The flowers in my hand are growing heavier by the minute. A dozen red roses—each signifying the emotions coursing through my head and heart.

I run through a number of apologies in mind. I could say something like "I messed up; forgive me," or I could just come out and say, "I'm sorry."

I even think about getting creative like rolling a message in a bottle, or spelling the words out in food, or flower petals. Or even placing a message in a candy bar…like Wonka's golden ticket, except in this case, instead of winning a trip to a candy factory, I'm trying to win a trip back into Sophie's heart.

No. That's stupid.

I look at my watch. She should be here any minute. The longer I watch the minutes advance, the faster I feel my heart hammer in my chest. The anxiety and anticipation is intense…like a hand squeezing the back of my neck.

Then I see it. Sophie's car.

I watch as she pulls up to the curb. She's wearing dark sunglasses but the way her gaze falls on me…I know she sees me.

She gets out of the car and pushes her glasses atop her head. She locks her car and walks up the pavement toward her door, her heels clicking a steady rhythm on the concrete.

She gives me one quick, cold stare and it breaks my heart. It's like an icy dagger piercing my chest, and I can barely stand it.

I approach her.

"Sophie, I'm so sorry," I say, extending the flowers to her.

She grabs the bouquet, hesitating for a moment before speaking.

"Stop Todd," she says, "Don't do this. I don't want you here. Leave. I mean it."

"Just give me a minute…please."

"What do you want?"

"I just want a moment to talk with you," I say. "That's all I'm asking for…a moment of your time. There's something I need to say."

Sophie shakes her head.

"No," she says. "I don't want to talk to you. Leave."

Everything about her feels cold. Her arms are crossed, and her face is as welcoming as an ice cube.

Seeing her like this makes me want to fall apart. Piece by piece. It's as if someone's perforating my heart slowly, pinprick by pinprick.

I drop down on one knee ready to do whatever it takes.

"I'm begging you," I say. "Just hear me out. That's all I'm asking."

She shakes her head some more, and I can involuntarily feel myself raising my voice.

"All I'm asking for is a minute—a single minute!"

And as soon as those words leave my lips…the tone loud and frustrated, I know I've sealed my fate.

The crease in her brow deepens and without taking another look at me, she hands the flower bouquet back to me, unlocks her door, steps inside, and slams it shut.

The sound of the door closing and locking behind her causes my chest to tighten.

I throw the bouquet to the ground, watching the flowers bruise. Some petals fall off, and the wind carries them across the pavement.

I shake my head, pick myself up, and walk back to my car.

I feel weird.

From a distance, I can hear the heels of my feet scraping the concrete. I can hear a nearby car horn honk. I see a pigeon strut idly down the sidewalk. And everything seems to be moving in slow motion. Or maybe it's as if everything is muffled and under water. In either case, it feels as if my reality has shifted.

Fuck. How did everything go so off the rails?

I shake my head again as I unlock my car door. As soon as I slip inside, I slam the door shut behind me and pound my fist into the steering wheel.

"Fuck!" I scream out in frustration. This can't be fucking happening.

I turn the key in the ignition, press my foot on the gas pedal and peel away from the curb, the tires screeching, shrill and angry.

I look up and see the light turn yellow, and I punch the gas harder with my foot.

I'm not in the mood to be waiting for any light.

The light turns red, and I burn through it like a hot bolt of lightning.

A few people turn to look at me but I don't pay them any heed.

I blaze down the street, block after block, and with every yellow light, I refuse to slow down. I speed through, even as they turn red, time after time.

Right now, I give zero fucks.

Nothing matters anymore.

I turn the music up on the radio. The tempo is fast and chaotic and it fuels my mood.

I press on the gas pedal harder. It's pressed nearly to the floor when I suddenly see a person—a teenage boy—stepping into the street. He isn't looking at me, or my car. He's wearing headphones, oblivious to the world, and I realize I'm seconds away from hitting this kid.

This is bad. Really bad.

In a split second, I swerve and tap the breaks, my wheels squealing and turning away from the kid. My heart hammers in my chest with the knowledge that I was seconds away from potentially ending this kid's life.

"Fuck you asshole!" the kid yells, flipping me the middle finger. His eyes look wild with fear and anger.

This knowledge…that I almost fatally hit someone…makes me sick and it snaps my mind back to reality. The fog of all my angry emotions lifts, and I take my foot from the gas pedal, deciding to move cautiously forward.

Finally, I arrive home, and as soon as I pull in, I'm reminded of Sophie everywhere I look. The walkway. The landscaping. The front entrance. Everything.

I walk inside, and every piece of furniture makes me think of Sophie.

I can't escape her.

It's driving me insane.

Without wasting another moment, I grab my jacket, pick up my keys again, and leave.