I skip the bus and walk home, needing to keep myself moving because if I don’t, I just know I’m going to break down.

Will I ever get over this?

Will I get over him?

I want to believe I will, but a part of me is terrified that I’ll never forget Mr. X, and that pieces of my heart will remain completely lost and broken.

When I finally make it to my apartment, I absently notice an expensive-looking sedan parked by the curb. It looks entirely out of place in my middle-class neighborhood, but I’m too tired to think more about it.

Turning away, I start keying my code to unlock the entrance door when I hear Mr. X’s voice.

“Anisia.”

I stiffen, but when I feel him come up to me, I choke out without looking back, “What more do you want from me?”

“Could we talk?”

I shake my head.

“Please.” His voice is low, rough, and humbled, and it’s that unexpected note of humility that gets to me.

This man really is my personal Waterloo, I realize dully, maybe always will be.

“Fine.” Still without meeting his eyes, I open the door, leaving it to him to follow me up to the third floor. I feel Mr. X’s gaze on me the entire time, and it’s unnerving, but I do my best to keep my anxiety to myself.

As the seconds tick by, the silence between us grows heavier with tension, and I begin questioning myself. Was it a really good idea to let him in?

But it’s already too late to change my mind, isn’t it?

“Sorry for the mess,” I say jerkily as I let him in my apartment.

“I don’t mind at all.”

As Mr. X shuts the door closed, I head to the kitchen and start the coffee machine. The sound of his footsteps reaches me, and with my back to him I ask, “Do you want to have coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Still avoiding his gaze, I gesture to the couch, mumbling, “Do you want to sit there or…” My voice trails off. I’m suddenly struck by the realization of how crazy this whole thing is. We’re acting like we’re nothing but polite strangers to each other, I think hysterically, when in reality he’s just broken my heart.

A choked sob escapes me.

A moment later, Mr. X is right in front of me. “Anisia.” His voice is hoarse.

When he reaches for me, I automatically struggle, crying out, “No!”

But he easily overpowers me, and I end up in his embrace, his arms wounding around me tightly.

“I’m sorry.”

Liar, I think painfully.

His arms tighten around me as if he’s heard my thoughts, and he repeats his apology doggedly. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

I try to shove him away, but he doesn’t let go. “Please.” My voice is thin and dull. “Let me go.”

“Not until you listen to me.” I feel his hard chest vibrate as he inhales. “That day you bumped into me – I was the one who found your journal on the sidewalk. But by the time I realized the journal I had picked up was yours, you were already gone. I started reading it, and it took only me a few entries to realize…everything in it was about me---”

“S-stop it!” My cheeks burning with humiliation, I renew my struggles to free myself. “I don’t want to hear anymore!”

“I know,” Mr. X says bleakly, “but I also know I need you to listen to me.” And without waiting for me to answer, he continues on raggedly, “I knew it would make things unnecessarily awkward between us if you realized I had read your journal so I just had maintenance take it to Lost and Found for me. I was determined to get to know you better. The things you wrote…were adorable.”

I shake my head wildly. “Those are just lies---”

“It’s the truth,” he says forcefully. “Your words charmed me, and that’s never happened to me before. For so long women have been nothing but bed companions for me – or merely someone I can take with me to parties when I need a partner. But they’ve never interested me the way you did when I started reading your journal. And none of them had ever understood my work – or even tried to – the way you obviously did.”

“You make me sound like I’m perfect,” I choke out.

“Because you are!”

“Then why hurt me?” I demand brokenly. “You knew how I’d feel---”

“Because the way you made me feel terrified me!”

His words stun me into silence, and for a few moments all I can do is stare at him. Have I really heard him correctly?

“I fell in love with a woman once.” Mr. X’s voice is tight. “A nurse, assigned to my department – and she had me so into her I didn’t realize that she had also been using her relationship with me to authorize sales of prescription drugs to rich junkies---” He breaks off and curses under his breath. “I went berserk when I found out, and after that I’ve never allowed myself to be close to another woman…”

Mr. X raises his gaze to mine. “Until you.”

His arms slowly loosen its hold, but I no longer want to move away.

“Every time I hurt you, it was as if I was unconsciously testing you – or waiting for you to show me your true colors.” He swallows hard. “But in the end, I guess I’m the one who ended showing my true self to you.” His fists clench against his sides. “I’m sorry for hurting you, Anisia.”

His words are balm to the wounds in my heart, but even so---

“It’s okay,” I whisper tremulously. “I…I get it now.’

And I do, but it’s not enough.

When he reaches for me, I can’t stop myself from flinching, and Mr. X stiffens.

It’s my turn to apologize, and my voice wobbles as I say, “I’m sorry.”

Mr. X’s handsome face whitens.

“I understand so much more now, but I can’t make myself forget so easily. I can’t make myself trust you---”

“Because you think I don’t see you differently from the rest?” Mr. X asks tautly.

Ah. I realize right away he’s read the last entry in my journey, and I bite my lip hard, unable to make sense of how I feel about it.

All I can think of right now is that he knows.

He knows.

He knows how much I cared for him.

Mr. X cups my face, saying quietly, “It’s the only part you were wrong, Anisia. You’ve always been different from the rest, sweetheart. From the very start you were different, and when I read your journal – I realized you were more than that. You weren’t just different. You’re the only one for me.”

I shake my head, still unable to believe him. “You say that now, but---”

“Listen.” Releasing my face, he takes my hands in a tight grip, asking roughly, “How long have you been stalking me?”

“I t-told you,” I mumble. “It wasn’t ever---”

“Fine then,” he concedes impatiently. “Research. How long have you been researching about me?”

“A little over a year,” I admit reluctantly.

“Exactly. I know I hurt you earlier when I told you that researching me didn’t mean you know me, but I was lying. You do know me, sweetheart. I’ve seen it in your writing. You know me inside and out. You understand me.” His grip on my hands tightens. “So now tell me. Look into my eyes and tell me---”

I feel suddenly afraid, and without thinking I squeeze my eyes shut, I mumble, “No. I don’t want to.” Or rather, I’m terrified to do what he’s asking. I’m terrified…because I already know what I’d see, and I don’t want to risk hurting myself again.

“I won’t hurt you again, sweetheart. So please just give me one last chance.” I hear him draw a deep breath. “Please look at me.” And in those four words are all the emotions I once dreamt of hearing from my imaginary boyfriend ---

Everything I once dreamt he would feel for me is in those words.

Everything.

Slowly, my eyes drift open, and as soon as our gazes meet, he asks quietly, “What do you see in my eyes, sweetheart?”

Oh.

And my own eyes start to smart. I try to speak, but the words won’t come out. I’m just feeling too much.

“Anisia?”

In the end, all I can do is raise myself on my toes---

His eyes widen.

And then I’m cupping his face and pressing my lips to his.

For one moment, Mr. X is completely stiff.

And then he’s kissing me back. Hard. Deeply. Passionately.

He’s kissing me the way a man can kiss the only woman for him.