Midnight Blue

“Alex…”

Timing can make or break you. I learned that the night my parents died when they’d decided to cross the road at the exact same moment that psycho had driven past—and then over—them. And it was in perfect timing that a patch of fabric detached from my elaborate dress just then on the balcony, sailing down like a feather, old ink on antique pink. I didn’t need to read the words I’d scribbled on it to remember them by heart. I knew every patch on The Paris Dress. This one was, coincidentally or not, my favorite. It had the lyrics of one of the best love songs ever to be written, and it was written by the guy who’d just broken my heart in the most romantic city in the world.

 

I don’t want your yesterday.

And would never expect your tomorrow.

But if we can have today, I will show you what love tastes like.

And maybe, just maybe, we’ll forget about all our sorrows.

 

The patch fell between them, a symbol of their infidelity, and the air burned like there was a fire nearby. Only Alex hadn’t cheated on me. He’d said so himself—he wanted me for fun. Not for today, tomorrow, next week, or even the second after we said goodbye a couple of weeks from now, in L.A.

They both looked up, and I wanted to leave, but my legs were rooted to the floor. A statue made of broken hopes and dreams. So out of place, the party behind me still fizzing with laughter, music, and alcohol.

His eyes widened. Even in the dark, I could see how unnaturally big they were. Alex wasn’t the kind of guy to panic, and this look on him—the surprise, the regret, the dread—was new. He took off before I could blink, chasing me. Fallon stayed put, her blank gaze scanning me like you would dirt.

A slight smirk spread on her lips, and my brain tried to will the rest of my body to cooperate and move. I knew my heart was disobedient, but didn’t think it’d make the rest of my organs rebel, too.

“He won’t give you a head start.” Her grin widened, as she swiveled her head to the view and parked her forearms against the railings, giving me her back. Paris was lit up in black and gold before us, the Eiffel Tower like a needle that could pierce your heart. “When he wants something, he always gets it.”

“He didn’t get you,” I whispered.

“He always had me. I just waited for him to come and get me. I did absolutely everything in my power to get his attention, but I never had it. Not all the way. You’re not listening, Indigo Bellamy. Take off before he gets to you. You two don’t belong together. We do.”

“We don’t belong together,” I repeated. It was true. He’d bullied me, told me he wanted someone else, and then went and kissed her the minute I’d turned my back.

“You better start running.”

I snapped like someone punched me from the inside.

I took my heels off without even being present in the moment, collected them in one hand, and took flight. I ran and ran, and then ran some more. The chateau was an elaborate labyrinth. Every floor had a long hallway full of big rooms. I took the stairway to the floor down, knowing Alex would go up to get me, and started opening doors, looking for the busiest room I could hide in. The faint echo of the bass thudding against the ceiling was the only evidence there was a party upstairs. My heart raced faster than my mind. I didn’t have a plan. The only thing I knew was that if I saw him now, I would accept his explanation, and maybe even apology. I would forgive him, and I would take him back.

Until the next time Fallon came around.

Until the next time temptation knocked on his door.

Alex Winslow was both an addict and an addiction. Pure and wild. The notion that I couldn’t refuse him was bone-deep, so I did the only thing I could tonight. I copped out .

Jogging into another empty room, I glanced around to see if I had somewhere to hide in it. I couldn’t hear any footsteps, and for all I knew, he could’ve given up and gone back to kissing Fallon until their lips fell off.

It was a fairly small maintenance room. The door was unlocked, and I still had cell phone reception, so I decided to stay there until the party died down and I could call Lucas and ask when we were heading back to the hotel. I dragged the heavy door behind me shut and flicked on the flashlight on my phone. The screen was broken, but it still shone just as bright, much like Alex.

I dragged my back against the wall and squatted, gathering my knees in my arms and resting my chin on top.

You were right, heart.

I’m sorry, heart.

Never again. Never again. Never, ever, ever again. Ad infinitum.

Ten minutes passed. Maybe more. Somehow, it didn’t surprise me when the door flung open and light poured through the crack. Then he came to me, like in a dream. Tall, commanding frame, confident footsteps. Fierce brutality stemming from his mere existence on this planet. Everything I’d studied and admired for the last couple months assaulted me when he entered the tight, dark space. I didn’t know what to expect. Maybe for him to apologize, or to be mean and his usual terminally indifferent self. For him to tell me I always knew it was going to be this way. That we were temporary. That Fallon had his heart. That I had his body, and a few rebound songs that always left me balancing on a thin thread of flattered and furious.

“Get up.” His voice was like a whip. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to his chest in one, effortless movement.

I groaned and glued my back to the wall, pushing him away. “Go away.”

He tried to yank me closer, his movements becoming desperate and impatient, when I pushed him off again, this time harder.

“The dress!” I tried to control my labored breaths. “It was for you. The patches were you. That’s why I made it. Out of your songs, Alex. If you looked closely.” I tore a patch of the dress, waving it in his face.

Go tell your friends that I’m the one,

Other guys have had their run,

Your soul is mine, and that’s the end,

I don’t even care, that you fucked my whole band.

“I did it for you. Because you’re layered and multicolored and different and…and…” And torn. My dress had fallen apart. Nothing I ever made fell apart. Other than The Paris Dress. Other than his dress. I inhaled, squeezing my eyes shut. “Just…leave.”

“Why?”

“Why?” I laughed, struggling to keep my tears at bay. I wasn’t going to cry. Especially over him. “You kissed your ex-girlfriend in front of me while I was in a dress I made for you. Because I feel like the stupidest girl in the world right now, and I think I’m allowed this one moment of quiet meltdown without an audience. You can sympathize, right? Understand the need to be broken without the limelight shining all over your ugly-cry face?”