Niccolo
The ride home from the docks is quiet. I hate the quiet. I'm alone. It's just me, me and my thoughts and memories.
And her.
“Don't you lie to me, Niccoló!” She laughs, pulling me closer.
“Where do you think you're going?” You motions to her lips.
“I just want to be okay,”
“You didn't have to break my heart.”
“Y-yes. I want you.”
“I love you. I love you.”
“I'm scared,” She breathes. “Scared of this. Scared of you. I don't know what I'm doing here anymore.”
“J'aime poser ici avec vous.”
“What does that mean,”
“I love laying here with you.”
I look at my phone. I wonder if she's changed it. I dial it anyway.
It rings. Once, twice. My heart skips a beat. What the hell am I doing. I almost hang up, but she answers.
“Hello?”
My heart stops. I say nothing.
“Hello?” She re
