You know how much he hated me. I was the apparent cause of everything going wrong in his life, and he’d do anything to take away the only thing I…loved.”

  My cheeks redden for so many different reasons. “How could he do this? He’s ruined…everything.”

  “He didn’t care. You were a pawn, just not for me.”

  I think back to London and Lincoln’s relationship and how the anger blinded Lincoln at times. There always was a rivalry between them, but I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. I also know Harold’s favoritism toward London upset him profoundly.

  This entire thing was about getting back at London, and I was collateral damage, just not his.

  “We’ve been together for years! We’re getting married in two weeks! Has he lied about his feelings the entire time?” I’m on the cusp of a meltdown, not knowing what’s real anymore.

  London turns his cheek, shaking his head, wounded. I realize this is the first time I’ve mentioned how long we’ve been together. “No, he hasn’t. I have no doubt he fell in love with you. How could he not? He grew up. We all did.”

  “That doesn’t excuse what he did. He should have told me the truth.”

  “Yes, he should have, but would it have made a difference so long after the fact?”

  Thinking about his question, I know the answer is no. I settled because I couldn’t have the man I wanted. The person I’ve wanted all along. Lincoln was familiar; he also didn’t have the ability to break my heart because I would never love anyone the way I loved—love—London.

  “You destroyed me,” I whisper, eyes peeled to the floor. “All the times you hurt me, though, you were doing it for me. I just wish I had known.”

  We’ve wasted so many years, so many possibilities, and now, we will never know. One simple lie has changed the course I was on. I can’t help but think, what if…