by W. Winters
I used to think it was all in my mind back then. Five years ago when we’d share a glance and that same feeling would ignite within me.
But this just happened. I know it did.
And I know he knows who I am.
With anger beginning to rise, my lips part to say his name, but it’s caught in my throat. It smothers the sadness that’s rising just as quickly. Slowly my fingers curl, forming a fist until my nails dig into my skin.
I don’t stop staring at him, willing him to look at me and at least give me the courtesy of acknowledging me.
I know he can feel my eyes on him. He’s stopped rapping his knuckles on the table and the smile on his face has faded.
Maybe the crushing feeling in my chest is shared by both of us.
Maybe I’m only a reminder to him. A reminder he ran away from too.
I don’t know what I expected. I’ve dreamed of running into Daniel so many nights. Brushing shoulders on the way into a coffee shop. Meeting each other again through new friends. Every time I wound up back home, if you can even call it that, I always checked out every person passing me by, secretly wishing one would be him. Just so I’d have a reason to say his name.
Winding up at the same bar on a lonely Tuesday night hours away from the town we grew up in … that was one of those daydreams too. But it didn’t go like this in my head.
“Daniel.” I say his name before I can stop myself. It comes out like a croak and he reluctantly turns his head as the bartender sets down the beer on the wooden table.
I swear it’s so quiet, I can hear the foam fizzing as it settles in the glass.
His lips part just slightly, as if he’s about to speak. And then he visibly inhales. It’s a sharp breath and matches the gaze he gives me. First it’s one of confusion, then anger … and then nothing.
I have to remind my lungs to do their job as I clear my throat to correct myself, but both efforts are in vain.
He looks past me as if it wasn’t me who was trying to get his attention.
“Jake,” he speaks up, licking his lips and stretching his back. “I actually can’t stay,” he bellows from his spot to where the bartender, apparently named Jake, is chucking ice into a large glass. The music seems to get louder as the crushing weight of being so obviously dismissed and rejected settles in me.
I’m struck by how cold he is as he gets up. I can’t stand to look at him as he readies to leave, but his name leaves me again. This time with bite.
His back stiffens as he shrugs his thin jacket around his shoulders and slowly turns to look at me.
I can feel his eyes on me, commanding me to look back at him and I do. I dare to look him in the eyes and say, “It’s good to see you.” It’s surprising how even the words come out. How I can appear to be so calm when inside I’m burning with both anger and … something else I don’t care to admit. What a lie those words are.
I hate how he gets to me. How I never had a choice.
With a hint of a nod, Daniel barely acknowledges me. His smile is tight, practically nonexistent, and then he’s gone.
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Happy reading and best wishes,
W Winters xx
Afterword
A note from the author
I hope that you enjoyed this book, that it spoke to you and that you felt what I felt as I wrote it.
We give so much power to four small words. She asked for it.
I hate the power they have. I hate what those words have done to so many women.
I hate that the saying even exists.
But if it must, it will have a different meaning for me.
I hope after reading this book, those four words mean something different to you than they did before. And if you ever feel the need to reach out to someone because those words, or thoughts are too much, don’t hesitate to seek out help. There’s too much love in the world to ever feel anything but.
As always, best wishes and happy reading,
Willow xx
