Page 67 of Contempt

And now, she had to face the fact it hadn’t been when she’d believed it for so long. No, he didn’t blame Lucia for needing her space and time.

But fuck.

He hoped she figured it out soon. He needed her to get out of her head, work through her feelings, and come back better than ever. He was ready for that.

She needed to be ready, too.

This wasn’t something he could fix for her, though. Whatever she was dealing with in her head and heart—he couldn’t make it better.

His pacing had finally stopped, but that was just so he could glare at that fucking stack of envelopes, anyway. He had a complex about them. They came from her, meant for him, and for that, he loved them—adored that she took time to write him when that was a lost fucking art. And yet, at the same time, he hated those letters because they had so clearly been a source of pain for Lucia.

Yeah, a complex.

Before Renzo could think better of it, he reached over and snatched up the stack of letters. He was quick to flip through them again, noting the fact that Lucia had kept them all organized. From the very first letter she sent, to the final one a year ago.

Had she finally given up, then?

Was the last letter her last straw?

Renzo sighed, and went back to the first letter in the stack. A part of him didn’t want to read these, at least, not without Lucia right there watching. Another part of him wanted to know what she had written to him—all those years ago, where had her mind gone without him? Had she been in a similar place to him?

Broken and alone?

Probably.

And that just bothered him more.

Not thinking it through, Renzo ripped off the side of the first letter. He tossed the rest of the stack down to the end of the bed, and sat down beside the pile. Tipping the envelope over in his hand, the single sheet of paper inside fell out to his palm. For longer than he cared to admit, he didn’t unfold the three creases keeping the letter hidden.

He just … stared at it.

What would be inside?

Pain, he knew.

Pain and loss.

He’d lived through that time once. He was still kind of living in it, if he was going to be completely honest with himself. Did he want to experience it from her side of things, too? Hadn’t his experience been enough to tell him that he barely made it out sane the first time around?

It didn’t matter.

She deserved to be heard.

Renzo unfolded the letter.

Renzo,

Do you feel like this, too? Alone all the time? Empty, too? That’s me without you.

I don’t know where you are, but I wish you were here.

And I’m sorry.

Love,

Lucia M.

It was short.