It’s exactly the same, exactly the same writing and color from when I was sixteen. The same boy who drew it last time is standing as a man in front of me, and I didn’t even know. I’ve thought about him for years, the one that always sticks with you. You know how you meet someone and there’s an instant attraction at the first sight? He was attractive, the best-looking guy in school, but the one no one wanted to be around. He had a bad name, a dangerous name. He hung with the bad crowds, and kids were warned not to go near him. So they didn’t. He was always by himself, never talking or mingling with anyone.
Then one night, I lost my grandmother. My heart broke—shattered to a million pieces—and I ran into the night, stopping at the park. That’s when I met him, beautiful and broken, just as I was that night. So beautiful, but yet so completely destroyed.
He’s now a man, an exquisitely handsome man. One that chose not to tell me who he was. One that looks at me for the very first time with a smile. A smirk if you will. Like he can’t believe I’ve just put it all together.
“You look so different,” I say, my hand lifting of its own accord, wanting to touch his face. My palm softens under his cheek, his breath comes in heavy bursts. I watch his eyes squeeze closed like my hand is burning him and it’s painful to have my touch. I quickly remove it. His eyes open, and his hand touches where my hand just was.
“Still feel the need?” he asks, and I shake my head. I don’t think it’s even in my head anymore. All that’s there in this moment is filled with him.
“No,” I whisper. “It’s really you?” We shared such a connection. I’ve never shared a connection with someone so strong. I was so young and I didn’t understand it. I knew I liked him, more than any of the other boys my age. Boys didn’t interest me back then, but he did and I didn’t understand why. Was it the bad boy cliché I wanted? Or was it purely him?
“You remember me?” he asks, searching my eyes.
“How could I forget?”
“People tend to forget me. It’s in their nature.” My heart breaks. I believe his words, believe people do. What fools they are. What pitiful, shameful fools!
“Never.” My head shakes back and forth. I want to touch him again, but I don’t get the chance as he turns his head and finishes tagging my name. I just stand there and watch. He adds a black rose, a black rose the same as he added last time we were together. I understand it better now. He’s black, and I’m the rose.
“I want to touch you,” I say, now inches from his back. I can smell him. He smells deliriously delicious. I want to hold him, bury my head in his chest and listen to his heart, taking in his scent all day.
My hand reaches out, his body turns around. My hand touches his chest and his eyes watch mine, I notice the restraint he’s holding. I’m barely touching him, my hand only feathering his chest. I don’t quite understand it. Understand how someone could not want the basic human instinct of touch. He seems to think it’s poisonous. A touch that seems painfully real to him, like my touch will inflict nothing but pain.
My hand holds tighter, clinging to him even more. I take a step forward. Closing the distance between us, his hand places itself on top of mine, holding me to him. His now dark green eyes with dark specs through them don’t look me in the face. He looks anywhere and everywhere but at my face.
My second hand goes up and I place it above his heart. He flinches and steps backward so fast that I’m left standing with my hands in the air.
“We can’t do that,” he says, walking away, back to the car. I look back at my name, then the rose. A smile forms on my face, and then I follow him back to the car.
We drive in silence. He stares straight ahead, never sparing me a glance. I can’t keep my eyes off of him. He gives me butterflies in a good kind of way. His looks, his mystery, his presentation. All of it draws me in, and again, I think it’s the cliché bad boy thing I’m looking for. I double guess myself, because I don’t even see that when I look at him. I see a man, a man who cares, even when he shouldn’t. A man who’s broken, but will fix others. A man that hides in all his blackness, even taking the name to seem deadlier, which I’m sure he doesn’t need.
“Liam,” I finally say his name, that name hasn’t left my lips for ten years. It feels good. His head swings to me, and his face tightens.
“It’s Black,” he says, correcting me, then turning back to the road.
“Not to me you’re not. Just Liam…” I smile, feeling giddy. Why does he give me those feelings? He catches me smiling, shakes his head, and turns into Casey’s driveway. He stops and doesn’t move, doesn’t even turn the car off.
“I think it's best if we don’t contact each other. Lose my number,” he says, keeping his eyes peeled ahead. I open the door, stepping out. I turn to him before I shut the door, but he doesn’t look at me.
“Not happening,” I reply. His head swings to me and I slam the door and walk to the front door. I hear him pull away with a tire squeal just as I open the door.
“Where have you been? I’ve been ringing you non-stop,” she cries, wrapping her arms around me. She seems worried, it makes me feel wanted that she may actually care more than she did previously.
“Didn’t take my phone. No one usually cares where I am anyway.” She pulls me back, her face now in my face. Sax is behind her and shakes his head at her, but smiles.
“Of course I care. For all I know, that fine piece of ass could’ve taken you to the woods and chopped you into tiny pieces,” she huffs out, releasing me, crossing her arms over her chest.
“He does have a fine ass, doesn’t he?” I smile, which pulls a smile from her.
“Yeah, and all that dark and ‘don’t fuck with me’ exterior actually makes him that much hotter.” She fans herself dramatically and Sax grunts from behind her.
“He’s dangerous,” Sax says, standing, not moving.
Casey waves a hand at him, blowing him off. “They said the same about you, and look where we are now… I’m knocked up with a ring on my finger.” Her hand flies to her mouth, and she turns to me biting her lip and worry lines appearing on her forehead. “I’m so sorry, Rose,” she says. I wave her off.
“Its fine, don’t worry. I’m happy for you.” I smile. She knows my situation with Roger. The bastard.
“You’re pregnant?” Sax asks, clearly shocked. Casey’s eyes go furiously wide in front of me. “Whoops…” she says, turning around. “Sorry, baby, I planned to tell you tonight.” I sneak past them and go to the spare room, which I can’t stay in for much longer now, now that she’ll be having a baby of her own. I hear Sax cheer and Casey giggle in delight. I lay on my bed, smiling at them and pick up my phone, planning to send one last message before I drift off to sleep.
Me: When can I see you again? Can we meet up? Please. x