Collin (a few days back)
The ballroom buzzed with a frenetic energy, a cacophony of clinking champagne glasses, forced laughter, and the rhythmic thrumming of the live band. I, Collin Reeves, stood stiffly by the entrance, a solitary island amidst the throng. My gaze kept flitting towards Cereus, a vision in emerald green, her smile professional yet strained.
Six years. It felt like a lifetime and a blink of an eye all at once. Six years of a suffocating silence, of a gaping hole where laughter and whispered promises used to reside. Seeing her again, so close yet impossibly distant, stirred a storm of emotions within me – regret, longing, and a flicker of something I couldn't quite define.
The night wore on, and finally, I couldn't bear the charade any longer. Seizing a brief moment when she wasn't swarmed by guests, I approached her.
"Cereus," I began, my voice rougher than I intended. "Is there a moment we can talk?"
Her eyes widened, a flicker of something like… fear? Or was it a surprise? Before she could respond, her phone buzzed insistently in her clutch. A glance at the screen revealed a name – Matthew. Relief washed over her face, a tide erasing the nervous tension in her posture.
"Excuse me, Mr. Reeves," she managed, her voice betraying a slight tremor. "It's an important call."
She stepped away and answered the phone, her back to me. My throat tightened as I heard the warmth in her voice, the easy banter with this… Matthew. A name that felt like a punch to the gut.
She hung up, and as she turned back, a steely resolve had replaced the fleeting uncertainty in her eyes. "The call was from my boyfriend," she declared, her voice firm. "Unless this is something work-related-"
"No," I interrupted, the word leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. "It can wait."
I turned and walked away, my heart a leaden weight in my chest. The image of her, smiling at the phone, her hand cradling it against her ear like a cherished possession, replayed in my mind, a cruel reminder of the life I left behind.
The rest of the evening stretched before me, an agonizing eternity. The music throbbed around me, a meaningless din. Faces blurred into a kaleidoscope of forced smiles and practised social graces. I felt like a ghost, an outsider at the party I used to throw myself into with reckless abandon.
Memories flooded back, unbidden and unwelcome. Six months after I'd left, the guilt gnawing at me like a ravenous beast, I'd returned – a desperate attempt to fix the mess I'd created. I stood outside her apartment building, the familiar brick facade a stark reminder of the life we'd built together.
My heart hammered in my chest as I climbed the stairs, each step echoing the weight of my regret. When her parents answered the door, their faces etched with surprise morphing into pain when they saw me, I knew I was already too late.
"Where is she?" I rasped, the words tearing from my throat.
"She went to Taro Cafe with Molly," her mother said, her voice laced with a barely concealed bitterness.
Taro Cafe. Our place. The one where we'd spent countless hours, huddled over steaming mugs of coffee, sharing dreams and secrets. A surge of hope, fragile yet persistent, bloomed in my chest.
I rushed to the cafe, my steps light with a desperate hope. Seeing her, sitting at our usual booth, a smile gracing her lips as she talked to Molly, was a physical blow. Relief battled with a surge of possessive anger. Relief that she was okay, anger at the realization that she'd moved on.
But as I inched closer, the words that drifted from their conversation shattered the fragile hope. They were talking about… me. Cereus's ex-boyfriend Collin Reeves. The way they spoke, the comfortable ease in their interaction, painted a picture of a life I had no part in. I was in the past to them. To her. No longer in the present, much less in the future.
Their words hit me like a physical blow, the pain so raw, so visceral, it stole the breath from my lungs. I didn't wait to hear more. I turned on my heel and fled, the laughter and chatter of the cafe fading into a dull roar in my ears.
The memory ended as abruptly as it began, leaving me drowning in the wreckage of my own choices. The rest of the evening went on smoothly.