I’ve never experienced a walk of shame quite like the one to a local hotel. I keep my head down, avoiding residents who might recognize me.
Leaving Chloe at my house alone was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in a while, and I’ve done a lot of difficult things lately. Knowing she was hurt because of my actions made the task nearly impossible. But she deserves my respect, and that starts with giving her space to calm down. I don’t blame her for feeling angry and needing room to process her life. She only found out her father is dead a few hours ago.
And rather than leaning on you for help like she should be able to, you fucked everything up. Good going, asshole.
I hate myself a bit more knowing she’s alone, probably crying herself to sleep tonight about everything.
The hotel employee gives me a key to my room on the first floor. I enter the small space and let out a sigh, throwing my bag in the corner. Not bothering with the bedside lamp, I settle into the bed.
“You had to go about ruining the one thing that brought you true happiness,” I whisper up to the ceiling.
Sleeping without Chloe feels odd. Like something in the world is amiss, and nothing can fix it. The bed is too empty, the sheets too cold. No position feels comfortable enough, no matter how hard I try.
I readjust my pillow for the third time, smacking it to the point where a few feathers fly out of the pillowcase. I lay back down and look up at the ceiling.
Damn, I wish I could be cuddling with Chloe in my bed right now.
My chest tightens at the idea.
Is it terrible that I hope she misses me just as much?
I can only pray sleep comes easy for me because I can’t handle another guilt-ridden, restless night.
I might have told Chloe I wouldn’t sleep at my house, but she didn’t say anything against visiting. Semantics are my friend. Semantics are what’s going to get me the hell out of this mess I created for myself to begin with.
I use my key to unlock the back door. The early morning rays of sunshine peek through the windows, guiding me through the kitchen. No sounds alert me that Chloe is awake. She usually sleeps in on the weekends, until at least 10 in the morning, but I want to be safe. The last thing I need is for her to get mad because she found me lurking again. She trusted me to leave her alone here, and I plan on following through as much as I can.
After a few minutes of silence, I take the risk. With shaky hands, I place a vase of wildflowers on the kitchen counter. I grab the accompanying note I wrote from my pocket and place it beside the bouquet. While my letter is more of an apologetic one, I still hope it carries the same feeling.
If everything goes according to plan, she will read the note and show up at the meet-up place I mentioned. I only need one chance to explain what happened and how much she means to me.
It takes a lot of self-control to step out of my home again. If Chloe doesn’t forgive me soon, I’ll be stuck making wishes to win her back.
I check the time on my phone for the third time in the last five minutes. Chloe is already half an hour late for our meeting, and I’ve already worked a path through the grass after all my pacing. I’d call her to check in, but I doubt that would go over well.
Did she actually stand me up?
Did you really believe she would show up in the first place?
I sigh to myself as I lean against the tree where I first found her climbing all those months ago. What do I do now? If this plan didn’t work, what will? What if Chloe doesn’t want to deal with me anymore, but doesn’t know how to tell me?
I stare up at the branches as if they hold the answers.
A twig snaps, and I turn toward the sound. “Chloe?”
No one replies.
“If you’re there, I want to start off with saying I’m sorry.”
Crickets chirp in reply.
Great. My disappointment grows as minutes pass by and Chloe doesn’t show herself. If she’s not here, then what is she up to?
Curiosity gets the best of me. The idea of returning back to my hotel room without at least checking in on her doesn’t sit right with me. My decision is made purely because of my need to ensure she is alive and well.
Right. You just miss her, you lying piece of shit.
I cling to the shadows, using them to disguise myself as I walk toward the back of the house. Each room of the house is dark except for the bright lights coming from the back.
I keep my distance, securing a good angle to see inside of the kitchen. Note to self: Teach Chloe the importance of not leaving all the blinds open. Any creeper could see what happens inside.
Chloe has her back to me. She opens the oven, and a cloud of smoke billows into her face. She uses an oven mitt to clear the air.
Fuck. I didn’t consider how she’s a safety risk to herself and the house. If she keeps this up, she’s going to burn everything down before I have a chance to move back in.
Chloe clutches onto the pan. I wince at the black lump of something inedible crumbling in the center. She walks toward the trash bin and presses the pedal with her foot. The charred food drops into the bin, right on top of the flower stems poking out from the top.
Something cold seeps through my chest, replacing any warmth at seeing Chloe in the first place.
She threw away my flowers? What the hell?
Did she even bother reading my note or did it meet the same fate as the flowers?
Wow. I can’t believe she threw them out.
Instead of accepting defeat by her dismissal of my gift, I use it to fuel me. I was a fool in the first place for thinking a vase of flowers and a note would get her to give me a chance. Flowers and sweet nothings aren’t the way to her heart, and I should’ve known better. She’s always been unexpected, and I went with the most basic idea.
I take today as the challenge it is. I’m not the type to back down from oppositional forces. If I was, I wouldn’t have ever won a World Championship in the first place. Hell, I wouldn’t have started racing again after my injury if I wasn’t a fighter. Clearly, I underestimated my opponent.
Round one may have gone to Chloe, but I plan on winning the whole damn thing.
What do I get a girl who doesn’t care much for presents? How do I express I love her and I’m sorry through actions rather than words?
I jolt from my bed as the idea hits me. Chloe loves eighties romances, and I’m here to deliver. It’s time to channel my inner John Hughes and get to work.
The next idea takes an excruciatingly long time to complete. It frustrates me because I feel like I’m losing precious time getting her back. I don’t know how the fuck Chloe makes these damn embroidery circles as quickly as she does, but what must take her minutes takes me hours. I’ve earned a new appreciation for the designs she creates because this is hard as fuck. Threads constantly get knotted together and I stab my fingers with the needles more times than I can count.
The whole process is worth it. Chloe seems like the girl who appreciates something handmade. And nothing says “I’m sorry” quite like an embroidered disaster-piece. Sure, the design looks a little wonky but it was made with love. I’m sure if Chloe closes her left eye and squints with the right, it will look pretty damn good.
Seriously, I might be biased, but I would forgive whoever made me something as atrocious as this. Anyone can tell the person has no shame and is so hopelessly in love, they would create it in the first place. I’m a simpering fool who has nothing to lose and everything to gain by fighting for Chloe’s forgiveness.
I release a shaky breath.
Here goes nothing.
