Arthur
1292 Words
Justine’s pulse was a frantic drum against her ribs as she stepped back into the hallway. She wouldn't be the woman who ran away and waited by the phone. She had survived a fire; she could survive a conversation.
She reached Damian’s door and found it slightly ajar. Pushing it open, the silence of the apartment was broken by low, intense murmuring.
They were in the living room. Damian was slumped in his armchair, his head in his hands, while Jamie stood by the window, her silhouette sharp against the city lights.
"You can’t just ignore it, Damian," Jamie was saying, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "Regardless of how you feel about me, he's still—"
She stopped abruptly as the floorboard creaked under Justine’s boot. Jamie’s head snapped toward the door. When she saw Justine, a flash of something—guilt, or perhaps just the realization that her "private" time was up—crossed her face.
"I should go," Jamie said, grabbing her clutch from the table. She brushed past Justine without a word, the scent of her expensive perfume lingering like a ghost in the small entryway.
Justine stood in the center of the room, her coat still on, her eyes locked on Damian. He didn't look up immediately. When he finally did, his face was gray, the lines around his eyes deeper than she’d ever seen them.
"Why is she still here, Damian?" Justine’s voice was steady, but it cost her everything. "And why did you let me walk out of here without a single word of explanation? Why didn't you just tell her to leave the second you saw her?"
Damian stood up slowly, looking around his modest apartment as if he were seeing it for the first time. "I wanted to," he rasped. "Every instinct I have told me to slam the door. But she didn't come here to win me back, Justine. At least... that’s not why I let her stay."
"Then why?"
Damian took a deep breath, his hands trembling. "You know me as a guy who works double shifts at a café and spends his weekends in a pottery studio. But there’s a reason I moved to this side of the city anJustine’s pulse was a frantic drum against her ribs as she stepped back into the hallway. She wouldn't be the woman who ran away and waited by the phone. She had survived a fire; she could survive a conversation.
She reached Damian’s door and found it slightly ajar. Pushing it open, the silence of the apartment was broken by low, intense murmuring.
They were in the living room. Damian was slumped in his armchair, his head in his hands, while Jamie stood by the window, her silhouette sharp against the city lights.
"You can’t just ignore it, Damian," Jamie was saying, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "Regardless of how you feel about me, he's still—"
She stopped abruptly as the floorboard creaked under Justine’s boot. Jamie’s head snapped toward the door. When she saw Justine, a flash of something—guilt, or perhaps just the realization that her "private" time was up—crossed her face.
"I should go," Jamie said, grabbing her clutch from the table. She brushed past Justine without a word, the scent of her expensive perfume lingering like a ghost in the small entryway.
Justine stood in the center of the room, her coat still on, her eyes locked on Damian. He didn't look up immediately. When he finally did, his face was gray, the lines around his eyes deeper than she’d ever seen them.
"Why is she still here, Damian?" Justine’s voice was steady, but it cost her everything. "And why did you let me walk out of here without a single word of explanation? Why didn't you just tell her to leave the second you saw her?"
Damian stood up slowly, looking around his modest apartment as if he were seeing it for the first time. "I wanted to," he rasped. "Every instinct I have told me to slam the door. But she didn't come here to win me back, Justine. At least... that’s not why I let her stay."
"Then why?"
Damian took a deep breath, his hands trembling. "You know me as a guy who works double shifts at a café and spends his weekends in a pottery studio. But there’s a reason I moved to this side of the city and changed my name. My family... the Vans-Merrills... they own half the shipping docks on the coast."
Justine blinked, the name clicking into place—one of the wealthiest, most reclusive families in the country. "You're a Vans-Merrill?"
"I was," Damian said bitterly. "When Jamie cheated, my father didn't see a betrayal. He saw a 'business merger' falling apart. He took her side, Justine. He told me to grow up, forgive her, and marry her anyway because the optics were more important than my heart. So I walked. I cut every tie, every cent, and I haven't spoken to them in five years."
He stepped closer, his eyes pleading. "Jamie didn't come here for a second chance with me. She came because she's still close with my mother. My father... he’s in the hospital. He’s gravely sick, Justine. Cancer. Jamie came to tell me that if I want to say goodbye, I have to do it now."
The anger in Justine’s chest deflated, replaced by a cold, heavy lump of realization. Damian wasn't caught in a lingering romance; he was caught in the wreckage of a life he had tried to burn down to save himself.
"She’s the only one who knows where I am," Damian whispered, finally reaching out to touch Justine’s arms. "I didn't chase her away because for a second, I was twenty-two again and losing everything all over again. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn't tell you."
Justine looked at him—this man who had built a life from nothing just to be free. She reached up, cupping his face. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," he admitted, leaning into her touch. "But I know I can't do it without you." took her side, Justine. He told me to grow up, forgive her, and marry her anyway because the optics were more important than my heart. So I walked. I cut every tie, every cent, and I haven't spoken to them in five years."
He stepped closer, his eyes pleading. "Jamie didn't come here for a second chance with me. She came because she's still close with my mother. My father... he’s in the hospital. He’s gravely sick, Justine. Cancer. Jamie came to tell me that if I want to say goodbye, I have to do it now."
The anger in Justine’s chest deflated, replaced by a cold, heavy lump of realization. Damian wasn't caught in a lingering romance; he was caught in the wreckage of a life he had tried to burn down to save himself.
"She’s the only one who knows where I am," Damian whispered, finally reaching out to touch Justine’s arms. "I didn't chase her away because for a second, I was twenty-two again and losing everything all over again. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn't tell you."
Justine looked at him—this man who had built a life from nothing just to be free. She reached up, cupping his face. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," he admitted, leaning into her touch. "But I know I can't do it without you."
- Writer
