Chapter Fourteen - KATYA
I left town in the middle of the night four years ago. Not because I was hiding or escaping. I was, in a way, doing both of those things. But that really wasn’t the reason I left town at four AM.
I was on a deadline.
It was a Sunday, so it was a day Oliver and I had spent together. We hung out at his place, just chatting and making lunch, then dinner, in that makeshift kitchen. Most of the building was a total construction zone. No workers were there, but they didn’t exactly clean up when they left on Friday, so the only place to really relax was up in his makeshift bedroom loft that still smelled of old tires.
Looking back now on the state of his home, and having become accustomed to the finer things in life as the years have passed, it makes me laugh. Picturing myself up in that loft surrounded by dust, and dirt, and industrial things that weren’t pieces of outsider art created by a local artist or ordered from some high-end catalog.
Isn’t it funny? When you get all the things you thought you wanted, and you look back on how it all started, it feels much sweeter from the end of the road than it did at the beginning.
I loved his place, even back then. And I’ve driven by it recently, so I know that my last memory of it is just that. A memory.
The brick exterior, which was white back then—covered in grime, and oil, and filth after having served its purpose as a six-bay automotive garage for decades—is now a trendy dark gray with white trim around the windows. The door has been painted a glossy red and the asphalt parking lot has been turned into a manicured lawn, the perimeter lined with pine trees. There’s a brick wall surrounding the property with an impressive iron gate that has a sign out front near the intercom proclaiming it’s protected by ShrikeSafe Security. Which I know is co-owned by his sisters—one of their many (many) side businesses.
But I’d love to go back in time. Be back in that loft that last night smelling those old tires. Be filled with angst about what was coming, what I was leaving behind, and then make a different choice.
Would we have stayed together if I had stayed? I wasn’t even eighteen yet. Oliver was twenty-four.
I had a promise to keep and Oliver… well, he was still stuck in his past back then.
We never had a chance.
I look at my watch as I gaze down to the street below. I can see the tattoo shop, still open, down the block.
That’s where Oliver and I ended up that last night. That was the last place I saw him—machine in hand, dipping the needles in the dark ink, squinting down at my skin in concentration as he inked his words onto my body.
He erased my scars that night. Replaced them with promises.
I will kiss you here…
And he did. He kissed them all away.
Well, that’s the past and it can’t be changed. The rules of the game state that you get one chance for every moment. Make the wrong choice and it stays wrong forever.
Did I make the wrong choice?
I have to believe I didn’t. I have to keep telling myself that all my choices and all my lies had a purpose that led me right to this moment in time.
Right where I’m supposed to be.
I might not like the circumstances and I know I won’t like the outcome—at least as it pertains to Oliver. Once he finds out why I’m back he will make his own choice in his own moment and I already know how fast he will walk away.
But I made my choice a long time ago and I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
The next time that disposable phone rings all the pieces will fall into place.
I turn away from the window and walk to my front closet, pulling my light green coat from the hanger and slipping it on over my jeans and sweater. I cinch the belt tight at my waist, grab my keys and everyday phone off the little table near the entrance, and slip them in my coat pocket as I pull open the front door.
It’s an eight-minute walk to the church where we will meet up, but I can’t find a reason not to go a little early. Maybe peek into the tattoo shop as I walk past. Catch a glimpse of Oliver’s family members as they work this evening.
No one is in the elevator as I take it down to the ground floor. The doorman smiles at me as I enter the lobby, and greets me by name as he opens the door and I pass through.
I like that about this building. That they know my name. I’ve been hiding for so long it’s nice to be out in the open for once.
I don’t peek into the tattoo shop as I walk by. I don’t even cross the street to be on the same side. I just put my head down into the biting wind and mind my business.
I guess some habits die hard.
The light is in my favor when I get to the intersection of College and Mountain, so I cross quickly, hands in my coat pockets, and then slow down as the church comes into view two blocks up.
I listen for the sound of his bike, anxious, and fearful, and filled with longing. I am minutes away from experiencing him again. His hard body and strong arms. Will he kiss me? Will he wrap his arms around me? Will he be angry that I never got back in touch? Or will he be indifferent?
Hey, what’s up? instead of, God, I missed you.
I can’t know until it happens. Until he makes his choice in his moment. Only then can I make mine—to go through with this or turn back before it starts.
The front entrance to St. Joseph’s has three Gothic arches that form an outside vestibule and lead to the tall double doors. That’s where I waited for him four years ago and it’s where I’ll wait for him now.
I walk up the four steps and hide in the shadows, ears straining to hear the sound of his bike. I know he’s at Ariel’s house, only two blocks away. But there’s only the sound of people on College Avenue mixed in with the wind.
My legs feel weak and I lean further into the darkness, my back pressing against the hard stone. My mind racing with the possibilities before me tonight.
He did say meet me. That’s a good sign. At least he’s interested.
But I know what’s going on in his world. My timing here isn’t coincidental. I didn’t just happen to post that video to that site. I posted myself to his site.
The roar of a custom Shrike Bikes motorcycle erupts down the street.
That’s him. He’s coming. He’s seconds away. My heart is out of control. Galloping like a horse as I breathe faster to supply it with oxygen.
I have to swallow. I have to clasp my hands together to stop them from shaking. I have to turn away from the street and lean my head against the church to keep my legs from buckling underneath me.
I count to ten as the engine noise builds, gets closer, and then… and then he’s there. His engine revving once, twice, until everything around me goes silent.
Look at him. Turn around and look at him.
But I can’t.
I want to keep hiding as the deep thud of his boots walking up the stairs fills my head. I want to disappear and pretend none of this is happening. I want to go away, come back, and try again. Making different choices, creating new moments.
“Kat,” he says, just a few feet away from me.
I am breathing so hard, he must surely hear it.
A hand on my shoulder, trying to pry me away from the building. Trying to force me to turn… to see him.
“It’s you?” he asks. “Why can’t you look at me?”
“It’s a good question,” I whisper back.
His grip tightens on my shoulder, forcing me to make a decision. I turn, lifting my chin so I can see those blue-gray eyes first.
“Kat.” He laughs, a huge smile on his face.
“It’s me,” I say.
“You came back.”
“I said I would. Didn’t you believe me?”
His fingertips are tugging on the collar of my coat, pulling it away from my shoulder, then slipping it down, along with the collar of my sweater, so he can see the mark he left on me four years ago.
One arm gathers me close as he leans in and kisses the scar hiding behind his inked words. “And here,” he says, lips lightly brushing against my skin.
“And here,” I say, tilting my head away to give him free access.
I hug him then. The way I used to, before I was sad. Before I was lost. Before… back when I was happy, but didn’t realize it.
He hugs me back. “Come on,” he says, pulling away but grabbing tightly to my hand as he does it. “I’ve been waiting four years for this second chance.”
So there is it.
Our choices made in the moment.
They will seal our fates forever, I think. And one day, years from now, I will look back on this night as the start of something and not the end. And I will feel nostalgic and sad, wondering how I could’ve missed the fact that things were perfect.